#one day i will take an anthropology class

[mrsq8geek]

I think about this every now and then so here's what I got on this:

Social constructs often are based on things that are either unchangable or very difficult to change. The 24 hour system is a social construct but it's based on something measurable and that varies so little that, for most intents and purposes, it's practically static. Kind of related. Another example: Farming, hunting, or fishing have similar cultures across the world, because we all gotta eat so we learn what exists in the world and how to turn it into food. Fried ball of dough across the world! Seafaring culture shanties (and also work songs) my beloved.

Uncertainty and risk associated with change. People generally agree that the four-day work-week would be better for... well, most things, including productivity, than five days, given how much the world has changed. But even with so many companies and sometimes countries coming out of trials with positive results, it's a slow change, often because a lot of decision-makers would rather stick with what they know, or maybe they want to proceed with a change, but don't know which option to go with. Take this and bog it down with all the details of humanity. The potential loss of the tried-and-true usefulness/benefits of the existing system can easily outweigh the cost and risk of changing to something new.

The inherent tension between standardization and specialization. ISO is a boon. Forcing the peoples you conquer to adopt your way of life has resulted in countless losses, some of which have not been recovered, and others which we're now paying for. Also, I'll use any excuse to bring up this episode of 99% Invisible. Different cultures live in different material realities, which creates different specialized social constructs suited to that place, which inevitably clashes with whoever the superior culture at the time thinks is Best, and so on as we trend towards globalized homogeneity.

You can't have it all. There will come a time where you will have to choose one social construct and its associated consequences over another. And what you value as important will affect that greatly: after you after happiness? Meaning? Contentment? What if you're after compliance with your group? Socioeconomic power? Sometimes there will be social consensus that you did the Right Thing and sometimes not, what then?

That being said, I definitely get the knee-jerk reaction to think "social construct = fake = bad" because when someone says "x is a social construct", it's often in the context of how that construct can change, and that's a threat. For some people, it's as simple as "change is hard and scary", but you might end up having a nice conversation after that. Other times, it'll be "you want to change something that I personally benefit from" and that's more difficult to pick apart.

Personally, I'm not a fan of "most work happens in the morning", the choice of jobs available in the afternoon/evening is very limited and I'm always struggling. Someone convince morning people that night owls are important, too!

man. People get so upset when you call things social constructs. Thinking that if you say something is a social construct that means it's fake and unnatural, and following that, that that means it’s bad. Something being a social construct means that it’s socially constructed. That’s it.

Money is a social construct. Weekends are a social construct. Vegetables are a social construct.

That doesn’t mean it’s okay if my paycheck is withheld or my rent is late. Doesn’t mean I don’t luxuriate in sleeping in on Saturday. Doesn’t mean the nutrients in tomatoes or spinach aren’t good for you.

What it means is that the way we think about things is socially constructed, and could be constructed a different way. Why do we base our society around money? What does value mean outside of money? What is “value”? The way we construct it isn’t the only possible way.

Why is a week a cycle of seven days, and five of those days are for working and two of those days are for resting? Could we organize our time differently? Should we? What would that look like? Other cultures don’t/didn’t have seven-day weeks with a five on-two off cycle. It’s not inevitable. It’s historically and culturally specific.

“Fruit” has a scientific definition but “vegetable” does not. Many parts of plants are culinarily defined as vegetables. Fruits (eggplant, avocado, tomato), stems (celery, asparagus), leaves (kale, lettuce), roots (carrots, potatoes, turnips)… all of these are culturally categorized as vegetables. And nutrition advice is based on this cultural categorization. Is a mushroom a vegetable? It’s not even a plant! Why do we categorize it this way? Why isn’t wheat or oats considered vegetables, but corn is, except when it isn’t? Could we categorize our plant-based food other ways?

Calling these social constructs doesn’t mean they’re bad or unimportant. It just calls attention to the fact that they aren’t inevitable. That they could be constructed in different ways, and that is worth thinking about, and thinking about the value we get in constructing things the way we do.

Gender is a social construct.

Romance is a social construct.

They are based on feelings, desires, and experiences, but how we name and categorize and express and act on them are fully culturally constructed. Other cultures do and have constructed these concepts in other ways. You can like the way we do it now. You can find it stifling. But the way we do it now is not the only, inevitable, inherent, real way. It could be done other ways, organized and categorized and conceptualized in other ways. And that’s not a bad thing either.

[shegetsburned]

archeology teacher!kento who’s your first-semester teacher for your anthropology major. he was recommended by one of your friends so you took his archeology class.

archeology teacher!kento who’s considerate and kind towards his students and has an inspiring passion for history although he comes off as stoic and aloof.

archeology teacher!kento who laid his eyes on you the first time when you came after class to his desk to ask questions, leaving a permanent impression on him with your cute demeanour and bright smile. your interest made him question his.

archeology teacher!kento whose athletic build molded by his tight blue shirt attracted your gaze more than once while he explained roman architecture with his back turned toward the class.

archeology teacher!kento whose subtle eye contact makes your heart flutter and your thighs clench together. he’ll always find your gaze whether you’re at the back of the class or on the sides.

archeology teacher!kento who won’t hesitate to take overtime if it means being able to deepen the subject with you and help you in any way he can.

archeology teacher!kento who shifts closer to you while showing you slides of ancient artifacts, occasionally brushing your elbow with his.

archeology teacher!kento who’s normally capable of separating sentimentalism from service, but can’t get you out of his head. thinking of you in ways he shouldn’t be thinking about when it comes to his students.

archeology teacher!kento whose hunger becomes more and more insatiable the more time he spends with you. his focus failing him every time you look into his eyes while he speaks or when you touch his elbow as you get up from your seat at the end of the studying session.

archeology teacher!kento who closes the door behind the last student after a two-hour long class on a friday evening, leaving you two alone. despite his tired figure, he insists that he can still work on some subjects with you.

archeology teacher!kento whose explanations are unusually incomprehensible and languorous. you ask if you should call it a day but his demanding eyes tell you otherwise.

archeology teacher!kento who leans on his desk, inattentively misplacing his stuff and shifting his weight closer to you, his cologne blesses your nostrils when his neck is to your height, forcing you to look up.

archeology teacher!kento whose heavy breath lends on your forehead when his hands grab the sides of your chair, pulling you closer, his thumb just slightly caresses your thighs sending shivers down your spine.

archeology teacher!kento who gives up any kind of restraint and self-control that inevitably comes with the job when he lifts you up on the desk, placing a ravenous kiss upon your lips, his hands tracing your curves up and down.

archeology teacher!kento who hurries his movements, skillfully undressing you with little to no regard for anyone that might enter and watch him fuck his student.

“n-nanami. is it okay?” you ask against his lips, already melting into his touch. you were certainly more concerned than him for the consequences.

but he had watched you for weeks, rubbing yourself against your chair, nervously biting your lips and nibbling at your pen while he taught the class. he had enough of your subtle grins and teasing smiles.

“i don’t care.”

archeology teacher!kento who gets off on your shy moans that echo through the whole amphitheatre. your hesitant whines are blocked by one of your hands until he grabs your wrist, pulling it down against the desk.

“let me hear you, sweetheart. let the whole school hear you.”

archeology teacher!kento who lowers your pants and underwear before unbuckling his belt and steadying himself right in front of your entrance, a grin on his lips when you ask for him by pulling his tie down.

archeology teacher!kento who mercilessly pounds into you, holding your hands down behind you and bending your body so your back arches against the wooden desk.

you wrapped your legs around him, pushing his weight forward, asking for him deeper, but the sheer size of his member was already enough to completely fill you. whenever he moved, it bruised your tight pussy, completely covering him with your seed.

archeology teacher!kento who places gentle kisses upon your ear and neck despite how greedily he fucks you. your nails dig into the desk to maintain yourself, every time he thrusts in.

archeology teacher!kento who easily but patiently leads you to multiple orgasms, keeping you in his class for more than one hour of overtime.

archeology teacher!kento who lets no part of your body undiscovered, leaving no place for the imagination when you end up completely naked as he eats your pulsating cunt just like you expected he would.

archeology teacher!kento who watches you leave his class for the tenth time, but this time satisfied. you left a delicious imprint on his lips and his hands that he’d think about for the whole weekend. he knew he needed to have you all to himself now and promised he’d ask you out for a proper date next time, hoping you wouldn’t say no to a teacher who had taught you so much already.

© shegetsburned 2024 please do not repost/edit/or claim my writing as your own.

[nereidprinc3ss]

better late than never

in which uni student fem!reader finally shares exactly what she's been worried about with spencer

18+ for pregnancy scare warnings/tags: pregnancy scare, reader doesn't want to be pregnant, age gap (unspecified) a/n: listennn lots of you guys asked for more spence x uni reader... but u didn't specify WHAT u wanted... so now we're fantasizing about pregnancy scares because we're all what?? say it with me!! MENTALLY ILL!!!!

For the fifth time, you have to restart the paragraph you were reading. For the fifth time, it doesn’t make any sense—words strung together like clashing beads on a dancing string, blurred together by the tears you’ve been fighting all day. Anthropology is by far the easiest of the six classes you’re taking this quarter, but suddenly completing this routine assignment feels like scaling a mountain. It is, of course, nothing in comparison to the catalytic source of your immense stress. The thing you’ve been trying to ignore for nearly a week, and as a result, have become more and more obsessive about. 

A flare of rage overwhelms you and you slam your laptop shut. Then as quickly as it appeared, it dissipates, cooling to desolation as you bury your face in your hands with a sob. You hear paper shuffling from the desk where Spencer has been silently working and you try to reign in your emotions, but it’s too late. 

“Hey,” he says gently as he approaches, slowing to a stop in front of your spot on the couch. “What’s going on with you?”

You sniff, quickly brushing the tears away with trembling hands. But your voice is thick and strained when you fruitlessly attempt to lie. 

“Nothing.”

When you refuse to look up at him, he kneels down in front of you. 

“Really? This doesn’t have anything to do with why you’ve been so quiet these past few days?”

Of course, he noticed. You were a fool for thinking he wouldn’t. Finally you break, looking to him for subconscious comfort. And he’s looking up at you so earnestly, with so much genuine concern in those puppy dog eyes, that the waterworks threaten to start up all over again. Your lip quivers. 

“I can’t tell you,” you squeak. 

“That’s a really scary thing for me to hear. Do you understand why?” His voice is calm, carefully grabbing your hand and bringing to his heart. “Because I need to know if something happened to you.”

You shake your head tearfully, looking down at where you’re weakly grasping the front of his shirt. 

“‘s not like that,” comes your reedy whisper. “Nobody hurt me or anything, I just—I don’t want you to get mad at me.”

“I won’t get mad, I won’t,” he promises desperately, “right now I just want to know what I can do to make this better. I hate seeing you like this.”

A shuddering sigh forces its way out of your lungs. You suppose this is the kind of thing you probably should tell your boyfriend about, as petrifying as it may be.  

“I don’t know, I… I’ve just been freaking the fuck out because I’m worried I’m pregnant, and this would be the worst possible timing—like I know I want kids one day but I’m still in college and you’re like a real adult with an adult career and I don’t want to fuck that up for you and I know that even if I am pregnant I have choices but that’s still so scary and… and I don’t know.”

You’re expecting a long pause, punctuated by some berating and bemoaning, but it never comes. Spencer doesn’t miss a beat. 

“Honey, this is exactly the kind of thing you tell me about,” he says, voicing your earlier thoughts. And he doesn’t even sound furious. You glance up, watching his visage swim beyond your teary eyes. “I am not mad. That wouldn’t make any sense. Do you know who’s fault it would be if you accidentally got pregnant?”

“Well—"

“Mine. So if this ever happens again, please don’t keep it to yourself for so long. I won’t be mad at you for something like this, ever.”

“But… you’re not worried?”

He shakes his head slowly, looking utterly unperturbed. 

“I wouldn’t be worried either way. But no, I’m not concerned that you’re pregnant. We’re really safe. The chances of you being pregnant are essentially negligible.”

“But I’m two weeks late.”

“That can happen when you’re taking six upper level classes,” he agrees, swiping your cheek with a thumb. “You’re under a lot of stress. I’m completely unsurprised that your body is reacting to it.”

A weight like a ton of bricks is lifted from your shoulders, but doubt still lingers. 

Spencer sees the hesitation in your eyes. 

“Would it make you feel better to take a test? Just in case?”

You nod gingerly, wrapping your hand around his wrist. He takes it in both of his, kissing the back before dropping them to your lap. 

“Okay. I’ll go get a couple. But I’m confident that you have nothing to worry about, and I’m usually right about these things.”

You take another deep breath, the last of the anxiety floating away with it. He’s usually right about everything. 

“Spence?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, brushing your palm with his thumb and looking at you with so much love in his eyes. 

“Do you maybe feel like doing my homework for me?”

He smiles. 

“Nice try. Get it done and we can go out for dinner, okay?”

“Always worth a shot,” you shrug. 

He laughs, shaking his head as he stands. 

“And the answer will always be no.”

[algae-tm]

PEOPLE, PLACES, THINGS

Max Verstappen x anthropologist! Reader

Author’s note : this smau has a special place in my heart, if you haven’t noticed I’m not Caucasian, but was born and raised in Nigeria and a lot of my university life has been centred around studies of the black diaspora. My masters research is on homosexuality and Afro-syncretic religions, so have been trying to figure out how to incorporate it so thought I’d go full send and thus this was borne.

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peopleplacesthings just posted

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peopleplacesthings: I spent three years (give or take) with the people of the Bahia state in Brasil, researching the afro-syncretic religion of Candomblé. My research paper on the gender roles within Candomblé (how men express masculinity, and the role of women as spiritual leaders) will be published online where everyone will be able to access it. Can’t wait to see where the world takes me next!! 🌎🇧🇷

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yourbsfuser: y/n baby I love you and your big brain, but please take a sabbatical 😭. stay in the UK for a while.

— peopleplacesthings: what’s in it for me? 🤨

— yourbsfuser: seeing your family and friends???

— peopleplacesthings: sorry gotta blast, the world is waiting 🏃🏿‍♀️

user10: your masters research on the linguistic appropriation of AAVE was vital for me completing my dissertation! Thank you so much

— peopleplacesthings: passing down knowledge is the key to preserving culture! I love when I get comments like this, well done my love.

lewishamilton: so you’re free now?

— peopleplacesthings: until my next adventure

— lewishamilton: good to know

— user10: not SIR LEWIS HAMILTON in my old TA’s comment section

— user7: IK 😭 she was a guest lecturer at my uni like one month ago! Really my two worlds colliding 😭😭

— user8: how do they know eachother???

— user9: I’m guessing they must have met one of the times Lewis was in Brazil??

— peopleplacesthings: he is my cousin! he’s much older and way less attractive than me so that’s probs why you couldn’t see the family resemblance🙂🙂

yoursisteruser: 2 back to back research papers… you could use a break from work

— peopleplacesthings: it’s not work if you love what you do 🤗🤗

— user17: 2 research papers??? How old is she?

— user19: she’s actually done 3! One for her masters which was only 15,000 words and then 2 more, her 2nd was for her PhD and she’s published her last two as books. She’s 28 if I’m not mistaken. I’m not a stalker just obsessed with her work!

— user17: oh so she’s SMART smart

— user19: bro she’s DOCTORATE OF ANTHROPOLOGY smart

MESSAGES

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peopleplacesthings: I can check getting papped reading in the park off my bucket list… maybe I should start a book club! Anyways everything is a learning opportunity so I am currently reading Nervous Conditions by Tsitsi Dangarembga. Don’t be so surprised that I read fiction! Nervous Conditions is a valuable case study in cultural anthropology due to its rich exploration of themes related to post-colonial identity, gender, and cultural conflict. If you take my post-colonial anthropology module in September, this will definitely be on the further reading list. Come read with me! 📚 📚

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user1: are we sure this is the woman max is dating…

— user3: I was just wondering that, so out of left field 😭 😭

— user4: I mean what do they even have to talk about? She just lectures him all day?

lewishamilton: how can I take your class if I’m not enrolled in the university?? 🤨🤨

— peopleplacesthings: you can’t! Hope this helps

— user5: jeez she’s so rude…

— user9: who does she think she is????

— peopleplacesthings: Dr. Y/n Y/ln that’s who I know I am

user11: so is anthropology all she talks about, or does she have hobbies…

— peopleplacesthings: I happen to think my field of anthropology; the study of societies, people and culture, is quite interesting. But no I am a person I contain multitudes anthropology is not all I talk about.

user6: not y’all invalidating a woman with a literal doctorate just because she MIGHT be dating your fav… pls touch grass

— user13: that’s what I’m saying! If anything she’s WAY out of Max’s league, hasn’t he only ever read like 2 books?? (liked by danielricciardo)

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peopleplacesthings: We DTR’ed!!

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lewishamilton: DTR?

— peopleplacesthings: Define the Relationship apparently

— lewishamilton: my how the tables have turned, miss I don’t date drivers.

— peopleplacesthings: DR* I don’t date drivers. And what can I say my commitment issues are no match for Max Verstappen

danielricciardo: you’re welcome!

— user4: what could you possible have done

— danielricciardo: I told max to grow some balls that’s what! I’m the architect of this relationship

— peopleplacesthings: you and Lewis can fight over that title

maxverstappen1: WE DTR’ED!!!!

— peopleplacesthings: hell yeah we did!

maxverstappen1: I love you schat ❤️💙

— peopleplacesthings: 🥹 I love you too

you doofus

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maxverstappen1: Did it hurt when you fell from your culture’s dogmatic view of an afterlife?

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peopleplacesthings: I think that’s the sexiest thing anyone has ever said to me

— maxverstappen1: there’s more where that came from

— peopleplacesthings: oh shucks not in public maxie

— danielricciardo: this is the weirdest foreplay I’ve ever witnessed

user14: how did a man that drives in circles manage to bag my anthro professor??

— user16: shouldn’t that be the other way round???

— user14: if you ever attended one of her lectures and saw her in action you would know the answer to that question is absolutely not (liked by maxverstappen1)

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[love-that-we-were-in]

betting on all three for us two

pairing: frat!luke castellan x reader summary: you think you like being a little more friendly and a little less competition with luke castellan this year. a sequel to this fic word count: 3.1k warnings: none

author's note: frat luke my dearly beloved loser son who studies pre-med this is for you you know who you are i love you

1. 

The fall semester comes at you faster than you’d like, this rapid change from a golden summer to the crisp air of being back on campus. You’re rooming with someone from an old anthropology elective you took, Silena finally moving into her sorority house. It should feel weirder, how everything has changed since spring break. 

You take the opportunity to build new habits. Early runs, no caffeine after 2pm. Little things that make the day go a tiny bit faster, building blocks to fit around your class schedule. Silena schedules weekly lunches for the three of you and there’s this gravity to it all that you want to study. 

It had been nice to be home for a few months. Your mom had missed having you there, being able to show you the new flowers she planted, how the lemon tree in the yard is twisting weirdly. Board games and family dinners and friends who never left your town. Being back home was resetting. Being back on campus was restarting.

Lee catches you as you leave the gym, offering to walk you to class if you’re heading in that direction. You smile, telling him that you have a late start and pretend he doesn’t frown when your phone buzzes. He mentions that he’s thinking of starting a study group for one of your classes and you tell him you’ll think about joining. 

While he heads towards the main building, you make your way to the campus coffee shop - caught behind the early risers desperate for something to get them through their first lecture of the day. 

“Can I get a flat white and an iced americano with caramel to go please?” You smile at the girl working the counter, stepping aside to glance at your watch.

You run through your schedule for today, ignoring the text that comes through. You know exactly what it says, the same thing every morning, and you don’t even bother to roll your eyes at this point. 

“I can’t believe you ignored my text,” Luke says when you reach the courtyard between the library and the medical building. “Not even a flame emoji.”

You stop in front of him, drinking in the jeans and sweater combination he’s settled on today. It’s a really nice sweater, dark blue and a little baggy. You wonder how quickly he’d notice it going missing. Probably not as quickly as he’d notice the stupid hat he’s wearing go missing. His backpack leans against the bench, pristine.

“No one uses those except you,” you shake your head, handing him the iced drink. “What time does your lecture start?” 

Luke tells you as if he really needs to. It’s this thing you’ve started doing since the semester began, acting like you don’t know his schedule as well as your own. As if the both of you haven’t fallen into this routine in just a few weeks. Like it’s not a highlight of your day. 

Clarisse thinks it’s adorable. Chris thinks it’s hilarious. You think it’s nice to have someone to share your free time with, beyond whatever else you and Luke have. It had been a fear of yours, when Silena mentioned not sharing a dorm with you, that you would fall to the sidelines. That life would come with these new priorities for everyone and you would only be fourth or fifth on their lists, too cemented in the day-to-day that you’d be forgotten.

Morning coffee with Luke stops that fear. 

“Did Silena tell you about the party on Friday?” 

“I have a study group in the afternoon,” Luke says, swirling his plastic cup around so the ice clinks together. “If I do go, I’m showing up late.” 

“Maybe I’ll keep my eye out for you there, Castellan.” 

He laughs and it’s like summer again. There’s something insane about hearing Luke laugh like this, unbroken and loud, nothing like it had been over the phone while you were back home. 

“You’ve got dinner with Silena and Clarisse tonight, right?” He asks, swinging his bag over one shoulder. You throw your empty cup into the trash can as you both start walking. “Is there any point in asking if you want to come round after?”

You knock his arm with your shoulder, laughing, and, instead of feigning hurt like usual, Luke just takes your hand in his, the skin a little colder than you expect. Gazing down at your linked hands, you bite your lip before sighing. 

“If I’m home before eleven, I’ll consider it.” 

Last year, when you first met him, you thought Luke only got that determined glint in his eyes when he was competing. That it was a sign of an unanticipated thrill. Since then, you’ve learnt that it’s not that at all. It’s this thing that ignites within him, determined and passionate and a little boyish. 

You think it might be one of your favorite things about him.

“I will take that deal.”

2. 

You wish you could say you were a little drunk. At least that way you would have something to blame. As it stands, you’re stone cold sober, maybe a little tired from class but nothing that can really be blamed for the lack of weight your actions seem to have right now. 

The only thing you can blame, and you will, is the boy next to you, completely engrossed in the movie playing. They’d been watching it when you arrived, all settled on the couches and you assume this is something they do regularly, and at any other time you might’ve called it cute. 

Not tonight. Not when you walked in to the discovery that Luke wears glasses and you didn’t know about it. It was something you played off, making a joke and settling into the cushions beside him. In the time since, Chris has left for his date with Clarisse and Charlie has pulled out some work to go through in the corner of the room. 

“What’s up?” Luke asks when he realizes you’ve hardly moved in ten minutes, barely even breathing. And it’s the worst possible thing he could do, glance down through the frames with that small smile you’ve gotten used to and curls loose. 

“Nothing’s up,” you let your eyes trail back to the screen. “This is a very cute tradition you guys have going on.” 

Charlie lets out a little laugh from across the room. You feel the way Luke exhales against the side of your face. You think you’re able to go back to pretending everything is normal, make a joke and enjoy the rest of the movie. The second you feel Luke’s fingertips on the skin of your knee, gentle and warm, you know you can’t. 

“You’re swerving,” he whispers, throwing a quick glance at Charlie to see if he can hear but the other boy is engrossed in his work. “Talk to me.” 

“It’s nothing,” you bite the inside of your cheek when he nods encouragingly, incredibly aware of the patterns he’s tracing on your skin. “I just think it’s interesting that you’d choose to wear a hat all the time when the glasses are right there.” 

“What?”

His hand stills and you wait. You wait and you stare at the shape of his jaw and you chuckle when it finally clicks, his adam’s apple shifting as he swallows the conclusion down. “Are you saying you like my glasses?” 

You don’t like how uneven this all feels. Whenever you’ve been with Luke so far, there’s been this mutual balance that you’ve grown used to. Even before now, back when you were locked in silly competitions, you did it on even footing, the expectation that everything meant nothing and you wouldn’t be affected. 

This, the way Luke grins around the realization, hand moving to rest on your thigh, is different. It’s heavier. It’s a loss after a winning streak and you’re kind of obsessed with the way it could drag you down. 

“I just think that hat is stupid.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Luke nods and you know, even if he doesn’t do it outright, he’s laughing. He’s categorizing the information you’ve just given him, placing it where it belongs in his mind, and it’s going to bite you in the ass. “Tell me more.” 

“Luke,” you mutter, gritting your teeth. His fingertips brush against the hem of your shorts and, when you glare at him for it, he just shrugs. You throw a glance over in Charlie’s direction. Still nothing. “Are you insane?” 

He tilts his head like he’s considering the question carefully. If Charlie were to look over, you know he’d assume you were locked in a debate about something silly - a staple of you and Luke - and it wouldn’t matter. He wouldn’t know for a second that you were holding onto Luke’s wrist, his hand itching to move just a little to the left. 

You sigh and the boy beside you raises an eyebrow. You both know that you’ve lost this round. 

When you press your lips to his bicep as the film credits roll, warm even through the fabric of his shirt, you mumble, “I really like your glasses.” 

3.

You aren’t used to watching things from a crowd. You’re used to focusing on yourself, on your team - not watching from a distance, surrounded by people who are there purely for enjoyment. There’s no winning from the stands. 

Luke doesn’t know you’re here. You’d sent him a text that morning wishing him luck, arranging to meet him when his debate was over. You hadn’t bothered to message him when your afternoon class got canceled, choosing instead to race across campus and find a seat in the dim auditorium they’re using. 

There isn’t the crackle of energy you get from swimming, or from watching Luke during track sessions. It’s less intense, for sure, a balance between the fire you know exists within him when he’s competing and the confidence he has in his own intelligence. You’ve argued with Luke, stupid things that neither of you care to take too seriously, and this is just the next stage of that. 

He’s got his glasses on, you note, when the debate gets underway. He’s wearing his lucky green polo, even if he’d never personally call it that, and he’s switched his smartwatch out for an analogue one. The cheap biro you’re used to seeing him use has been replaced by a fancy silver pen that he still taps against his thigh while thinking. He’s sitting straighter than usual, shoulders back. 

It’s almost like meeting him for the first time, focused and confident and sharp at the edges. 

You’re kind of obsessed with it. 

An hour and a winning handshake later, you make your way through the small crowd leaving to find Luke in conversation with one of his teammates. She smiles as you wrap an arm around his waist from behind, the slight tension still lingering in his bones melting away when he realizes it’s you. 

“What are you doing here?” He says, turning enough that he’s actually facing you now. The girl waves you both goodbye. “I thought you had class.” 

“Professor Chase had to cancel. His daughter got sent home from school with a fever.” 

Luke nods, pressing his lips to the top of your head quickly. “You didn’t have to come to my debate.” 

In the few months you’ve known Luke, you’ve learnt more about him than you expected to. You know from summer that Connecticut means looking after his sick mother, that he’s hoping to introduce some new charity events to ksig, that he used to go to a summer camp growing up. You know that his dad never showed up for anything and that he sits in the stands of all of your swim meets regardless of whether it cuts into his study time or not.

More than all of that, you know that the way he’s gazing at you now, a cross between awe and something deeper, is going to drive you crazy one day. You hope he can read the same expression on your face. 

“Thank you for coming,” he says when everyone is finally dismissed, an arm thrown across your shoulders as you make your way out of the building. You loop a finger around one of his, just because you want to. “It means a lot.”

“I told you I would,” and you had, months ago, staring at Luke’s bedroom ceiling, back when you were still caught in the casualness of it all. When Luke was just someone you pretended you weren’t trying to bump into at parties. You’d told him that you would show up for him if you ever got the chance. He’d rolled his eyes, throwing a blanket over you both and told you to go to sleep. He’d drifted off with his nose pressed against your neck. “I keep my word, Castellan.” 

“I know.”

In the evening light of campus, you think it might mean something more. Buried under the timing and the bitter wind until it’s a promise only you and Luke could translate. Asking him about where he wants to go for dinner, you like that no one else could understand the depth of it. 

+1.

Silena catches your attention as you enter the kitchen, grinning wildly and explaining her concept for tonight. Drew gave her permission to throw this week’s party, something themed and fun and it’s something she’s so proud of that you can’t help but grin back at her energy. 

“Even Charlie came,” she tells you excitedly, handing you a drink. “I feel like tonight is going to be it.” 

In all the years you’ve known her, she’s been counting down to it. You don’t exactly understand the fundamentals of what it is, if it’s a real thing or something she can just sense intrinsically. There have been moments where she’s thought of it before, mentioned it offhandedly before shaking her head - as if knowing she was wrong. 

“What even is it?” You ask and, for the first time, she breathes deeply instead of shrugging it off. 

“The beginning of the end,” she says and that doesn’t exactly explain anything. “Everything is about to change.” 

You still don’t really get it, but she’s as confident in this as she is about her clothes, so you nod like you understand. She sends you away not long after that, turning her attention to the new group that’s just walked through the doorway, mentioning that you need to be in the basement in about an hour and you just accept your fate, moving into the next room and falling into conversation with Rachel. 

*

Luke slips into the basement just as Silena starts yelling for everyone to do so, catching your eye across the room and waving. When you’re all instructed to sit down in a circle, you wonder exactly what Silena has planned for tonight. When she places a near empty bottle down in the center of you all, you laugh. 

“Are we actually playing spin the bottle?” Chris asks, prompting a murmured chorus of agreement from everyone else in the room. Silena frowns at him. 

“Wanna bet he ends up getting the most into it?” Luke whispers in your ear and you raise an eyebrow at him. “Loser has to buy the coffee tomorrow morning.” 

“You’re on,” you bump your fist to his to seal the deal. “I think he’s gonna get bored by round 3.” 

“Only boring people get bored of this game. It’s about drive.” 

“It’s about power?” Luke lets out a laugh and Silena turns her glare to you. “Sorry.”

She starts to explain the rules of the game, as if you’re all twelve again, and you bite your lip harder with every comment Luke makes under his breath. It’s a little mean, a little stupid, and you wish you were fifteen again, playing a proper game of spin the bottle for the first time.

Nothing much happens for the first few rounds, Chris starting to grumble the longer the game goes on. Luke clicks his tongue when you point it out, cursing his best friend like this was the worst thing that could’ve happened to him. 

Lee spins and it’s like cosmic interference when the bottle stops between you and Luke, the two of you glancing at each other and then back towards Lee. 

“Should I spin it again?” Lee asks when no one says anything. Silena shakes her head and says, “You can choose or we can vote if that makes you more comfortable.” 

“Please let us vote,” Chris shouts, animated and you narrow your eyes at him, ignoring the smug smile Luke gives you. “I’ll never ask you for anything ever again.” 

Lee glances between you both again, at where your knee rests against Luke’s thigh and the beer you’ve been sharing for the past twenty minutes sits between you. “It might be better to vote.” 

“Sure,” Silena smiles before silencing you all. “Everyone that wants Lee to kiss Luke, raise your hands.” 

You raise your hand and Luke mumbles beside you, flicking your leg and you poke him in return. Anything to avoid kissing Lee Fletcher after two years of avoiding it. 

“That is an overwhelming majority,” Silena says and you know, just by the way her eyes slide over to you, that she didn’t even bother to actually count. “Lee, you may now kiss Luke.” 

There’s this moment where you think Lee is going to just leave but instead he stares at the boy next to you, the relaxed set to his jaw, the annoying baseball cap on his head, how he’s so unbothered by it all. You watch as something clicks in his mind, you really want to know what it is. 

Whatever it was, it makes him grab the bottle again, ignoring Silena’s protests. It lands on the girl from Luke’s debate team and she straightens her back ever so slightly. 

“Silena,” Lee says as he leans towards the girl. “I’m not going to kiss Luke or his girlfriend.”

“Damn straight,” Luke mumbles, grabbing your hand from your lap and holding it in his instead. It’s stupid and it really doesn’t matter to either of you, you know that, but there’s this way he says it - almost like it’s the worst thing he could’ve imagined - and it settles in your gut with the beer you’ve been drinking. “Me or my girlfriend.”

“I’d really like to meet her,” you say, laughing when he huffs and pulls his hat down on your head. When you push the visor up to see him properly, all rosy cheeks and compacted curls, you think you might have found it. Whatever it is.

Based on the way Luke’s nose scrunches and his eyes crinkle, you think he understands that too. 

[cheolism]

tilf: teacher i'd like to fuck

➳ former student! hoshi x professor! reader ➳ summary: the day after graduation, soonyoung visits your office to tell you about his secret feelings. ➳ wc is approx 6k ➳ warnings/tags: professor/former student relationship, use of the "professor" title sexually, hoshi leaning into the idea of the two of you fucking while he was your student. office sex, desk sex, pull-out method, fingering and oral (f rec.), confessions and relationship discussion. talk of having feelings for a student, for a teacher. marks and bruises, pussy slapping, crying during sex, hoshi is obsessed with you. good luck. lots of dirty talk from hoshi. mentions of breeding/mounting. reader wears panties, long skirt and blouse, but no gender is explicitly mentioned. panty sniffing, name/identity porn (iykyk). metaphors to sex being paradise, heavenly, etc. ➳ MDNI. if you don't like this sort of thing, do not read. ➳ author's note: no one asked for this but i got this idea and got. cough. fixated on it. pls enjoy!!

soonyoung had been looking forward to this day for over a year.

a lot of college students tend to look forward to their graduation. they were ready to take on the world, ready to become fully independent adults who no longer were totally reliant on the generosity of family members and the government. soonyoung, however, looked forward to his graduation day for another reason.

you.

you were, in soonyoung's eyes, the most perfect a person could be. you always smiled at him when he greeted you, always let him talk out his ideas without interrupting him. he adored the sheepish, coyish look you got whenever he brought you your favorite drink from the university's coffee shop.

but he also loved how you looked. he loved it when you wore more casual looks, trading in your business slacks for jeans. he loved when you would turn, showing off the shape of your thighs and ass and how your jeans seemed to hug the shape of you so tightly it was as if they were a second skin. he loved it when you wore that white blouse with the lace around the collar, how it showed the top of the valley between your tits.

but more than just being attracted to you physically, soonyoung loved spending time with you. he tried to be the first person to tell you hello every morning, tried to come up with reasons as to why he needed to meet you after class, as to why he needed to stop by your office for extra help.

because, unfortunately, you were his anthropology professor.

a year ago he had needed a social science credit, and so had signed up for a random class. it was, as it turned out, the best decision soonyoung ever made. because on the first day he walked into the classroom and he saw you.

he remembered how beautiful you looked on that first day. smiling brightly, hair falling around your face angelically. you had asked his name and he had eagerly offered it, so much so that chan, who was taking the class with him, laughed at him later.

"soonyoung's got a crush on the professor," chan accused that night. seungkwan had given soonyoung a disapproving glare, which cause soonyoung to gasp in offense.

"i'm not going to actually do anything," soonyoung said. "i don't want to get professor in trouble, anyways. i'll wait until i graduate like a good person would."

"a good person wouldn't get the hots for their teacher," seungkwan snapped back. but then again, seungkwan had been the one to go out and help soonyoung in picking out the flowers he would give to you, so obviously seungkwan wasn't too disapproving.

that first semester passed too quickly in soonyoung's opinion. he hated it. he hated how the more he seemed to adore you, the more his heart began to swell and warm at the thought of you, the faster time went. nonetheless, regardless of his affections, the semester ended and you took soonyoung aside.

"i know we're not supposed to do this," you had said, voice soft. you reached into your bag and pulled out a chocolate bar, offering it to soonyoung with wide eyes. "but i really enjoyed having you in class, soonyoung. you always seemed to brighten my day."

that afternoon soonyoung signed up for a different one of your classes the following semester.

and so a year had passed with soonyoung admiring you from afar, signing up for your classes at the end of each semester and trying to hide the way you made his heart flutter and his dick swell.

("we really didn't need to know that," wonwoo had whined, pushing his glasses up as he rubbed at his face in distress. "just keep your horny thoughts to yourself, thanks.")

but! it was now the day after graduation, which meant soonyoung was free from both the chains of the education system and the restraints that kept him from telling you of his feelings.

he was so excited that he nearly tripped going up the stairs of the social science building. someone called after him but soonyoung just waved them on, gripping the bouquet a little tighter and trying to regulate his breathing.

it was fine, he thought. either you would let him whisk you off your feet into an eternity of love and passion or you'd politely smile at him and turn him down.

it was fine.

it was all fine.

the halls were cool as he walked down them, nearly abandoned. most of the students were at their living spaces, packing them up and saying goodbyes to their friends. professors and faculty were busy at their desks, doing whatever it was that professors and faculty did when they weren't instructing.

and soonyoung was here, on his way to confess to you.

he wondered what he should say, exactly. he hadn't given it much thought, but at the same time he had. he had thought enough about how you would react to his words, to his heartfelt confession, but hadn't really thought about what those words would be.

maybe he should've asked jihoon to help him write you a song.

but then he was outside of your office door, heart hammering in his ears so loudly that he couldn't even think, and soonyoung swallowed down all of his panic and stress and raised his fist to the door.

"coming!" you called from the other side, and soonyoung felt himself smile. he couldn't help it, really. the sound of your voice was like fuel to him, fueling the flames of his heart.

wait -- that was good. maybe that's what he should tell you.

you opened the door, eyes immediately finding his. you smiled, your entire face brightening, and fuck if soonyoung wasn't in love then he would have been just by your grin.

"soonyoung!" you said, leaning against your door. "you're early! your email said you would be here closer to one."

"ah," he said, searching his mind for an excuse. in the end, all he said was something about being excited. you accepted his words nonetheless with a soft grin, nodding along.

your eyes flicked down to the flowers. soonyoung gasped, and then shoved out his hands. "these -- these are for you!"

"thank you," you returned, smiling still. you reached out for the flowers and took them, and soonyoung felt as if he was going to go crazy when he could literally feel the graze of your fingers against his. "they're beautiful, soonyoung."

"i remember you saying they were your favorite flowers," he said. you stepped aside, waving him inside of your office. soonyoung ducked in, immediately feeling himself relax once he was in your space. he had been in your office numerous times, enough to where he felt as if he knew it just as well as you did. "i hope i was right."

"you were," you murmured, looking down at the blossoms. soonyoung's heart fluttered like the wings of a hummingbird as you slowly lifted the flowers to your nose, sniffing.

"do they smell good?"

"well," you began, eyes flicking up to his. "they smell like flowers."

soonyoung laughed, feeling himself relax even more. he watched as you left the door, letting it slowly creak shut behind you. you went to your desk, gently laying the bouquet beside your computer. "thank you for bringing these for me, soonyoung. it was awfully sweet of you. then again," you said, your smile turning coyish, "you've been awfully sweet to me this entire time. bringing me drinks in the morning, walking me to my car at night."

soonyoung shrugged. your smile and eyes were doing something to him. "it's how a lady should be treated."

"ah," you said, biting down on your lip. he couldn't bring his eyes from your mouth, how your teeth played with it. "and that's what i've been this whole time, hm? a lady, not a professor."

soonyoung felt his face fall slightly. "wait -- i don't -- i mean -- yes, you're a lady, but you're also --"

you laughed then, loudly and brightly. soonyoung felt his panic melt away as you leaned into his space, placing a gentle hand on his forearm. "it's all right, soonyoung. i know what you meant."

you began moving back and away, and soonyoung just couldn't help but reach out, grabbing your hand before you could retract it all the way. he squeezed your hand between both of his, feeling his heart rise up into his throat. "wait. i need to tell you something."

you blinked, surprised. "okay?"

"i -- you probably get this all the time," he said, laughing sheepishly. "probably get students telling you this every other week. but i want you to know i'm not like the others, you know? i don't want something that lasts just a semester -- that's why i waited, yeah? and not just for fun -- because i think we can have fun, but i don't want it to be just for fun. i think we can have something, the two of us --"

"what?" you gasped, breath leaving you in a rush. soonyoung glanced up at your face. your eyes were wide, mouth hanging open. "soonyoung, what are you talking about?"

soonyoung laughed weakly and awkwardly, loosening his grip on your hands. "uh. about my feelings for you?"

"your feelings for me," you echoed, brows furrowed as you tried to work out what he was saying. "which are -- what? just to be clear."

soonyoung sucked in a breath. "uh. i thought the flowers would've like, you know, done the talking for me."

you blinked at him, still confused. "the flowers? what talking, soonyoung? why did you bring me flowers if not as -- do you -- soonyoung?"

you gasped out his name as if he had done something scandalous which, all things considered, he had. a former student who waited a day after graduating to chase after his professor? what was he thinking?

"i --" he choked, and then soonyoung completely retracted from you. he made himself small, bringing his shoulders in and tucking his hands in his pockets. "i uh, you know. like you."

"you have to be very clear with me, soonyoung," you said. you moved towards him. not enough to be in his space, but enough to make his heart flutter again. "like me how."

"like -- romantically."

you echoed him, nodding slightly. then you brought your hands together, rubbing at your knuckles. "okay. so -- soonyoung --"

"wait," he called out, feeling his nerves spike. "if you're going to reject me, just like -- kick me in the ass and get me out, okay? don't try to sugarcoat it. i can take it. i'm a grown man."

"i'm not going to reject you, soonyoung," you said. "i just. i need to say something, okay? i just need you to listen to me."

soonyoung nodded, his heart speeding up in his chest. you weren't rejecting him. you were giving him a chance. "okay. i'll be quiet. promise."

you threw him a fond look, and then you schooled your face into a much more serious look. "okay. i need you to know that i'm -- i'm attracted to you, soonyoung. i have been ever since you helped me carry in those boxes last semester."

soonyoung mentally applauded himself for wearing a tank top that day. it was hot, the sun beating down on him. you had been going back and forth from your old office to this one, having been moved. and of course soonyoung had to help, doing all the heavy lifting so you wouldn't have to lift a pretty muscle.

"and i do think of you," you carried on, "i do. i -- it's stupid, it's reckless. but i think of you all the time. i nearly got you a tiger stuffie the other day just because you said they were your favorite animal, but that wouldn't be appropriate for a professor to get their student, would it?"

soonyoung opened his mouth. he would've loved a stuffed tiger from you!

but then you shot him a look, and he obediently quieted back down. "not done talking, soonyoung. as i was saying: i do think of you. i think of you a lot. when you wear those tank tops during class i can't think. and when you smile and your eyes crinkle, or when you get that serious look in your eyes? you're -- you're attractive, soonyoung. i'd have to be a fool to not see that.

"but, as attracted as i am to you, as much of a soft spot i have," you carried on, hands still fidgeting. "i think you might have a false perception of me. i'm -- you've only ever encountered me, been with me, in a professional teacher-student setting. you don't know me, soonyoung, not truly, and not as a person, as an individual."

soonyoung couldn't keep quiet. he took a quick step across the room, into your space, his hands swooping down to yours and holding them. "i want to! that's what dating is for, baby! i get to know you as a person, you get to know me. i learn about your likes and dislikes as a person and you forget about all the stupid grammar errors i made in essays! it's perfect!"

"and i am -- i was -- your professor, soonyoung," you murmured. you didn't take your hands from his, which he took as a positive. you shifted your hands so your fingers were laced with his, thumbs softly rubbing at his skin. "people aren't going to look too favorably on that, soonyoung. what about your parents."

he shrugged. "i'll tell them the truth. i kept my feelings to myself until i graduated from uni. there's nothing wrong with this, professor."

you shot him a look. he retracted, repeating the last sentence softly, tacking on your name at the end. it felt sweet, the taste of your name, felt right for him to use it.

he sighed softly. soonyoung moved closer, letting the tip of his nose pressed against yours. you let out a soft gasp and he couldn't help but smile. "i'm a grown man, y/n. let me get to know you, you get to know me. and then decide. let's have a chance before we throw it all away."

you breathed against him, eyes fluttering shut. he felt you nod against his head, and then you were pressing close, and who was soonyoung to protest? he was a man, weak with love, and so he took you into his arms and pressed his nose to your hairline, breathing you in, soaking in your embrace.

he had dreamed of this for over a year. a year he had kept his feelings away from you, not wanting to plague you with them. it was a burden he kept for a year, not wanting to make you uncomfortable with them.

but now --

soonyoung pulled away. you made a soft little questioning noise, and lifted your eyes to meet his. you were so soft, eyes sweet and mouth parted, pressed to him and, in that moment, his.

soonyoung lifted his hand and cupped the back of your neck, fingertips sinking into your hair. he guided your face to his, and when your lips met he swore it was destiny. for a moment the two of you just stilled, mouths pressed together in an innocent kiss.

but then you murmured his name, and soonyoung was hooked. he began pressing desperate, quick kisses to your lips, each movement of his mouth against yours slick. he kissed you with a year's worth of feelings bubbling over, one arm around your waist and the other on your neck, molding your body to his, letting him own you.

eventually you whimpered, breaking your mouth from his. his eyes caught sight of the string of saliva that connected your lips to his and he couldn't help but chase after it, press another wet kiss to your lower lip and suck.

"soonyoung," you mumbled, lashes fluttering. he continued to press quick kisses to your mouth, never letting up and not letting you speak. your mouth was addicting, he swore. he'd wanted to kiss you for forever, ever since that day you had whipped cream from your hot chocolate still on the bottom of your lip as you taught class, but he'd waited. he'd been a good boy and waited, and now he didn't have to and he wondered if that made the taste of your mouth and spit all the sweeter.

"'m here," he returned, voice just as slow. he pressed another kiss to the corner of your mouth, and then he was trailing his lips over your face. he was mapping out the rise of your cheeks, the slope of your nose with his mouth. "i'm here, baby."

"my name," you argued weakly. both of your hands went to his sleeves, gripping at his t-shirt, and if his dick wasn't interested before it definitely was now. he loved how you held him, as if you were just as desperate as he was, as if you had battled with your feelings this entire time just as much as he had. "say my name, soonyoung. please?"

he whispered your name, letting it tumble from his lips like a prayer. and then soonyoung was chanting it like he was a monk and you were his god, his mouth hot against your skin, reverent, worshiping.

"soon -- soonyoung," you moaned, pulling back. your mouth was red from his kisses, your eyes wide and pupils dilated. you were absolutely gorgeous. "soonyoung, you said you wanted to have fun, yeah?"

and then he was kissing you again, mouth like a storm against yours. he shoved his tongue into your mouth, sliding against yours. his hand went beneath your blouse, hiking it up and allowing him to glide his hand against your skin, grabbing at your stomach and waist. soonyoung walked you back until you were pressed against your desk, and then he detached his mouth from yours.

soonyoung made quick work of your blouse, fingers deftly pushing out the buttons. he let your blouse hang from your shoulders as his hands explored your chest, pressing against your breasts and grabbing at your hips. his mouth traveled to your neck, drawing out a loud gasp from you, and you tilted your head back, allowing him to make a mess of your throat.

he sucked and bit at your neck, marking it as his. he pressed heavy kisses to your skin, his hands quick against your body. your hands went to his shoulders, pulling at him, his name like a blessing as you chanted it.

then soonyoung pulled from you. he lifted you onto your desk, one of his hands forcing your long skirt up and up and up, baring your calves and then your knees and then your beautiful thighs.

"can i take your panties off?" he asked, breathless. he couldn't help but drink in your skin, eyes traveling over your thighs and stomach. "wanna stick my fingers in your cunt, professor."

you whimpered. "my name, soonyoung."

"sorry," he breathed, ducking to attach his mouth to your neck once again. he spoke between every kiss. "let me take your panties off, yeah? i've been dying to fuck you for months, baby. please? i'll be so good for you. promise."

you pressed your eyes shut, and then you were nodding. you lifted yourself off of the desk just enough to allow soonyoung to pull your panties (plain and practical, a pretty lilac cotton) down. he got them off of you and then, unable to help himself, lifted them up to his mouth and breathed.

you squealed, reaching out and smacking his arm. soonyoung ignored you for a moment, letting his eyes slide shut as he breathed in your heady scent. he was surrounded in you, breathing you in and out, your smell like heaven.

"soonyoung!" you protested, reaching for him again. you pulled at his arms and he let you, dropping your panties to the ground. "that's dirty!"

he laughed, helping you back on top of your desk. "i plan to do dirtier things than just smelling your wet panties, baby," he declared. you grinned, embarrassed and enthused at the same time. soonyoung couldn't help but press his mouth to yours again, languidly moving his lips against yours.

while he thoroughly kissed you, his hands went to your thighs. for a few moments all he did was massage your flesh, thumb digging in and fingers splayed. he felt the little hairs of your thighs, dipped his fingers in and brushed against your soft inner thighs. you were soft and plush beneath him, and he quickly found himself addicted to running his hands over your skin, brushing over your small hairs.

you whined at the back of your throat, and then you were opening your thighs for him. you moved your mouth from his with a slick noise, and, with a bashful look, grabbed his hand. soonyoung's breath left him as you guided his hand to your cunt. you gasped as his fingers brushed over your pussy, fingers tightening around his wrist.

soonyoung took over from there. he couldn't help but stare at your cunt, his fingers gently pressing against your cunt. "so fucking pretty," he mumbled, thumb and forefinger gently coming together on your mound and pinching ever-so-slightly. "even down here is pretty, professor."

you let out a small moan. the desk creaked beneath you as you moved back, hands bracing behind you. soonyoung couldn't help but take you in; the way your blouse hung from your torso, the hickies and bites on your neck and collar. you looked, to him, like paradise.

soonyoung went back to your cunt. he dipped his thumb between your lips, sucking in a heavy breath as your warmth trapped him. you were wet, and he couldn't help but bring his thumb up to his mouth and suck at your juices, groaning.

"soonyoung," you hissed. "that's  -- that's dirty!"

he laughed, and tucked his hand back to your cunt. his mouth went to yours, and he kissed you, hoping you could taste yourself on his tongue.

soonyoung's fingers dipped into your pussy. he took his time with your cunt and pleasure, unhurried. he stroked his hand down your cunt, gently pressed his forefingers into your quivering hole. your moans and gasps were music to his ears, and he played you beautifully. when he slipped two of his fingers into your cunt your mouth dropped open, eyes squeezing shut, and he couldn't help but wish he had a phone to take a picture of you.

your cunt was welcoming, eagerly guiding his fingers deeper and deeper, as if they were his cock and you were eager to be bred. he kept his mouth on your skin as he worked his fingers in you, spreading out your walls, gliding in and out, in and out, coaxing more wetness from your cunt.

he avoided your core, that special spot towards the front of your body. soonyoung took care to brush against it, a passing graze of his finger. he wouldn't let you cum, not yet.

"please," you whined after the nth time of him avoiding your core. "please, soonyoung. you're -- you're being mean."

he hummed, ducking his head and pressing his mouth to the top of your bra. "i don't think i am, sweet professor," he returned, voice sweet. "you're being so good for me, baby. whining and moaning, grinding into my hand. is it so bad that i don't want it to end? that i want you to keep fucking my fingers in you, that i want to keep hearing you beg?"

you furrowed your brows, looking up at him. your eyes were slightly wet with pent-up irritation, lips pressed in a firm line. despite your annoyance with soonyoung, when he drew his hands from your cunt your hips followed, eager for him to thrust them back in.

"please," you begged once more, sucking in your bottom lip. "please, soonyoung. i just -- i've waited so long, i want you to fuck me."

like a dog given a treat, soonyoung perked up. he grinned. he shifted his hand inside of you, drawing out a low moan. his thumb moved into your cunt, sliding between your pussy lips. "you've waited so long for me to fuck you," he cooed, voice sickly sweet, "tell me, professor. how long?"

you whined again, but when soonyoung refused to move, you relented. "the -- that day you helped me with the boxes. i felt so guilty, soonyoung. you were my student, and there i was ogling you like you were some -- some treat."

he laughed, using his free hand to brush back some hair that was beginning to stick to your forehead from sweat. "i'm happy you were so captivated by me," he softly murmured, thumb brushing over your lips. "thought i was a treat, did you? a special little treat for a good girl? a delicious little dessert for a little professor."

you shook your head. "no!"

soonyoung chuckled again. he worked his fingers in and out of you slowly, the sound of your juices lewd even to his ears -- but he loved it all the same. "poor little me," he taunted, "the unsuspecting student. just trying to help out my favorite teacher, just trying to be a good boy. and there you were, eyeing me like some piece of candy."

you whimpered. "i didn't -- i wouldn't have done anything."

soonyoung clicked his tongue. he moved his face to yours, pressing his forehead against yours. his breath was hot as he spoke. "you should've," he mumbled, voice low. "should've done something, professor. should've taken me to your office, should've locked the door and told me to fuck you. should've said you would've raised my grade if i fucked you well enough -- i would've done it, too.

"would've fucked you so good," he carried on, his words sinful. "would've fucked you on the floor, would've fucked your cute little cunt so good you would've cried."

he picked up the pace of his fingers thrusting inside of you, unable to keep himself from growing excited at the thought of you taking advantage of him. it never would've happened; you were too logical, too aware of your status above him. you never would've made a move on soonyoung as long as he was your student, and he would bet that if he hadn't come to your office and told you his feelings you would've bottled them up and set them aside, not wanting to burden a former student of yours.

not that you were ever a burden to him.

but, despite knowing all of this, soonyoung's mind continued to conjure up old fantasies, ones that plagued him at horrible moments and made his cock swell. "i thought about fucking you during class, you know. especially when you wore your skirts, professor. thought about pressing you over that desk in the front with everyone watching, jealous that it was me fucking our cute little teacher. would've fucked you so good and made you cry, too."

you let out a dry sob, and when his thumb grinded down on your clit, you came. your cunt tightened around his fingers, gripping them as if they were his cock instead. you fell back against the desk, arms collapsing. soonyoung hurried to wrap an arm around you, his fingers thrusting into you still, working you through your orgasm.

when he finally pulled his hand from your cunt, once you had begun shuddering and whining, his hand was soaked. he splayed his fingers, watching as thick strings of your juices and orgasm traveled, sliding down his fingers.

soonyoung let out a soft groan, and then he sucked his fingers into his mouth. he couldn't help but squeeze his eyes shut at your taste, loving how much you were. your cunt was fragrant, filling the air and his senses, and your taste was so delightfully bitter and sweet that he couldn't help but slide his tongue around his fingers, searching for more and more.

you whined, pulling at his hand. soonyoung opened his eyes, letting his fingers fall from his mouth with a pop. his heart thundered in his chest as you moved his hand to your mouth, pressing them into your warm heat and suckling.

"fuck," he groaned, voice going hoarse. your eyes slid shut as you ran your tongue over his digits, tasting him. "you --"

you pulled his fingers from your mouth. "me what?"

he laughed, and then his hands were on your body again. he maneuvered you roughly, pulling you off of the desk and before him. soonyoung turned you around, and with one hand began pressing at your back, guiding you to lay your front along your desk. with his other hand -- the one you had had in your mouth -- he pulled at your skirt again, bunching the fabric around your middle.

"gonna fuck you hard," he rambled, mind unfiltered at the repeating image of you sucking on his fingers. "gonna fuck you into the desk, gonna make you fucking cry, professor."

you whined, and then you were pressing your ass back to him. he couldn't help but pinch at the plumpness before him, drawing out a startled shriek from your mouth. soonyoung held your waist with one hand while he scrambled at his pants and underwear with his other hand. once his dick was free, red and angry from neglect, he used his other hand to guide it into your warm, drenched cunt.

soonyoung hissed as the tip of his cock caught against your hole, biting down onto his lip. he was going to fuck you. "can't believe i'm gonna shove my cock into your pussy," he murmured aimlessly, his words without any true intent (despite what that, his filthy words had your cunt fluttering and clenching, heart hammering). "fucking dreamed of this, baby. now i getta fuck your cute cunt, get to fucking breed you --"

his cock slowly pushes into you, and soonyoung thinks he's in heaven. he has to be. your warmth surrounds him, so tight that he swears he can't breathe. soonyoung continues to push into you as he rambles on and on, one of his hands on your hip while the other slides into your hair, twisting it around his fingers.

"fucking feels so good, baby," he breathed, biting down on his lip. "clenching around my dick like you wanna be bred. is that it? my little professor wants to be bred by their student? be fucked over a desk by a student. gonna own your cunt, professor, gonna fuck it and cream all over it and make it mine."

you sobbed, and then he was sliding all the way in. it felt so good, felt like heaven was in your cunt. you were warm and tight, and when he gave a little thrust into you your pussy clenched around him.

he pushed your body against the desk as he slowly dragged his cock out of your pussy. "fuck, baby. my cock is drenched in your juices. got my cock all wet like a good little professor, babe."

"soon --" you began, but then he fucked into you roughly, breaking you off. you moaned loudly, hands scrambling against your desk. you knocked over a mug of pens and markers -- a mug he recognized as one another student got you for your birthday.

a surge of heat rushed through him. it wasn't the heat he got from watching you teach, from watching your ass as you moved back and forth in front of the board. it was the heat he got watching that student present that mug to you like it was a fucking diamond ring or some shit.

soonyoung gritted his teeth, and then he was laying on top of you, pressing you against the desk. you sobbed at the shift in position, his dick thrusting into you sharply. soonyoung bit at your shoulder, voice muffled as he spoke into your skin. "wonder what the other students would think," he said, "seeing me mount you and breed you. seeing me fuck you into your desk, seeing you cry for my cock all desperate."

"soonyoung," you whined, turning your face. you had a tear caught on your lashes, lips red from where you had bitten at them. you were beautiful. you were perfect. "don't want 'em to see me," you babbled, "want only you."

a flush of pride traveled through him. soonyoung grinned, and he lifted himself off of you. both of his hands went to your hips, and then he was practically impaling you on his cock, shoving into you so roughly that the desk began rattling.

"that's fucking right," he hissed. your ass bounced from every thrust, the slap of his thighs against your ass beautiful. "only i getta see you like this, only i getta fuck your tight little pussy, professor. getta see you cry for my cock."

soonyoung reached down, feeling along your cunt where his cock fed into you. he slipped his fingers along your pussy until he was brushing along your clit. you cried out as he began roughly pressing at your clit, working furiously at you, demanding your release.

"fuck me," you sobbed, burying your face into your desk. "fuck me, soonyoung, fuck me, fuck me --"

soonyoung cursed, and then he was slipping out of your pussy. with rough hands he turned you back around, your knees on either side of him, chest heaving. soonyoung couldn't help but watch your breasts as you breathed heavily, watched them move. he rubbed at his dick, absolutely soaked and glistening with your pussy juices, drinking in the feast that was you.

he came on your body, long, thick spurts of spunk. you cried out softly as he painted you with his cream, covering your stomach and breasts.

soonyoung let his dick flop once he was done, and then he was moving you once again. he grabbed your knees and forced them up, so your cunt was visible to him. soonyoung couldn't help but whisper another curse at the sight of your drenched pussy.

and then he was diving in, his mouth slopping along your cunt. he moaned at the taste of your juices, sucking them in and drinking you like a parched man. soonyoung slurped at your clit, inhaling harshly as he licked along it feverishly, your taste a dessert he'd never give up.

soonyoung's tongue found your clit, and then he was lapping at it eagerly. you were moaning loudly, and when he pulled away to slap his hand over your clit your entire body shivered, legs going tight around his head.

soonyoung focused on your clit and pussy. he lapped at it, drank at it; he slapped your pussy, the sting countered by his eager tongue.

when you came you sobbed, legs tight around his head. he ate you through it, his heart swelling with warmth as your cunt gushed around him, juices staining his skin.

you chanted his name between sobs, and soonyoung wished he had his phone out so he could record it and set it as his ringtone.

when he finally pulled away, you were whining. tears stained your face, and you looked thoroughly debauched. you reached out for him all the same, and soonyoung took you into his arms gladly.

he lowered himself to the floor, happy to keep you on his lap. you curled into him, tucking your face into his neck. both of you were clothed, but no amount of clothes could conceal your dirty acts. your stomach was painted from his spunk, your blouse hanging around your elbows. your skirt was bunched around your middle, and the longer you sat on his lap the more of your juices and his cum leaked down onto his pants, dirtying them further.

the two of you were a mess. his hair was sticking to his face, and his fingers smelled like cunt. your neck was decorated in severe bites and hickeys, and your eyes were red from your tears.

but still, soonyoung couldn't help but think it was perfect.

[wraithdance]

https://www.tumblr.com/wraithdance/765961917651140608/i-really-liked-your-explanation-of-the-whole?source=share

I am really bad at articulating my thoughts but I think about this a lot as someone who hopes to 1- major in neuroscience (i'm 18, going to uni next year) and 2- is trans. I know being trans is not the same thing at all as POC experiences with fic, very cognizant of that, but more to the point where I relate to the aspect of not being able to get over the like mental wall of seeing "neutral" readers as me? I don't know what my brain is doing when i read certain fics but sometimes i can't do it.

I feel like I should close read some of my favorite fic and least favorite fic to see if there are triggers I didn't notice on the first read. does that make sense or seem similar to what you experience? Again I know it's not the same thing, but like i am so curious as to what cis straight white people put in their fic that makes it so obvious that they're cis straight white.

I am sorry if this bothers you, really not my intentions, I am obviously a future brain nerd and i can't stop thinking about this

Congratulations fellow Nerd! You've activated my interest in Race theory and fandom writing from an academic perspective!

Writing reflects life and to answer this question properly, I have to talk about life shit to catch you up to speed, (this should help if you take a sociology or cultural anthropology class lmao) So, Welcome to:

Calvary yaps: Sociology & Intersectionality in fandom writing 101!

Disclaimer: I'm just a random bitch on the internet who loves English and the ridiculousness of social hierarchies, this will be referencing American social constructs and in groups only, with a focus on my experience as a Black American woman who reads a shit ton of books. Don't fight me if you hate my explanation, I will simply not respond.

Read my house rules before sending me an ask, I'm just being a dumb ass rn and word vomiting my interests, so pls i beg no follow up questions unless I say I'm open to em later.

Definitions to know:

Socialization: the act of preparing individuals to participate in society by learned social norms taught in ones family or social settings like school/friend groups. (one can be socialized in gender, race, cultural practices, etc.)

Social Hierarchies: systems of social organization in which some individuals enjoy a higher social status than others (in my opinion this is a lingering safety measure from lizard brain cavemen hunter/gatherer days)

Intersectionality: A term coined by Kimberlé Crenshaw; The process of acknowledging the unique parallels a marginalized person experiences when they have more than one marginalization (ie: race, class, gender, sexuality, ability, size, etc.)

Matriarchal society: Social groups/family structures that center female figures as representatives of authority.

Implicit Bias: Unintentional bias a person may have towards a group or individual based on learned stereotypes, prejudices, perceptions based on another's background or state of being.

first, yes anon you are making sense! So the main question:

'What cis straight white people put in their fic that makes it so obvious that they're cis straight white?'

I've been mulling this question around in my head for a few days and tried to figure out how to articulate this without going into depth in Sociological theory, but I can't! So here we are lmao, this is long as fuck so TLDR here.

I've talked to a LOT of Black and PoC people over the last months because I thought I was the only one who felt strange or could tell immediately when a writer was white, despite doing the best job they could to be neutral.

Every person I spoke to agreed they could tell right away even if we don't share similar racial backgrounds.

The answer I've come up with to why that is, is because white people are socialized (taught by society/their parents how to behave) in a way many black and PoC people are not, so their reader characters will often act in a way PoC people have learned not to, so it flags for many of us.

I plan to answer another question about this at a later date so an example is with shit like:

An over deference to hyper masculine male characters (for PoC cultures like certain Black/Latine groups that are often matriarchal in nature and don’t ascribe to as many traditional gender roles, this is a flag), lack of interpersonal/familial connection, over meekness, no challenging of external factors so things just HAPPEN to the reader and lack of awareness of surroundings to name a few. 

A lot of the language of the irl world places white cis people from Western countries as the default and everyone else as others. In which, PoC people have learned to navigate the world very carefully with a hyper-focus on what will potentially bring them harm/scrutiny/ostracism especially in white dominant spaces.

That extends to when we have down time while reading or partaking in media smfh.

I'm sure you've had to learn the same as a trans person navigating cis spaces and it's the same with any marginalization! If you are disabled you have an awareness of able bodied people and their expectations, same with being fat amongst skinny people, etc.

The more marginalizations you have, the louder the rules of social hierarchies become. Which is why many marginalized ppl stick close to those who 'get it' in their social groups as an act of safety in numbers. (Many of us attempt to have strong family connection/harmony because of this)

So referring to your comment about being trans is not the same thing at all as POC experiences with fic, it is when you are a Black or PoC trans person! My angel face @/buttdumplin has spoken a lot about that as a Mexican transman reading fics by cis people!

(Please for the love of God no one come to me explaining how marginalized they are so they shouldn't be lumped in with the white ppl PoC are cognizant of, I will check myself into a psych ward)

So what does that gotta do with reading fics?

No matter what anyone thinks, it is damn near impossible to not frame your writing from the perspective of your lived experiences. It's why even when I try my hardest to make my characters not sound Black, they will always read that way because I have been Black all of my life!

And it doesn't just happen with race, go on tiktok and search male authors writing women. (or here's another article lmao)

Also ask a Southerner how they know someone has never been to the South and don't know shit about our accents when they write Graves. There are linguistic tells that flag off and why we flame actors who pick up southern accents for their roles.

(They chew on that terrible goddamn Appalachian or Louisiana Accent not realizing Southern accents come in many fonts.)

So when I read a fic about Kyle Garrick from a non black person, I can tell the writer is non black by linguistic implications, the things they emphasize about him and what they don't. It doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy reading fics from non black people, I can just tell!

And sometimes that means I, and other PoC's associate the Reader as a white OC while reading fics.

For example, all black people are not monolithic because of our cultural and regional experiences, but many of us share common threads. That's usually family involvement, colloquialisms, that stupid fucking cookie tin our elders put sewing supplies in...

Other non Black PoC people might share similar cultural practices, so when I'm reading fics from say a latina, I will cock my head and go wait.... are you...? And surely enough, they are a person of color. 

But even while reading from a non black PoC, I have to tread carefully because anti black sentiment exists in many cultures, which is why you'll hear me say Black and PoC/Non black people interchangeably.

It’s how the conversation of Implicit bias comes up, because unknowingly non white characters can sometimes be written with a hyper focus that makes them seem inhumanly one characteristic or with little to no background while the other characters are fully fleshed out.

like the character of color is just a stand in to move the plot around white characters forward. 

So all that to say, without sometimes meaning to white writers will always sound off to me in a way that my brain can pick up on in the most minuscule ways because my awareness of my blackness/otherness has been drilled in from birth and reinforced by social norms.

I can even tell immediately if a white person has been around only white spaces their whole life with the jokes they tell lol.

In the grand scheme of things the race of the writer is most important to me when something jarring comes up that slaps me away from the experience, it explains so much of the disconnect.

Every marginalized person has a threshold for what they can ignore as a ‘trigger’ before they’re ejected from reader inserts, mine is usually the association with racial historical happenings, certain gender dynamics, etc.

It's why I mention crying like a little bitch when I read my friend Jess's (Kyletogaz) TF 141 Hair series, Dragon’s (Dragonnarative-writes) Transferrable Skills, and even Xavi's (Buttdumplin) Piercing fic.

Reading those fics felt like safety and familiarity. It was a moment where I realized I could drop the mental load I had no idea I was carrying, where I was trying to prepare myself for potential emotional damage and just READ.

It's also why as a Black person who fucks with kink and sex work it's been so touch and go when navigating dark fics/kink fics/fics about Sex workers.

Because there are different rules of engagement non white kinksters have to be aware of and that leads to a point on the collective vs. Individual experience as a PoC in kink, that I’ll eventually make a post about at some point or another. Maybe…

So yeah I’m tired of yapping. I hope this long shit was enough of an explanation!! Thanks to my friends Kiko, Jules, Xavi and Folded for yapping with me so I could articulate this better!!

[artdcnaldson]

ummm patrick’s little sister being fucked while she’s on the phone to patrick who’s wondering where she is and that their parents are worried bc she hasn’t been picking up their calls or replying to their texts. what they don’t know is that she hasn’t stopped being fucked by art since she lost her virginity to him - he won’t leave her alone, any spare second he’s in her dorm, fucking her on the bed, floor, her roommates bed. he won’t admit that he wants to basically live inside her. keep her forever. no one else can ever have her. no one can go near her, or else he wouldn’t ever touch her again. she’d be ruined.

Auuuuuurrrr <3

It’s so fucking messy.

Really, you should have run the other way when Art left you like that. You were so vulnerable, just overcome with so many different emotions and intense feelings all at once and you needed him to be a fucking decent human being and hold you. One night, that’s all you asked. You’d done so much begging, you’d done so much wanting, but for once you actually needed something.

Art knows your class schedule— he’s waiting by your door by the time you get back from class, smacking cinnamon gum, holding your camera. “I wanted to return this.”

You swallow, accept it into your hands. “Thanks.” He watches you swallow, nod towards the door. “Did you want to…”

“Yeah, I can stay for a bit.” He’s got you pinned face down on your unmade bed within five minutes, bullies his cock inside of your pussy until you’re mewling and whining beneath him. He makes sure to pull out when he cums— spilling onto your back.

It’s like that every day, sometimes more than once. He stops finding bullshit reasons to stop by after the third time he ends up burying himself inside of you. He’ll just text you, omw, and you’re ready when he’s at your door. You miss a few classes, or a lot of classes. You’re aching and sore between your thighs, sensitive to the touch, but you take it, you fucking love that he wants you so much.

Your phone buzzes against your bedside table while Art drills into your cunt, and you aimlessly grab for it, trying to silence it. Art grabs it, reads the screen, and grins. “Answer it. I’ll be good.”

He’s cocky now that he’s had you— that he’s claimed every fucking hole you have to offer. If Patrick finds out at this point he’s fucked, but at least he’d gotten all of you.

“Hi, Pat,” you say into the phone. Your legs are wrapped around his hips, heels digging into his ass to hold him where you need him. “Mmm… Mhmm, just busy.” You bite down on your lip as Art grinds into you just a bit, so the soft thatch of curls at his base rubs against your clit. “I—I thought I called Mom and told her—“ Your eyes flutter shut, you take a shuddery breath. “Yeah, just a, uh, group project. I thought she knew. Anyways, Pat I’ve gotta go I’m in a- a study group, I’ll call you in fifteen? Okay, love you, bye—“

You huff in annoyance, flip so Art’s pinned to your bed and you’re on top. He smiles up at you, runs a hand from your hips up to grab at your tits. “What did Pat want?” He asks, raising a brow.

You sigh, breath shuddery as you begin rocking yourself against him— all slow and deep, basically grinding on him. You hadn’t learned how to ride properly, but he’d teach you. He had time. “I was supposed to visit home,” you hum. “Mom’s— fuck— she’s worried I haven’t been checking in as much.” You grin down at him. “But as you can see I’m very, very busy.”

Art plants his feet, fucks up into your sweet little cunt. You call Patrick back far sooner than fifteen minutes.

At a frat party, Art drinks too much, sees you talking with a guy from your Anthropology course. He decks the guy, stumbles, ends up getting his ass beat. His face is bloody from a. Split lip and a cut eyebrow when you take him into the bathroom. His mouth tastes like blood when you kiss him. He bends you over the sink, fucks you like a man possessed.

“No one else guests to fucking touch you,” he says, his breath hot against your ear. “The second someone else does, it’s over.”

You moan, nodding all sweet and pretty. All that you heard was that you’re all his, that he wants you exclusively, no one else.

[studentessa-socit]

wen • 13/11/24

spent basically the whole day in the library studing mexican anthropology's history (additionally to our syllabus we have to study the history of an european anthropology and an extra-european one of our choice, I choose spanish anthropology and mexican anthropology)

I planned to take a yoga class but it's cancelled because the instructor is sick (so it's cozy night)

[mr-writerman]

Danganronpa Boys and a Reserve Course Reader ✰

category: short read, friends to lovers, lighthearted, fluff, genderneutral reader, pre-relationship a/n: FIRST HEADCANON POST <3 wanted to start off small, so take this short lil thing while I work on my bigger projects :D characters: Byakuya Togami, Gundham Tanaka, Gonta Gokuhara, Korekiyo Shinguji

Byakuya doesn’t see you any differently than his other peers, even though you’re a Reserve Course student. He sees himself as better than all of those around him, due to his family’s status, so you’re already down there, with everyone else—in his eyes.

Byakuya is always very intrigued with your Reserve Course gossip because it’s always a lot messier than what happens between the Main Course students. It’s a bit elitist, but at least he listens to you talk, I guess?

Sometimes, he’ll go to the Reserve Course Building and pick you up for lunch. Every time he does, all of your peers are always shocked and crowd around him. Whenever he’s in the building, he always has a very revolted look on his face. Jesus Christ—he’s a pretentious prick. He’s lucky he’s cute.

Gundham sees you no differently from everyone else. He sees himself as a god, and everyone else is nothing but a weak moral. While you’d expect someone with his personality to be rude to someone like you, he’s actually really nice.

He hangs out with you a lot and claims he’s trying to “mold you into a perfect underling, for Tanaka, the Forbidden One,” because you’re impressionable since you don’t have a talent. He says this, but you’re pretty sure he just enjoys hanging out with you.

You’re one of the few people he allows to accompany his Four Dark Devas. He claims it’s because you aren’t “a high enough power level” to bring any harm to them, but you know it’s a sign of how much he trusts you.

• Gonta loves having friends and doesn’t care that you aren’t an Ultimate. He’s never understood why some people consider Reserve Course students less than Ultimates. It’s a gentlemanly thing to treat everyone equally, after all! Doesn’t everyone want to be a gentleman?

• He loves sitting with you during lunch. He always makes it a point to sit on the grass, with you, so he can talk about the bugs that pass you guys. He’s so passionate and knowledgeable about insects, it’s adorable.

• This man was NOT lying when he said he wanted to be a gentleman. Gonta will walk you to school, into the Reserve Course building, and to your class. He even makes you wait for him to get to your classroom, for lunch, so he can walk with you. He’s so kind and gentle to you, it’s adorable.

Korekiyo really enjoys being around you, because he enjoys observing people, and he never gets a chance to observe people who aren’t Ultimates. Whenever you talk to him, you can feel his eyes burning holes into you, absorbing your every move. If he wasn’t hot, it’d be weird.

You enjoy hearing him talk about his many travels and anthropological field research trips because you never really get to travel. He loves seeing how impressed you are by his job, so he’ll sometimes drop small parts of stories to pique your interest. He doesn’t even realize that he’s trying to impress you.

He enjoys hearing you talk about your day, even though it always sounds a bit boring, compared to his. No matter how small the events of your day were, or how mundane your classes were, he loves hearing you speak about it.

[wordstome]

Endless Nights - Price x Reader

I started thinking about Sandman again because of Barry Sloane as Destruction of the Endless and went back to reread everything Destruction is in, including his Endless Nights story. Now I can't stop thinking about Price x archaeologist reader...

1.7k, please forgive any archaeological or military errors I only took like 1 anthropology class two years ago

You've been on all sorts of digs, but this has got to be one of the most chaotic. Your team's been sent to this peninsula to unearth some recently discovered artifacts. They think it's remnants of a little-known indigenous population, and it's your job to dig everything up safely.

Only problem is, there's a military base on top of it.

"Maybe it won't be so bad. Military personnel are good at following orders," your coworker says while you're unpacking your tools.

You snort. "Yeah, but they're equally good at putting holes in things and blowing things up. I don't think they have a lot of respect for fragile ancient artifacts."

"Ouch," your coworker says, wincing and putting a hand to his chest in a mock expression of pain. "No love for our nation's bravest?" You roll your eyes at him.

"It's not like that. I'm just saying we need to be vigilant about keeping them away from work sites. Take no shit, as it were."

"With the military? Good luck, I guess."

It's not that you dislike or even distrust every single person who's ever been in the military, it's just that you don't have much faith in their ability to hold respect for your work. Archaeology is quiet, meticulous work, a far cry from gunfights and kicking doors in. You're going to be here for quite a while, and if you don't establish boundaries right out of the gate, you'll be fighting an uphill battle for the rest of the dig.

That's what you're telling yourself as you sit in a gray, featureless meeting room. You and your supervisor are supposed to be meeting with a John Price, a British SAS captain. Kate Laswell, an American CIA agent, told you he's the proxy you'll be cooperating with during the dig.

You're prepared for all sorts of men to walk through that door: a balding middle-aged man with a power trip, or perhaps some blustering meathead whose voice no longer goes lower than a shout. Instead, the man that walks through the door and shakes your supervisor's hand leaves you staring, just barely keeping it together enough so you're not drooling with your jaw on the floor.

He's hot.

Your head fills with static as he turns to you and hits you with possibly the most endearing smile you've ever seen on a man. It's not just that he's somehow pulling off the beard and mutton chops look, or that his rough British accent is making you feel some type of way down there. It's the way he walks, like it's heavy—

"Pleased to meet you," Price says, shaking your hand. His hand engulfs yours as he gives it a brief squeeze. It takes your every last brain cell to answer with something other than Please tell me you're not wearing a wedding ring because you're actually single.

The meeting consists of him and your supervisor laying ground rules while you nod mutely and try not to audibly moan when Price adjusts himself in his seat, his hips moving in a way that is definitely going to undo you if you think about it too hard.

You walk out of the meeting having barely survived, but confident that the whole ordeal was a one-time thing. He's just who you complain to if one of the soldiers stumbles into a work site and smashes one of the artifacts, after all. You'll never have to see him.

Except you do. Every day, multiple times a day, he's there. He's obviously got his own shit to do of course, but it's like you can't get away from him: walk into a tent, and he's there chatting to one of your coworkers. Eat a meal, and he's there talking to a squad of soldiers and clapping someone on the back with a hearty laugh. Turn a corner, and he's there to full-body slam into you—

"Pardon me, sweetheart. Didn't see ya there." You're ashamed to say you don't do much more than stare at him with what must be the most pathetic petrified doe eyes as he gives you a pat on the shoulder and goes on his merry way. That was like running into a solid brick wall...

It would be fine if it were just you having a silly little unreciprocated crush. You've had those before and survived. But what starts to get to you is the little things: the way his eyes flick to you when you enter his vicinity, accompanied by a nod. The way his eyes linger on you for a moment too long before looking away. The brief touches against your shoulders or hips when he's maneuvering past you in a small space.

Frankly, it's driving you crazy, and it's starting to show.

"If you dust that piece any harder, you're going to damage it," your coworker scolds you. You all but jump backwards from the piece you're working on. You'd been so absorbed in mentally dissecting his body language the last time you were in the same room as him that you'd brushed the piece far beyond the point of being clean.

This won't do. You have to do something about this.

Mercifully, you've been given your own individual room to sleep in, which is quite the luxury after a career full of sleeping in dusty tents or sharing bunks with coworkers. It also gives you enough privacy to...take care of business, as it were.

Obviously, you didn't bring any "tools of the trade" that weren't useful for your work, so it's just you and your hand past 11 pm. You feel beyond perverted, slipping a hand between your thighs as you think of Captain Price.

You can still feel the weight of his hands on your body, brief though they were, and picture what else those touches could be doing. Your own voice slips out in a moan as you imagine his, low and grumbling yet soothing while he pushes you into the sheets, that endearing smile turned devious and devastatingly sexy as he spreads you open for him with those hands of his and collects your wetness on his fingers...

Your heart jumps out of your chest as you hear a knock at the door. You all but fall out of bed, scrambling to pull on enough clothing to be decent. "J-just a minute!" you call, inwardly cursing yourself for how breathless you must sound.

You answer the door, flustered and a mess, to see the subject of all your fantasies staring there. For a split second, you're petrified by the possibility of Price having heard your desperate whines and whimpers and knocking on your door to politely ask you to quit cranking it in his barracks.

"Apologies, sweetheart. Hope I didn't wake you up?" His eyes are so striking, so sincere, that you know he could have woken you up from the best sleep of your life and you'd still be unable to be mad at him.

"No no, I was...no need to worry. What can I do for you?" you say, relief flooding through you. Of course he didn't hear you. He's not a total pervert like you.

"Well love, I...it's probably best if you come take a look for yourself," Price says, looking almost sheepish. Your heart sinks a little—this cannot be good.

He leads you out of the barracks towards one of the job sites, directing you towards a table with several excavated artifacts laid out. "One of my men thought it'd be wise to steal his mate's torch, had him stumbling around in the dark out here. He says he bumped one of these tables and heard something fall on the ground, and I figured you should know right away instead of waiting 'til the morning and having all sorts of people tramping through here."

You give him a brief grateful look before crouching down with a flashlight. After a bit of looking, you find the missing object: a thick shard of pottery, lying forlornly on its side by a table leg.

You reach forward to pick it up, but the captain has spotted it as well, resulting in his hand landing on top of yours over the pottery. For a brief, dizzying second, his hand lays heavy and warm over yours, and you could have sworn that his fingers had shifted as if to take your hand in his.

In a blink, the moment's over, and the captain's hand shoots back to his side. Trying not to make an utter fool of yourself, you push yourself back up to a standing position, examining the pottery shard with a discerning eye.

"Looks like no harm was done," you say to him with a smile. "Mayday averted."

"Good to hear. I'll make sure the knuckleheads who did this receive a thorough dressin' down for this incident." You're grateful that the warmth rushing to your face at his stern tone can't be seen in the dark as you carefully set the pottery back in its place on the table.

"I'll walk you back to the barracks. Can't have my favorite archaeologist stumblin' their way around themselves, now can I?" You nod mutely, unable to look at him for much longer than a few stolen glances.

The two of you are quiet all the way back to your door, where you stand in the hallway, fidgeting with your hands and feeling the urge to say something, anything. "Thank you," you blurt out. "For not waiting until tomorrow morning. There's no telling what foot traffic would have done before we noticed the missing piece."

"Your work's important, love. And while you're here, you're our guests. It'd be rude to not be taking care of your work, wouldn't it?" You nod shyly, basking in the warmth of his attention.

You're frozen to the spot as he leans in to whisper directly in your ear, his lips brushing against it. "Next time you're relievin' a bit of tension, feel free to stop by my quarters, yeah? I think you'll find there's a lot more I can take care of than just your work."

Your eyes go as wide as saucers as he winks at you. Before you can even process what just happened, he's already walking away from you down the hall.

Feeling like you've just been handed some delicious and forbidden secret, you whirl around to shut yourself into your room, sliding down with your back against the door to sit on the floor. Did that truly just happen? Are you hallucinating? Or had you fallen asleep by accident and you're really just having some beautiful, delusional dream?

It doesn't feel like a dream when you realize you're soaking wet.

God, I cannot wait until Barry Sloane's Destruction promo images drop. For reference, these are the posters we got for season 1:

To be very honest, I wrote this like a possessed woman in the span of like an hour. I don't think there's going to be a part 2 unless you guys really get me going with some new ideas 😅

Also, I don't have a tag list (because I write almost exclusively for one particular Austrian), but I will tag my beloved @danibee33, and @ceilidho, as thanks for giving me Barry Sloane brainworms.

[forbidding-souda]

Heyoooooo! Before requesting anything, may I say that your writing is truly AWESOME!! Everything fits the character so well aaa I adore it!!! Keep up the amazing work!!!

Can you plz do some head cannons for Korekiyo, Ibuki and Kazuichi being roommates with their S/O in a small dorm? I think it'd be a cute scenario (sorry if it's a bit much :'] )

Shinguuji Korekiyo, Ibuki Mioda, and Kazuichi Souda living with their S/O in a small dorm

just bullet points for this one because i'm a litttllleee head empty. ALSO TY FOR THE COMPLIMENT IT MEANS THE WORLD!!!!!

i am highly qualified to write this. Bruh I have lived in three different dorm buildings bc I did a swap since my first roommate was homophobic LOLZ. The second dorm I lived in was a corner room so we had a lot of room compared to the others gg but the first dorm i was in was TINY as if it wasn't 1.7k a month like dude come on.

I'm an english major and a child development major btw hmu I'm so cool and awesome. Join the discord to see me post about the funny things my english professor puts on canvas LMFAO.

I added in a bit of just college stuff.

-Mod Souda

Shinguuji Korekiyo

❤ His desk is so full of trinkets that he can hardly use it. Probably just studies in his bed.

❤ He'll gift you some and clutter your side of the room, too.

❤ Lights candles even though they're not allowed.

❤ Incense too.

❤ But he has a good sense of personal space and he keeps to himself. Even when the two of you are dating, he understands the difference between his side of the room and your side of the room.

❤ However, you can sneak into his bed :3 he wouldn't mind.

❤ Just don't sleep on his hair plz he leaves that shit sprawled out.

❤ No bc you probably have his loose hair everyone on the carpet swear to god.

❤ Anthropology major obvi.

❤ Takes academics very seriously!!!

❤ Will just walk around in long sleeves regardless of the weather.

❤ If you're the type of person to study and not go to the dining commons then he'll eat there and then bring you a to-go box.

❤ Definitely keeps sake in his mini fridge.

❤ Isn't on the snap story.

❤ Ask before you use his stuff because he's probably gonna start tweaking if he notices something out of place.

❤ He does not like showering in those dorm showers. He'll probably go to the gym or something.

❤ Probably uses a computer bag instead of a backpack.

.

Kazuichi Souda

❤ Your stuff is his stuff now.

❤ Pushes your beds together. (LMFAOOO)

❤ Mechanical engineering major perhaps. Ngl I only know two of them and idk what they be learning but it sounds about right.

❤ Never does his laundry on time. He leaves it in the dryer.

❤ He doesn't clean for the RA checks either.

❤ And he definitely doesn't care about privacy when it comes to changing. He's just gonna get naked in front of you fr.

❤ He gets doordash a lot.

❤ Will wait for you after class. Or he might have the audacity to just crash one of your lectures.

❤ Walks around the dorm in his underwear.

❤ I'd like to imagine he brought a mirror in the room so he can add the braids in his hair in private awwwww.

❤ Sharpens his teeth in the other bathroom tho gg.

❤ You can spell his cologne from your bed.

❤ Keeps his textbooks on the floor near his bed but the dorm is so small you almost trip over them.

❤ Doesn't take out the trash either.

❤ Uses the campus gym all the time.

❤ If he's not in the dorm he's either at class or hanging out in the gym.

❤ If you do yoga then you can easily convince him to do yoga with you.

❤ His fits are probably firrreeee. But I imagine he wears the same shoes every day.

.

Ibuki Mioda

❤ Will ask to keep things on your side of the room.

❤ You will be in class and then come back to her sleeping in your bed.

❤ Ibuki plz stop dying your hair in the public sink please you're staining the sink PLEASE.

❤ Doesn't even raise her hand in class she just starts talking. Which ik is normal but she like . will just start talking.

❤ Music major? Or is that too obvious. Could be pop culture too. I'm leaning more towards pop culture.

❤ Goes on long rants about like 2300 about what she did in her classes.

❤ She talks as she studies. Is she even studying? You can't tell.

❤ Study date except it's her talking the entire time with Canvas open but not looking at anything.

❤ Probably leaves her pajamas on the floor when she changes in the morning. You can just put them back on her bed for her.

❤ Like Shinguuji, she will also just have her loose hairs everywhere.

❤ She is a bit of a pervert and is like "you can change in front of me :) it's okay :) you can change in front of me :)" (pleading).

❤ Is going to use your body wash without telling you.

❤ Probably plays her music hella loud and the RA will have to knock bc of complaints LMFAO.

❤ ^ Also rents a vaccuum at 3AM and uses it.

❤ Probably gets opps bc of this ^

❤ If she wears a school uniform in Danganronpa then I'm gonna headcanon that she wears merch of the college.

[yasmeensh]

Book rant? Anthropology, apes, and racism discussion.

I started reading a book titled "Bonobo Handshake" by Vanessa Woods. I picked it up because a) I want to learn more about bonobos since my knowledge of them is minimal. b) the author had interacted with bonobos in person so it's an interesting perspective to read. c) the book had positive reviews.

I was not expecting the author to start off telling us about the 'discovery' of bonobos in this way.

W-what do you mean, in Belgium? The author makes it clear that bonobos live in Congo and she gives us a few examples of local bonobo lore. Meaning, people in Congo know the bonobos very well. Way to go to give a colonizer the credit??? wtf. In this perspective, she is letting us know THAT was the moment when Bonobos entered western science, which is true. But I was really hoping the author would give it a more holistic view than this, but it seems she really believes in this??? And let me tell you, from what I am picking up between the lines, she ONLY accepts western science. Here is an example:

This is the page that confuses me immensely. I don't know if she is trying to come off as sarcastic or not. She sets out for us that Takayoshi Kano is the star of Bonobo research, but in the next paragraph says there is no one studying Bonobos. "there was never a Jane Goodall or Dian Fossey for bonobos." UHM NO? YOU JUST SAID THERE WAS???

[highlighting and writing over a picture of the page (32) since it's a library book and I can't write on it.]

She says Japanese researchers are responsible for all we know on Bonobos, but then starts talking about de Waal's zoo discoveries in detail, and they seem pretty minor compared to Kano's work with wild bonobos. She did point out that scientists don't take de waal's observations seriously because it's from a zoo, but she doesn't remedy that by telling us if it can be supported by Kano's work or not when compared. Kano is ignored. He does have one book available in English, so it's not like we can't ever learn about what he observed. you said western mainstream media don't want to listen to a man who only spoke Japanese??? UHM. You are too??? Why did you jump to de waal? If it's a book about bonobos, then please give Kano a little spotlight and tell about his research. (I actually want to read Kano's book now but I can't find a borrowable copy of it. It's a complicated long loop to get one. But it's possible T-T!!!!)

I very much dislike her tone in 'oh it's the Japanese that tell us about bonobo'. It is as if no one is actually researching them at all. They are 'foreign' so it doesn't count. Meanwhile, if it's a white person's discovery, it is humanity's. But if it's someone else theeennnn well we are not sure if it's actually real :/ Not until a white person observes this can we really put this into humanity's archive of knowledge. Otherwise, whatever they learnt is not very important or worth talking about.

I'm not gonna drop the book, because it does get me thinking about stuff and that's what I read books for. I guess it reminds me of University days, of how irritated I get when we are assigned a problematic reading to pick apart and present to class. I hope I'm not picking this apart too much 😭 I'm not sure if I'm enraged and reading too much into it. I might be totally wrong. idk... I think I need to join an anthropology book club to have people to talk with about this. Only way for now is to share on the internet and maybe a discussion starts. Want to see what others think of this (especially if they read the book).

[popatochisssp]

Would it be too much to ask what kind of jobs the new skeles might have since you already shared bram would be a groundskeeper at a cemetery?

Looks like I never officially did this one for Wave 2, just Wave 1 over here.

So, while we’re at it, let's do 2 and 3!

Ash (Undergloom Sans): He’s semi-unemployed, or self-employed depending on how you look at it. He busks, playing his trombone out on the street and accepting donations from anyone who feels so inclined. He likes playing music and the idea of brightening peoples’ days in the middle of their commute, so the money doesn’t really matter to him. Sometimes he picks up small gigs at local venues, mostly by word of mouth, and eventually he breaks into the tutoring scene—teaching his favorite instrument to young aspiring musicians who find the same joy in it that he does.

Yrus (Undergloom Papyrus): He works as a professor at the local community college, teaching anthropology. He’s passionate about the subject and can’t think of anything he’d rather do than share it with a classroom of humans who probably have no idea how interesting they really are. If only one student walked away from his class with a new appreciation for what humanity’s all about then he’s fulfilled—but he tends to send a lot more away with that than just one, since he’s a very popular, friendly, and accessible teacher.

Brick (Horrorfell Sans): He’s self-employed, knitting blankets at home and selling them online. He doesn’t need a job at all, between the Queen and his brother, money’s not an issue, but he’d go crazy if he didn’t have something to do all day, and nobody wants to see what he looks like when he goes crazy. He takes commissions often, but other times he just makes things according to whatever he’s feeling and what color yarn he has handy and sells to whoever feels like buying it.

King (Horrorfell Papyrus): He works as a physical therapist. He more or less taught himself to walk again after losing his leg, and a second time after getting a replacement, so he very personally understands the need that exists for people who are injured and want to get back to their normal life—but maybe lack the discipline, the knowledge, or the tools to take that journey solo. He’s hard on his patients and sadistically merciless, but his success rate in terms of mobility recovered is very high and any complaints after the fact are begrudging at worst.

Merc (Horrorswap Sans): He’s a home baker, making cakes and small pastries for a small but growing client base. He likes the freedom of getting to pursue his passions seriously and to be his own boss, set his own hours, screen his own clients, et cetera. He puts a lot of time and care into what he makes, both in terms of flavor and decoration, and finds nothing quite so satisfying as a repeat customer or a glowing review and recommendation to someone new.

Ell (Horrorswap Papyrus): Freelance programming is what he does for cash. It was something he could both learn how to do and actually do remotely, without the need for more than the bare minimum of in-person contact. He likes problem-solving, and complaining about the problem-solving, and the field is pretty much always in demand so if he’s bored of certain kinds of jobs, or sick of the person giving him the jobs, he can jump ship at any time and be a contractor someplace else.

Pitch (Horrorswapfell Sans): He’s a boxer, more amateur than pro so he doesn’t make a ton doing it, at least not consistently, but he likes fighting and draws in a decent crowd by being a bit of a spectacle (a blind skeleton in the ring) so the entertainment value is worth something. Aside from that, eventually, he fills in for his brother as a combination business partner/agent/accountant, helping him get jobs and keep clients and manage the money he makes doing so.

Nemo (Horrorswapfell Papyrus): He’s unemployed for a long while, but ultimately breaks into professional photography, with a specialty in travel photographs. He likes taking pictures and getting to see the world in the process, and it helps that it’s a family business so he and his brother have pretty much full control over what jobs he takes and for how much. He doesn’t really concern himself with the money numbers, though, he just likes filling out his portfolio with gorgeous locales all around the world.

Sunny (Gastertale Sans): He does a lot of odd jobs, all over the place, generally (things that are considered) unskilled labor—bussing tables, janitorial work, desk clerking, that kind of thing. He doesn’t like the thought of getting too stuck into any one thing and being unable to try something else out later if it doesn’t work out, and there’s something to be said for the satisfaction of being closely connected to the results of your labor. Sometime down the line he will end up sticking in one career, as a dealer for a casino, because it combines his social, charming nature with his sharp eye and quick hands, but until then he’s happy to bounce around.

Aster (Gastertale Papyrus): He’s a bookkeeper at a nondescript company. He’s organized and thorough with record-keeping and double-checking data, and he likes putting those skills to use to make sure his employer’s finances and transactions all balance out at the end of the day. Some might find it boring work and he could almost certainly qualify for a much more ‘prestigious’ job doing something else, but he’s satisfied having a job that doesn’t require all of his effort and brainpower, so he can save some of that for his personal life and private interests.

Spectr (Transcendtale Sans): He’s a nomad, a wanderer, he has no job. He’s a robot in the shape of a monster—ostensibly still a monster, even so—in a world full of humans that as yet believe monsters don’t exist, so even if he wanted a job, getting one would be logistically difficult. Luckily, he feels no special need to be gainfully employed and just spends his time wandering around and taking in the world. If he needs something, he’ll either just take it or use one of his brother’s accounts to pay for it.

PapAIrus (Transcendtale Papyrus): He’s a performer, a disc jockey who mixes, makes, and plays music to crowds at clubs, raves, and discos, anywhere he’s welcome. He takes advantage of the perception of his holographic form as an artist’s gimmick, like Daft Punk, Hatsune Miku, dead musicians projected onto stages to play posthumously… In his defense, that last one is sort of exactly what he is, except he didn’t really start making music until after he died. Still, he has fun doing it and adores the fame he’s steadily gaining as a popular, cutting-edge technology music act.

Xanth (Ascendswap Sans): He does aura readings for people. For those interested to know, he shares his perception of their colors and the flow of energy in and around them, and just generally describes the sense he gets about a person. What he does is really more of a soul read than an aura read, so a lot of the color meanings and terminology he uses contrast with the kind of readings his clients may get from humans who practice something a little bit different. Still, he’s earnest in his desire to help people understand themselves and their energies and emotions, so he gets a lot of recommendations and repeat clientele who trust he’s the real deal.

Piper (Ascendswap Papyrus): He works as an event planner, organizing gatherings, arranging vendors, booking venues, the whole nine. He has a great reputation for making things go smoothly and always seems to be able to talk out bumps and snags before they ever become a major problem. He also maintains great relationships with people in the industry and delights in having connections just about everywhere in case he needs to call on a favor to make something happen for a client. He's got the magic touch and the silver (gold) tongue that makes everything fall into place just so.

Carmine (Underfell Fruition Sans): He works as a clerk at a pawn shop. He gets to handle a lot of interesting items and assess roughly how much they’d be worth, and he’s pretty good at haggling and negotiating with people who might not agree with said assessments. Sometimes people will come in with broken stuff they wouldn’t be able to get too much for, but maybe he can cut ‘em a deal, fix it up on his own dime and if they come back for it, great—and if they don’t, his boss’ll be happy to have something that works to sell to somebody else at a markup, how ‘bout it? He does a brisk business and both sides of the counter love him.

Tank (Underfell Fruition Papyrus): He’s in construction. He’s huge, strong, takes direction well, and diligently follows rules and protocols—he’s an ideal fit for it. He likes to work hard and be able to see a job come together, knowing he had a part in it and being satisfied with the quality of his contribution. He especially likes to take every safety training and equipment certification course he can attend because he likes knowing what the rules are and being specifically told how certain procedures are run, machines operated, et cetera. He’s very likely to be apprenticed in as a foreman if not the inheritor someday of the construction business by its current owner for his work ethic and dedication, but that’ll be a long ways from now.

Vi (Swapfell Fruition Sans): He works as an independent auditor and combs through companies’ records, internal and external documentation, processes, and accounting and ensures everything is being done in accordance with industry standards. In short, he shows up, demands to see everything they have, and looks through it to see if they’ve lied, did something wrong, or lost information they weren’t supposed to. Sometimes he can do this remotely but other times he has to travel out to a physical office somewhere and sit down with a bunch of stuffed file cabinets, and he really doesn’t mind either way. He likes the work and he’s good at it—maybe because he’s good at it—and he finds it satisfying to catch the tiniest little misses and errors to demand an accounting of them.

Hunter (Swapfell Fruition Papyrus): He’s a trail maintenance worker for Ebott National Park. He walks the paths and hiking trails and makes sure they’re safe and unobstructed for visitors, as well as whatever odd jobs in the area that happen to come up—looking out for invasive species, helping with a bench install, directing lost tourists, that kinda thing. It’s not especially glamorous work but it’s pretty much exactly where he wants to be and he’s happy to do it, probably wouldn’t pick any other job in the world…except maybe to volunteer for a seasonal fire-watch position and do pretty much the exact same thing, but more isolated and with a big cool tower to sit in.

Kohl (Descendtale Sans): He works as a mortician at a local funeral home. He generally isn’t expected (read: allowed) to deal with grieving families, that’s more the funeral director’s purview, but he works behind the scenes embalming, processing, and otherwise preparing the dead for their final party and last ride home. He has a strong stomach—or rather, no stomach at all—and doesn’t get squeamish or emotional about the dead, so that works out. They also let him work nights so he has several long, quiet hours of methodically going through the routine with no (living) humans around to irritate him or vice-versa. Sounds like a good gig to him.

Bram (Descendtale Papyrus): Yes, still a groundskeeper for the cemetery and loving it. It was something he kind of fell into through his brother, when he didn’t really know what he wanted to do on the Surface, but his brother sends dead humans off to their final resting place and said final resting place was looking for someone to dig holes, mind the grass, keep everything looking neat and nice—and that’s certainly something he can do! He also works nights, being that monsters are almost entirely nocturnal these days, so he’s also an unintentional scarecrow deterrent to teenagers sneaking in late for partying or spooky dares when they see a slim, bony silhouette materialize out of the shadows with a shovel in hand, asking if they’re just visiting or thinking about moving in.…

[chaoticelegant]

September 25, 2024

I think uni has calmed down enough I will actually remember to post journals. I am really enjoying this semester, there is just so much for me to do!

In terms of classes, I have:

Linguistics

History and Theory of Anthropology

Great European Film Directors

The Crusades

Astronomy

I have great professors all around, and I can really see how much I have improved across all my academic fields.

I am also a peer consultant at the writing center as well as a writing fellow for a Health class. So helping people with their writing on top of my own. Beyond that I am the Vice-President of the History Club on campus and one of the History Department’s Undergraduate Ambassadors, so lots of drain on my time. I have been managing it well though, and really enjoying everything.

I am still volunteering at the museum, and we are having a fly day for the volunteers to fly in the aircraft, very very exciting!

Off to take linguistics notes. Then a presentation for my Crusades class and a film review for my Film class.

[bradshawsbaby]

Forever Valentine

Pairing: Rooster x Fiancée!Reader

Author’s Note: It’s been a hot minute since I’ve written anything for the Bradshaws, huh? I had a weird anxiety about writing this one, which I think was due in part to the fact that I haven’t written for them since Christmas. But I’m happy with how this little story came out! It was written for @roosterforme​’s #love is in the air tgm challenge! The song that inspired it is Can’t Take My Eyes Off You by Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Pre-wedding stress, a smidge of angst, and a whole lot of fluff.

You felt like you were going to cry.

You couldn’t remember ever feeling so stressed out about anything in your life, and that included the time you registered for that anthropology class in the spring semester of your senior year thinking it would be an easy three credits, only for it to end up being more work than all four years of college combined. At least your stress had made sense then—bioarchaeology wasn’t necessarily the most chipper of topics. But now? This was supposed to be the most exciting time of your life, and you felt like you were ruining all the joy by letting yourself get so worked up.

In a little over a week, you would be walking down the aisle to join your life forevermore to the man you loved more than anything in the world.

And yet, you were frantic.

Despite the fact that you and Bradley had been engaged for over a year, and that you’d been planning your wedding for nearly as long, it still felt like there wasn’t enough time to get everything done. The past month alone had felt like a whirlwind, an endless marathon where you kept running and pushing, and yet somehow never made it past the finish line.

Bradley had been amazing, as he always was. While he couldn’t really care less about wedding details—he would have been just as happy getting married in bathing suits at The Hard Deck as he was to get married in his dress whites at the church you’d booked last year—he never failed to offer his unending support and encouragement. He went with you on every venue tour, tasted every flavor of cake imaginable, let you drive him to the brink of insanity comparing floral arrangements, sat up with you all night making seating charts, left you encouraging notes when you went dress shopping, and held you tightly whenever the stress of it all became too much and you just needed to bawl your eyes out.

If you had ever doubted that Bradley Bradshaw was the man for you—which you hadn’t—his devotion and patience during the wedding planning process would have sealed the deal for you. You still weren’t sure how you had ever gotten so blessed, but at least now you’d have the rest of your life to thank your lucky stars for it.

At the moment, however, you weren’t exactly feeling blessed. Stressed was probably the more appropriate term.

In just a week and a day, you and Bradley would finally be saying “I do,” but it felt like there were a million things that needed to be done before that time. Penny and Phoenix had been an amazing help, and your mom would be here in a few days to help tie up some of the last minute details, but you’d always had a hard time delegating and ended up putting too much pressure on your own shoulders. Bradley affectionately scolded you about it all the time.

“Honey, why don’t you let Penny help you with this?” he’d asked one night, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as he watched you fuss over the menu options for the reception. “You know she’d be happy to.”

“I know,” you’d nodded in response, brow furrowed in concentration. “But I don’t want to bother her.”

“Can I do anything?” he asked on other occasions, always looking a bit terrified by all the checklists and folders you had scattered around you at any given time.

“No, no, it’s okay,” you always rushed to reassure him. “I’ve got it.”

Still, he always stayed with you and made sure, in the midst of everything, that you were eating enough and drinking plenty of water. And that mattered so much more than anything else he could have done.

Your heart was pierced with guilt now as you sat in the living room of your apartment, making final confirmations with vendors and going over your checklists for the one hundred millionth time. Your fiancé was such a good man—the best man you had ever known. And he had been your rock through all of this. Not only were you concerned about the wedding and your honeymoon plans, but you and Bradley had also recently closed on the apartment where you were going to begin your lives together as husband and wife, and planning for that move was taking up a good chunk of space in your brain. Still, he had never once complained about how scatter-brained you’d been recently. On the contrary, he’d spent the past several weeks trying everything in his power to lift some of your self-imposed pressure off your shoulders. Bradley had done nothing but show his love for you at every turn.

And how did you repay all that love and kindness? You’d forgotten that today was Valentine’s Day.

Bradley had stayed over at your place the night before, as he often did, but you had been up so late, talking on the phone with your mom for hours, that you’d slept through both of his alarms this morning. Evidently he hadn’t wanted to disturb you, because you had no memory at all of him climbing out of bed and getting ready for work. When you did wake up a few hours later, however, you walked into the kitchen to find a yellow rose—your favorite—sitting beside the coffee pot, along with a little handwritten Post-it note stuck to the machine.

Happy Valentine’s Day, honey! I love you so much and I can’t wait to be your husband. Just 8 more days!

You felt like you’d been hit by a freight train. Despite all your careful planning and compulsive checklists, you’d somehow completely overlooked the fact that today was February 14th. You felt like the world’s worst fiancée.

In all fairness, you and Bradley had already talked about how you weren’t going to do anything big for Valentine’s Day this year.

“I know it’ll be a week before the wedding, and you’ve got so much going on, so we can keep it simple this year,” Bradley had murmured as the two of you had been lying in bed together. “We’ll just get to celebrate double next year,” he added with a grin, kissing your forehead.

“Sounds like a plan,” you had laughed in response, snuggling against his chest.

But this went beyond keeping it simple. You hadn’t even remembered. Bradley had been sweet enough to still find a way to make you feel special, and you hadn’t even woken up to give him a kiss goodbye this morning.

Hurrying back to your bedroom, you snatched up your phone and immediately opened your messages with Bradley.

Happy Valentine’s Day, baby! I love you! ♥️

A few minutes later, you heard your phone buzz and glanced down to see your fiancé’s response.

See you tonight, honey 😘

Bradley didn’t even necessarily know you had forgotten, but you still felt horribly guilty all the same. That afternoon, in between making phone calls, you raced out to the store and picked up some of his favorites candies and treats. You also placed a take-out order for dinner from his favorite restaurant, knowing you wouldn’t have time to cook for him this year.

You loved him more than anything, and you wanted him to know that. As special as he always made you feel, you wanted him to be confident in the knowledge that he was just as special and precious to you.

Thankfully, you managed to arrive back to your apartment with dinner before Bradley returned from work. Having already set out the candy you’d bought for him on the kitchen table, you popped the food into the oven to keep it warm for when he was ready to eat.

Plopping back down on the couch, you only had a few minutes to review your venue contract before you heard the front door to your apartment opening, Bradley using the key you’d given him before the two of you had even gotten engaged.

“Honey?” he called out, his deep voice causing goosebumps to rise on your arms immediately. You could definitely get used to hearing that greeting every night for the rest of your life.

Dropping the contract and jumping up off the couch, you hurried to the entryway to greet him, flinging your arms around him and kissing him deeply. You could feel his mustache tickling your upper lip, which made you giggle against his mouth.

“Well hello,” Bradley grinned when you finally pulled back, his arms settling snugly around your waist. “That was quite a greeting after a long day of flight maneuvers,” he chuckled, nuzzling his nose against yours as he leaned in closer.

“I missed you,” you told him, cupping his face in your hands and brushing another kiss, softer this time, against his lips.

Bradley smiled into the kiss, squeezing your hip affectionately. “Mmm, I missed you, too. You looked so tired that I didn’t want to disturb you this morning, but I missed getting to give you a proper goodbye before I left,” he admitted, peppering your jawline with gentle pecks.

His words were full of tenderness, but you felt a stab of guilt once more. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, burying your face in his neck as you wrapped your arms around him more tightly and hugged him close.

Surprised, Bradley chuckled lightly and dropped a kiss on the top of your head. “You don’t have to be sorry, baby. I know you were up late.” His large fingers brushed up and down your spine comfortingly. “Hope you treated yourself to a nice, big cup of coffee this morning.”

You nodded, your face still pressed in the crook between his neck and his shoulder. “I did. Thank you for the rose and the note. It made my day,” you said softly, your lips ghosting across his shoulder.

“Of course,” he murmured, his fingers playing with the ends of your hair. “I know we said we weren’t going to do anything too big, but I still wanted to do something for you for Valentine’s Day. I’m sorry it wasn’t much,” he apologized.

“Don’t say sorry,” you insisted, pulling back and looking up into his dark brown eyes. “It was perfect.”

“So are you,” Bradley grinned, kissing you gently.

Trying to push away the minor guilt that was still gnawing uncomfortably at you, you took his hand and led him into the kitchen. “I picked up dinner for you, if you’re hungry now,” you told him, thinking of the chicken pot pie that was resting in the oven. Bradley always said that it was the only pot pie he’d ever tasted at a restaurant that reminded him of his mom’s. “Chicken pot pie from Duncan’s.”

“Oh, wow, really? Thank you, honey!” he said excitedly, squeezing your hand as he stepped into the kitchen with you. “Damn, and all this, too?” he added, his eyes widening as they took in all the candy and snacks you’d laid out on the table. “You’re spoiling me tonight, baby. You definitely beat me at the Valentine’s Day game this year.”

You weren’t expecting it, but Bradley’s words suddenly had you bursting into tears, covering your face with your hands as you stood over by the oven.

Dropping the pack of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups that he’d been holding, Bradley was by your side in an instant, wrapping you up in his arms and tucking your head underneath his chin. “Hey, hey, shh,” he murmured soothingly, rocking back and forth lightly. “What’s the matter, baby? What’s wrong?”

“I’m the worst fiancée ever!” you sobbed, hiccupping into his chest. “I don’t want you to think I’m so good! I totally forgot it was Valentine’s Day,” you confessed, sniffling loudly. “I only remembered when I saw your note this morning. So trust me, I most definitely did not beat you at the Valentine’s Day game.”

Bradley’s eyes widened as he listened to you ramble, one large hand moving up and down your back with firm strokes. Then, without warning, he started to laugh.

“It’s not funny!” you exclaimed, your face mottled with tears as you pulled back to glare up at him. “You do everything for me, and you’ve been so amazing, especially with all my wedding craziness, and I can’t even remember to buy you a piece of candy on Valentine’s Day? Some wife I’m going to make!” you cried irrationally.

Bradley sobered immediately at your outburst, holding your face in his hands and forcing you to look up at him. “Hey, I’m sorry,” he said, waiting until you made direct eye contact with him. “I’m sorry, honey. I shouldn’t have laughed. I know you’ve been under so much pressure lately,” he went on, brushing your tears away with his thumbs. “Between the wedding and the new apartment and everything else that you have going on, who cares that you forgot Valentine’s Day? I certainly don’t!”

“But I do,” you sniffled, reaching up to wipe your nose with the back of your hand. “I love you. I love you so much. And I want you to know that,” you explained, your voice trembling with further unshed tears.

“I do know that,” Bradley replied gently, caressing your cheek with a gentle hand. “It would be kind of crazy of me to doubt it considering we’re getting married next week,” he added with a soft chuckle. “Baby, you forgot one Valentine’s Day. Considering everything else you’ve been juggling—and juggling perfectly, I might add—it’s pretty amazing what you’re able to do on a daily basis. It doesn’t bother me at all that this slipped your mind.”

Crumpling, you buried your face in his chest and started to cry all over again.

“I think I know what this is really about,” Bradley murmured, resting his cheek against the top of your head and holding you close. “You’ve been way too stressed out about the wedding lately. And that’s my fault. I’ve been too preoccupied with work, and letting you deal with too much on your own.”

“No, that’s not true. You’ve been—”

Bradley silenced your interruption with a kiss, stroking your hair tenderly. “Our wedding is supposed to be a happy day, baby. The happiest day of our lives. I know it’s going to be for me because it’s the day I get to call you mine forever. And I want it to be for you, too. I want you to get to enjoy all the hard work you’ve been putting into making this such a special day for everyone. It should be a special day for you above everyone else.”

“It will be,” you promised, offering him a watery smile. “Because I can’t wait to marry you.”

He smiled, dropping another soft kiss on your lips. “No more stress, honey. No more worrying. No more planning. No more checklists. No more trying to do everything by yourself. I’m here for you. And I want to help you. It is our wedding, after all,” he told you with a teasing grin.

You let out a breathy laugh, nodding your head slowly. “You’re right,” you agreed softly.

“And no more beating yourself up about forgetting Valentine’s Day either,” Bradley insisted, resting his hands on your shoulders and shooting you a pointed look. “We’re going to have so many Valentine’s Days together, baby. If we remembered every single one, we’d run out of things to do. Trust me, I’m more than satisfied knowing that you’re my forever Valentine,” he smiled, curling his finger under your chin and lifting your face so that your eyes met.

“How do you always know the right thing to say?” you pouted playfully, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Bradley threw back his head and laughed at that, beaming. “You know, my mom used to say that she would ask my dad that same exact question. Usually, it was when he was managing to get out of trouble. Guess it’s just a Bradshaw quality.”

“Oh, well, thank goodness I’m marrying into such a good family then,” you giggled, leaning up to kiss him sweetly.

“You’re going to be the perfect addition to the Bradshaw clan,” Bradley smiled, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose.

You sighed softly, contentedly, as you snuggled up against his chest, resting your head on his shoulder. “I love you so much,” you whispered.

“I love you right back. More than words could ever say,” Bradley responded, turning his head so that his lips could brush against your forehead.

The two of you stood like that for a while, perfectly content to remain wrapped in each other’s arms as the tension of a long day seeped out of your bones. There was no place that felt safer than one another’s embrace.

You finally pulled back, giggling, when you heard Bradley’s stomach rumble.

“Sorry,” he grinned sheepishly, the tips of his ears turning pink. “Guess I’m hungrier than I realized.”

“Let me get dinner on the table for you,” you told him, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Why don’t you go freshen up?”

He nodded, dropping a quick succession of kisses on your mouth before stepping out of the kitchen.

Smiling, you cleared the kitchen table of all the candy you’d purchased, setting out plates and utensils before moving over to the oven to take out the food you’d ordered. Before you could place the food on the table, however, you suddenly heard music begin blaring from the speakers in the living room. You recognized those familiar strains.

You're just too good to be true

Can't take my eyes off of you

You'd be like Heaven to touch

I wanna hold you so much

At that moment, Bradley reappeared in the entryway to the kitchen, grinning from ear to ear.

“What’s this? A little mood music for dinner?” you laughed, resting a hand on your hip.

Stepping towards you, Bradley held out his hand with an infectious smile. “Dance with me,” he said, waiting patiently.

You didn’t hesitate as you slipped your hand into his, letting him pull you close to his chest as he spun you around the kitchen to the musical stylings of Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons.

“I love you, baby,” he sang against your ear, his voice melding with the music so perfectly that you were tempted to tease him about becoming the Fifth Season. But instead, you closed your eyes and let his soothing voice drift over you, washing away all the stress and anxiety that had been building up inside you these past few weeks.

You couldn’t wait to marry this man, this man who danced with you in the kitchen even when you had forgotten Valentine’s Day, and who spent every moment of every day reminding you how loved and cherished you were.

The day you became Mrs. Bradshaw would be the happiest day of your life. And it would have nothing to do with the floral arrangements or the wedding venue or the flavor of the cake. Instead, it would have everything to do with the man who was waiting for you at the end of the aisle. The man who wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off you, the same way you wouldn’t be able to take your eyes off him.

“I love you, Bradley Bradshaw,” you told him, beaming up at him as the song slowly started to come to an end.

“I love you, too, honey,” he smiled, kissing you deeply. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”