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hisui-dreamer · 10 months ago

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we are one

Characters: Trey, Ruggie, Rook, Sebek

Synopsis: You shared a night of passion with your lover before you left for the other side of the mirror, but fate's cruel hands strike once again as you realise you have to raise his child alone in your original world. Thankfully, your child is incredibly drawn to magic, and they opened a portal...?

Tags: slight angst, fluffy end because im a sap, fem reader, reader gives birth to a child, reunions

Word count: 4.5k+

Notes: im sorry this took so long lol, but part 4 is finally here!!

Part 1✧Part 2✧Part 3✧Masterlist

A few months passed as you settled back into your routine at home. Eventually, with the noticeable changes in your body, it dawned on you that you were with child—his child, your lover from the other side of the mirror whom you could no longer reach.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turn into months. You had adapted to the trials and tribulations of parenthood. Juggling the responsibilities of work, childcare, and household chores was no easy feat, but you found solace in the small moments of your child's growth and development.

Your child was a true joy to behold, a mirror image of their father in many ways, and you often see the ghost of your past lover in them. Having inherited his magic, your child experimented with their powers, leaving you to support them with what limited knowledge of magic that remained from your NRC days.

On one such experiment, your environment started to shift as a wave of magical energy engulfed you. When you opened your eyes again, he was there, right in front of you—

Shizuka (靜菓) with 静 meaning "quiet, still, calm" and 菓 meaning "confectionery, sweets, pastry"

your daughter had silky green hair the colour of fresh matcha and golden yellow eyes that were reminiscent of fresh honey

you named your daughter after her father's dislike of noise and his culinary abilities that never failed to amaze the whole of Heartslabyul

she's rather a quiet child, not very loud but too quiet either

she gets along with other kids perfectly fine, and she doesn't mind sharing or taking a step back at all, always choosing to go with the flow and not get worked up over small things

honestly she's really a mature kid

also just really good at being a peacekeeper and stopping other kids from getting into big fights

buut she does have a mischievous side and may tease her friends when she's in the mood to

at home, she's pretty obedient and will listen to you, but there are moments when she sneaks around

loves helping you with cooking, and her eyes sparkle when she's baking with you

she loves sweets and desserts, but thanks to your warnings about her dental health, she does stop herself from eating too much sugar

is slightly freaked out about cavities so don't you worry, she'll never need any reminding about brushing her teeth or late night snacks

when it comes to school, she doesn't put in too much effort, but you can tell she'd be excellent if she cared more about her grades

which is clearly shown when fixates on learning magic, always so focused that you'll have to call her twice before she snaps out of her trance

you can't blame her for giving it her all though, after all, you've never seen her more excited than when you told her how amazing a person her father is, calm and soothing like a gentle summer rain

once she puts her heart to it, there's really no stopping her

so on another normal evening, as you were cooking dinner while she was studying on the kitchen counter, you found yourself enveloped by a soft light

when you open your eyes, you find yourself standing outside a charming bakery, the fragrance of roses engulfing your senses

and peering through the bakery windows, was the man you had yearned for all these years

It was just a normal day of running the bakery for Trey. With the sun on the verge of setting, he began preparations for closing, when the soft chime of the bell announced a new customer's arrival. He turned around, catching sight of you. His eyes widened in surprise, mirroring the disbelief in your own.

Before words could be exchanged, Trey rushed past the counter. The warmth of his embrace enveloped you as he pulled you close. The years melted away, and the two of you were transported back to a time when you always had each other.

"Is this real?" he wondered aloud, your hearts pounding in sync.

You nodded into his shoulder, tears flowing freely down your cheeks. He pulled back slightly, brushing away your tears as his gaze softened, a warm smile gracing his lips.

"It's been a long time," he whispered. "I missed you so much."

he's just holding you tight, crying as he thanks the heavens for being so lucky to have you in his life again

trey returned to his hometown after graduation, helping out and eventually inheriting the family bakery

he loved incorporating your favourite foods into the store's selection, adding some new desserts from your world that you taught him, and always reminiscing on those tender moments when it was just the two of you in the kitchen

he always knew you had to go home eventually, but that didn't stop him from wishing you could be his life-long partner, supporting each other through thick and thin

so he's beyond grateful and excited to know you and his daughter(?!) shared the feelings even though you were apart

he's rather surprised about said daughter, but there would be no denying how similar they looked

shizuka is a bit nervous, tugging your skirt as she stares curiously at her supposed father

but Trey very quickly makes her feel at home, his warm smiles and even warmer hugs melting away all her nervousness!

he closes the bakery for a few days to help the two of you settle down a bit

this involves reunions with friends and of course, the clover family, who welcome you and their granddaughter with open arms

the clovers are just really really glad their son finally has someone in his life and that he seems a lot more energised now

Shizuka is very quickly introduced to uncle riddle!! who is very surprised but delighted by the behaving little girl who seems to stick to him a lot

uncle deuce and ace also get along with her wonderfully!! especially when Shizuka wants to play around with riddle for a bit hahaha

don't forget uncle cater who flies instantly to meet his new adorable niece and show her off on magicam!!

the three of you settle into a nice rhythm and you help out trey at the bakery now

Trey is very very affectionate with you always, pecking you on the cheek or nuzzling into your neck any chance he can get

Shizuka loves helping out whenever she can too!! she loves learning from her papa and sometimes will just spend hours watching him work

all in all, a blissful, simple family that Trey had always dreamed of, but never would he have believed he was so blessed to have the two of you come back to him

Trey gazed at the young girl, her silky green hair catching the light in a way that seemed surreal. With a heart full of emotions, he approached her hesitantly, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

"Shizuka, was it?" he spoke softly, the name lingering on his lips like a prayer. "It's so nice to meet you."

Shizuka's gaze flickered from Trey to you, seeking reassurance. With a gentle nod from you, she turned her attention back to him, her eyes studying him intently.

Trey knelt to her level, his heart racing. "I know this might be a lot to take in, but I'm your father."

She took a small step forward, cautious but curious. Trey extended his hand tentatively, offering a warm smile. Without a word, Shizuka reached out, placing her small hand in his.

A soft smile graced her lips, mirroring the warmth reflected in Trey's eyes. With a tentative but genuine embrace, Trey enveloped his daughter in his arms, tears cascading down his cheeks. Shizuka, feeling the sincerity in his embrace, wrapped her arms around him as well, a sense of belonging beginning to bloom within her.

Kenji (賢至) with 賢 meaning "intelligence, wisdom, cleverness" and 至 meaning "to arrive at, to reach, to come to"

your son had the softest hair the colour of wheat, and blue eyes that reminded you of cloudy skies

you named your son after how clever his father was, and his endless determination to reach his goals

he's a really sweet kid, always eager to help around and even others when he notices they're in need

you've heard about the many experiences his father had when he grew up, so you've tried your hardest to make sure Kenji wouldn't have to go through them, knowing it's what your hyena would've wanted

but even then, he's never complained about not having enough, there's a subtle wisdom to him that really mirrors his father

though he differs from him in that he's always willing to share, because he knows not everyone can be so lucky

he may not be too good at haggling prices, but his puppy dog eyes work just as well!

he loves doing chores with you, always smiling and laughing that familiar laugh as he helps you sweep the floor while he tells you about his day

he loves cuddles and kisses!!! his favourite part of the day is climbing into your warm bed to wrap his arms around you, asking you for a goodnight kiss and sometimes even bedtime stories

his ears and tails are a bit of a problem, so you keep his hair a bit long to hide the ears, or just say they're fun accessories

you've told him how his father's determination to support his family and community shined through even in unfortunate circumstances, the resourceful and intelligent man he became and you fell in love with

his blue-grey eyes almost resembled a clear sky when he listened to you, asking you more and more questions about this amazing person

he'll try learning more to be like him, but his kind nature stops him from being too schemey

he's not exactly academic weapon material, but he's pretty quick at absorbing information and putting it into practice

and with lots of determination and practice, he somehow manages to manifest the very thing the two of you wanted, and before your eyes was the man who never failed to make you laugh with him

As Ruggie's eyes adjusted, your figure slowly came into focus, revealing the very person who took his heart with them. "Prefect...?" He whispered, his voice a mix of disbelief and overwhelming joy.

His usually carefree expression shifted to one of disbelief, and then a bittersweet smile spread across his face as the tears welled up in his eyes. Without a second thought, he rushed towards you, sweeping you into a tight embrace.

"You're here... You're really here, right?" Ruggie mumbled, his voice choked with emotion.

You nodded furiously, comfort washing over you at his touch. "Yes, Ruggie, it's real. I'm really here."

His hand reached up to thread his fingers through your hair, cupping the back of your head. "I'm so glad... So, so glad..."

he's holding onto you as tightly as he can, so afraid that you'd disappear into the light if he let you loose for even a bit

after graduation, Ruggie followed leona to become his official attendant, what with him knowing how leona likes to get things done, and his ability to pick up etiquette cues

he's also a great information gatherer, so he's perfectly able to assist leona with his foreign affairs

it's leona's voice that finally breaks the two of you out of your trance, him rushing over to investigate that weird light

the two of you pull back and you almost wouldn't notice it, but leona's smile has softened a bit from the image you had in your memory

Ruggie never expected himself to be a father, and things are going a bit faster than he'd like, but there's no denying he's absolutely grateful to have you and your kid at his side

almost immediately the next day, he takes you back to his hometown so you and Kenji can meet grandma and the neighbourhood

grandma bucchi welcomes the two of you so warmly, she even gets a little teary eyed when she sees Kenji, with him looking so similar to the very hyena she raised

leona and Ruggie delegate a room for you in the side palace, where they also live, so you'll be able to see familiar faces often

Kenji loves following his father around, picking up his mannerisms and wanting to learn more about being more schemey

Ruggie's a bit conflicted his angel of a son wants to learn his ways but even he can't deny those puppy dog eyes

uncle leona and guard jack also love spending time with him! though one of them pretends it's annoying

leona shows him magic tricks and jack will teach him how to fight! he'll be getting great lessons all around

Kenji is very eager to learn more and explore this world, so sometimes you'll have to hold him back a bit just in case he gets hurt

but you suppose with the splendid man his father is, you don't have to worry too much

Ruggie's schedule can be a bit hectic and he pulls a lot of late nights, but he always tries to make time for his family

they're the most precious thing to him in the entire world, did you think he'd let them go that easily?

"Dad!" Kenji exclaimed, darting over to grasp at the fabric of Ruggie's pants. "You're my dad, right?"

Ruggie blinked in disbelief, shifting his gaze towards you. "Is... Is he?" he asked, hope saturating his voice.

You affirmed with a nod, and Ruggie redirected his attention to Kenji. "Yeah... I'm your dad..."

Instantly, Kenji wrapped his arms around Ruggie's legs. "Yay! I've always wanted to meet you, Dad!"

Ruggie couldn't help but marvel in awe at the bundle of joy now clinging to his legs, realizing that this spirited kid was the product of your love.

Ayaka (斐佳) with 斐 meaning "elegance, beauty, grace" and 華 meaning "flower, splendour, brilliance"　

Ayato (斐斗) with 斐 meaning "elegance, beauty, grace" and 杜 meaning "forest, grove, woods"

maybe a part of you should have expected it, with how unpredictable your beloved hunter always has been, but you ended up having to raise twins

the two had luscious golden locks that rivalled sunlight and sharp green eyes akin to the forests in the summer

you named the two of them after their father's love for all things beauty and his love for forests and nature

the two are well-behaved children, though they can be surprisingly sneaky and mischievous

Ayaka is more outgoing and is always fascinated by the pretty things in her vicinity

while Ayato is more introverted and quiet, often silently following his younger sister and nodding along to her ramblings

he definitely appreciates beauty, but he's less vocal about it

and whereas Ayaka is more fascinated by gems and cute plushies, Ayato is more interested in nature, finding beauty in the moss, the trees and the insects

the siblings are just really really curious about the world and they love observing the little details, from catching beetles to keep as pets, to planting flowers they found on a hike

they really do reflect your hunter's wide range of appreciation

the twins love sticking to each other and they're rarely arguing

though they do fight a bit over who helped you more with chores or who you love more

they're very helpful and efficient, and though they may complain about not wanting to work because the other twin is lazing, they'll still get the job done

they love watching tv shows and dramas, often acting out scenes in the shows or in fairytales

and oh the way their eyes sparkled when you told the fascinating man their father was, a man who could control his own heartbeat, keep track of time so accurately, and with such incredible eyesight, who devoted himself to spreading joy and beauty

almost immediately they doubled their efforts in studying, wanting desperately to meet the man to learn his ways and see for themselves just how interesting he is

and just like that, the dazzling light gradually subsided, unveiling a world that you thought only existed in your dreams

you remember the villa, it's where he took you on vacation for the first, and supposedly last time

You hesitantly knocked on the weathered wooden door of the villa, the echoes of your anticipation mingling with the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. As the door creaked open, memories flooded back to the first time you entered this place with the man who had captured your heart.

Rook's usual stoic expression shifted, replaced by a mix of surprise and unspoken emotions. "Mon amour... You're really here," he murmured, his voice a tender whisper that hung in the air. Without uttering a single word, he enfolded you in an embrace, as though afraid you might slip away like a fleeting dream.

"I missed you so much," you whispered back the tears flowing freely now that you've felt as you savour the warmth of his touch and the comforting scent of his cologne.

He pulled back, soft brushes of his fingers wiping your tears, his eyes lingering on your face as if trying to capture the essence of the time that had passed. "I missed you too, so dearly..." he admitted as tears threatened to spill from his eyes, a rare vulnerability in his gaze.

this was the most emotion you'd seen from him, even when you said goodbye he kept a smile on his face

he's holding you so delicately, as if you were going to fade away if he applied just a bit more pressure

he's surprised by the children, but he instantly warms up to the idea!

he's remained a pursuer of beauty even after graduation, sponsoring artists while he makes a living through hunting and his film critique

he was taking a break in the family villa for old times sake, but it's almost as if the universe planned it all along

he's very affectionate with you, even more so than before, which you didn't even know was possible

always a warm hand on your waist, an occasional peck on your cheek, and every once in a while he'll feel the urge to pull you in for a hug

he tries to do everything for you so you don't even have to lift a finger, breakfast in bed, waking the children, even cooking and cleaning

he loves spending time with the twins!! teaching the two of them how to hunt and explore the forest safely

he'll show them pretty plants, and interesting fungi, all while explaining what properties they might have and whether or not they're poisonous

the twins are so fascinated by everything, their excitement and energy are seemingly endless

and who's a father to deny his children? he spoils them rotten

he also loves showing the kids a certain idol he's supported...

as well as films of vil!! occasionally talking over the movie to express how perfect a scene is or how flawless his acting is

and when the twins get to meet the vil schoenheit, they're beyond thrilled

asking questions, throwing compliments, all directed towards vil, but they're quiet the moment he tells them to shush

uncle vil loves talking to his niece and nephew, but only when they're... calm

uncle epel also loves popping by and giving the twins some apples so they'll get proper nutrition!

really, you'll have to step in to prevent your kids from being spoiled rotten

but you'll indulge Rook for a while, he's just blissfully happy with his family after all

"Are these...?" he began, his voice trailing off as he looked at the children with a mix of awe and wonder.

"Ours," you answered, a gentle smile gracing your lips as you delicately wiped away the tears that had welled up in your eyes. "Meet Ayato and Ayaka."

The hunter knelt down to their eye level, his usual face softening into a loving. "Ayato, Ayaka," he said, his voice gentle, "It's so nice to meet you. I'm your father."

The children exchanged glances before Ayaka stepped forward. "Hello father!" she exclaimed, throwing her tiny arms around him.

Ayato, the quieter one, followed suit with a nod, a shy smile on his face.

The hunter embraced them both, a warmth in his eyes that spoke volumes. "Such angels... Mon amour what a blessing you've granted me...," he sighed as he held them close.

Atsuki (惇貴) with 惇 meaning "sincerity, loyalty" and 貴 meaning "precious, valuable, honourable"　

your son had curly hair with the softest shade of light green, and piercing golden eyes with slits that reminded you of reptiles

you named your son after the chivalrous values his father had devoted his life to

he's a rather loud and excitable child, always forgetting to control his volume when he gets too emotional

doesn't really get along with other kids, but it doesn't affect him much, he's just happy to have his mama with him

if he's done something wrong, you don't even need to yell at him really, most of the time he's already holding back tears at the thought of disappointing you

very into sports and is also really good at several sports, he's earned a couple of medals and trophies already

he's not the best at magic, and you're also not too sure how his dark fae blood affects that, but he's still pretty good at making progress

he really is just a good kid who tries hard at everything and tries to make the right decisions, but he's quick to get disappointed when things don't go his way, and suddenly you're faced with a very familiar and endearing puppy dog face

so a lot of times, you'll just have to pull him in a hug, and remind him things almost never go the way we plan, and it's okay to accept defeat and learn from it

but there's nothing he's more motivated about than learning more about his dad, who in his mind, is an honourable, talented knight straight from the fairytales who devotes his life to protecting the people important to him

so much so, that you'll find him swinging around the toy sword you got him for training

he'll also start putting even more effort into learning magic, wanting to connect to his amazing papa in a way

and then on one night, you're not sure what triggered it, but he's incredibly emotional and crying about how he can't help you and you're always taking care of him and he just wants to have his dad in his life and it's all so unfair why his mama is alone and-

he starts emitting bright light, so bright you can't keep your eyes open, but you reach to hold him in your arms

when you no longer feel the bright light, you tentatively open your eyes, only to find yourself standing in the dark, spacious throne room of Briar Valley

and standing there, right next to the throne, was your knight in shining armour

Standing next to the grand throne, was your knight in shining armour, Sebek. He, along with Silver, stood in positions of defence, but the moment his eyes met yours, the mask of composure crumbled, and he rushed toward you with an urgency that mirrored the longing that had lingered in his heart during your separation.

He enveloped you in a fierce embrace, his arms securing you but also gentle to not hurt you with his armour.

"I thought... I thought I lost you," Sebek's voice was a shaky whisper against your ear, his grip on you tightening as if trying to confirm that you were indeed real.

"I'm here, Sebek. I found my way back," you reassured him, feeling the softness of his hair against your cheek.

"I never thought I'd see you again," he admitted, his words a whispered admission of the fears he had harboured, pressing his forehead gently to yours.

he's a mess the instant he sees you, and he melts completely when you're finally in his arms

malleus and silver are also immensely happy that you're back, calling lilia to join the family reunion

Sebek's pretty overwhelmed with your presence on its own, so silver and lilia have given him a gentle push to actually function and introduce himself to Atsuki

he's grown to be less awkward with his affection, and particularly with how long you've been away, he doesn't hold back too much

his hands are always inching closer to touch you, his forehead resting on your shoulder every once in a while, it's all really endearing

but his parenting style is a bit awkward

Atsuki really admires him, but that also makes him ever so slightly afraid of him

meanwhile, Sebek is nervous because he doesn't want to do anything that ruins the image of a perfect knight for his son

so they're a bit awkward, but with you as the middle person they can get along pretty well!

they bond over training, with Sebek teaching him sword fighting (with you reminding him not to push him too hard)

Atsuki also really enjoys sparing with uncle silver, who always lets him him, but Atsuki just wants him to fight for real, so it's just silver being "this is real??"

uncle malleus taking him out for gargoyle studies (Sebek is jealous lmao)

and of course, uncle lilia who cooks extremely nutritious meals that always end with Atsuki puppy dog eying you to save him

sebek's family is also very very happy to have you two!!

grandpa baul grumbles around a lot, but he keeps note of Atsuki's favourite foods to prepare them when he visits

also comments on his sword fighting and stance when he feels like it

mom and dad also adore you guys!! mrs. zigvolt loves giving you gifts and talking about sebek when he was younger haha

all in all, sebek's so incredibly grateful you could come back to him, and though he's still awkward with his affection sometimes, he'll never stop trying his best to love the both of you

Atsuki's eyes widened as he took in the sight of his father, the mythical figure he had only heard tales of until now.

Sebek's gaze shifted from you to Atsuki, and his breath caught. His eyes softened as he knelt down to be at eye level with the child who was undeniably his son. "Hello," he said, his voice trembling with a mix of joy and uncertainty. "I... I'm your father."

Atsuki's eyes flickered with a mixture of awe and excitement. "Papa?" he questioned, his voice barely above a whisper.

Sebek nodded, his hands trembling slightly as he reached out to gently cup Atsuki's face. "Yes, little one. I'm your papa."

The room seemed to hold its breath as father and son locked eyes for the first time. Atsuki, still processing the enormity of the moment, broke into a wide, joyful smile. "Papa!" he exclaimed, launching himself into Sebek's arms.

Sebek, overwhelmed with emotion, held Atsuki close, a mix of laughter and tears escaping him. "I've missed so much, haven't I?" he murmured, his heart swelling with love for the son he never imagined to exist.

Part 1✧Part 2✧Part 3 ✧Masterlist

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#twstnexus #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #trey clover #trey clover x reader #twisted wonderland trey #ruggie bucchi #ruggie bucchi x reader #twisted wonderland ruggie #rook hunt #rook hunt x reader #twisted wonderland rook #sebek zigvolt #sebek zigvolt x reader #twisted wonderland sebek

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virtualtadpole · 20 days ago

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A BL viewer's guide to Thai school uniforms

(This is an older one, originally posted at Reddit in 2022, but it should still be accurate. Hope you'll find it useful, as uniforms in Thai shows often provide context that international viewers might not recognize.)

To begin, here's a summary of the Thai school system. There are twelve years of basic education (after kindergarten): six years of primary school (prathom or P.1-6), and six years of secondary school (mathayom or M.1-6), the latter of which is divided into three lower and three upper years. The age range roughly corresponds to the US system, so the years P.1-6 will often be translated as grades 1-6 and M.1-6 as grades 7-12. Most stories set in school will take place during the upper secondary years, which is often translated as high school (though this is rather approximate as it spans three years rather than four). Students typically enter M.4 aged 15 going on 16, and graduate at the age of 18 (or nearing it).

School uniforms are almost universally compulsory, used by all but a few alternative schools (university will be discussed further below). They mostly follow a very distinctive form, which has barely changed since the end of World War II, as there's a default format that's mandated by law and followed by most schools (though schools may elect to specify their own style of uniform). There are official industrial standards that govern the material, thread count, etc. of student uniforms that can be sold, and an entire industry is built around them.

For boys, the (default style) uniform is mostly the same across all levels, and consists of a white short-sleeved button-up shirt, shorts (in either black, royal blue, navy, or khaki), a belt (brown or black), socks and shoes (brown with khaki shorts, white socks and black shoes otherwise). The shirt will have the letters of the school's abbreviated name embroidered at the right chest, in red for private schools, and navy for government schools. It's common for schools to also require student IDs or names be included likewise. In many schools, the upper-secondary uniform will also include the school insignia/logo as a metal badge pinned above the school's initials, or also embroidered.

The colours of the shorts typically reflect the school's status. Private schools will normally use blue or (less often) black, while government schools will use black or (less often) khaki, with very few exceptions. Navy is quite rare, mostly used by certain schools with historical royal connections. This colour-coding serves as a rather convenient tool for series creators to convey the social background of the characters. Blue shorts signify that they go to a private, presumably expensive school. Black is the default that tells the viewer that it's a regular, average school. Khaki shorts used to be the default long ago but have declined in use, and are now mostly seen as belonging to rural or temple schools (though there are also some famous schools that use them). You'll rarely see them in TV or film, unless the creators are purposely saying that the setting is rural, poor, or retro.

Let's look at some examples.

The school uniform in Bad Buddy is pretty much the bare minimum, with just the school's abbreviated name and no pin or ID. With black shorts and navy lettering, it's clearly meant to be a regular government school (though TBH the filming location doesn't really fit). The dot on the collar is a symbol used by some schools to indicate the year the student is in, based on the number of dots. One dot would mean they're in the first year of either lower or upper secondary, which might be differentiated based on colour, shape, or being on the left or right side. Here, Pran is clearly not 12/13 years old, so the year must be M.4.

In The Yearbook, the school uniform also includes the students' ID in Thai numerals below the school name, also quite a common thing. The navy lettering and the black shorts indicate that it's a government school, and the filming location and the teacher wearing the civil service uniform also hint that it's a rather provincial setting. The haircuts of the characters are also more realistic, as schools usually require a short tapered cut for boys.

The characters in 'Cause You're My Boy also attend a government school, in line with the working-class background. Mork is in upper-secondary, so his uniform as the school symbol embroidered above the lettering, while Gord and Morn's, who are in lower-secondary, don't.

Another example of a government school uniform with black shorts is found in Dew. This school also has the student's name embroidered over the shirt pocket. Dew's oversized shirt and long baggy shorts reflect the fashion trends of 1996, when this part of the story is set.

On the other hand, Hormones follows middle-/upper-middle- class kids at a private school. The uniform was directly copied from that of Assumption College Thonburi (ACT), where the series was filmed (so that its students could blend in as extras). As a private school, the lettering is in red, and the student IDs are in Hindu-Arabic numerals. As in the above example, the stars on the collar indicate the student's year (here, dots are used for lower-secondary and stars for upper). Also note the belt buckle with the school logo, which tends to be seen with fancier schools.

The uniforms in Love Sick are also copied from real life, though this was done not for production convenience, but to pay tribute to the source novel, which was inspired by student life at Assumption College (AC), one of the country's oldest boys' schools (AC and ACT both belong to a network of schools operated by the Catholic Church, hence their names). The novel's full title, Love Sick: The Chaotic Lives of Blue Shorts Guys, reflects its focus on the inside world of the school, of which it paints a semi-imaginary image that makes multiple references to actual teachers, locations and customs, stopping short only of referring to the school by name. This is toned down in the series, though the coat of arms and uniform are nearly direct copies of AC's, minus the belt buckle (which was a relatively recent addition and not part of the uniform when the novel was being written).

Notice how Noh's school badge is pinned on the corner of the shirt pocket just like baby Peak and Ohm's real-life AC uniform, which is unique to the school. (Beam is a junior of Peak and Ohm's by a year, and was probably in M.3 when the photo was taken, so didn't wear a badge.) The school also requires leather shoes, unlike most schools which allow either leather or canvas shoes (in which case almost everyone will wear canvas shoes).

As mentioned in my previous post, the current trend of students having their school uniform shorts modified to be very short probably originated with AC students, and spread more widely from the late 2000s. Naturally, the style is shown in Love Sick, though this is also generally well represented in BL media.

Make It Right, by the creators of Love Sick, used the same style for its student uniform, except the shoes (though pinning the badge at the shirt pocket didn't really make sense now that it wasn't meant to refer AC's real-life uniqueness). It's also a bit strange seeing student IDs running into the 60000s, as even the oldest real-life schools don't have numbers that high.

The use of blue-shorts school uniforms to signify wealthy characters/environments is a pretty common trope in BL (and also Thai series more generally). It's also seen in 7 Project, in a more typical appearance with the pin in the usual location, and the student's name over the shirt pocket.

In My Gear and Your Gown, the uniform (quite unusually for private schools) doesn't have any lettering other than the school's initials. It's most likely a cost-saving measure by the costume department, sacrificing a bit of realism to avoid the need to create individualized outfits for every character (though it does use leather shoes).

The uniform in My Dear Loser: Edge of 17 is rather confusing. It's clearly meant to be a private school, given the blue shorts, but this is contradicted by the navy lettering on the shirt. Looks like a mistake, unless it was a deliberate choice to introduce some sort of ambiguity (though this is unlikely, and even most Thai viewers probably won't notice anyway).

In Only Boo!, Moo originally goes to a private school with a blue-shorts uniform, but is sent away as punishment for neglecting his studies. His new uniform, with khaki shorts, emphasizes the provincial nature of the school.

Often, different-coloured uniforms will be used to contrast the characters' backgrounds. This goes back to The Love of Siam, where the blue shorts and leather shoes of Mew's school uniform reinforce its presentation as a Catholic school (and closely echoes AC, which also served as the school's filming location), while Tong's black-shorts uniform may have been a reference to Bangkok Christian College, a nearby school popularly seen as a rival of AC's. BCC is one of the better known private schools to use a uniform with black shorts, and The Love of Siam is one of the less common examples of this. (Note again the school badge, which isn't worn by some of the members of Mew's band, indicating that they're in lower-secondary.)

The colour contrast is also used in Love's Coming, though it doesn't really convey any significant background.

Somewhat amusingly, creators don't always try to be particularly creative with the school name abbreviations, and they will often be that of the production company's name. So here we have ม.ม. and ม.ม.ป. - MM and MMP for Mungmee Production. Above, there's จ.ท.ว. - GTV (GMMTV) in My Dear Loser, ค.ซ.ม. - CSM (Cosocomo) in Make It Right, and น.ด.บ. - NDB (Nadao Bangkok) for Hormones, the last of which is also the actual in-story name of the school.

I Told Sunset About You uses a very unusual colour pairing: Navy and Khaki. Oh-aew's school (and Teh's formerly) is private, while Teh's is the province's main government school. The colour choices are mainly aesthetic - while some main provincial schools do use khaki shorts (and private schools navy), they are quite uncommon. White shoes worn with the regular student uniform is also practically unheard of (they're usually for PE uniforms - more on these below).

Note also how the year-indicating dots above the school initials are differentiated by colour: navy for lower secondary, red for upper. So when Teh shows up at his old school wearing a uniform with three navy dots, that's him squeezing into his old uniform from M.3 to sneak into the school.

Sometimes actual existing schools serve as the setting of a work, and its uniform is used. For example, My Bromance (2014) is set at Wachirawit School in Chiang Mai and uses its uniform.

The Best Story likewise takes place at the Demonstration School of Suan Sunandha Rajabhat University. Demonstration or "Satit" schools are pretty much a class of their own. While they're technically government schools, they're operated by universities for their teacher training programmes, and have a higher degree of freedom in their operations. They also often have uniforms that don't follow the usual format, with no school name on the shirt. This is the case with Satit Suansunandha, which has its logo embroidered on the shirt pocket and pinned above the student's name instead.

Some Satit schools also use an unusual colour, charcoal grey, for their uniform shorts. This is seen with Praram's uniform in EN of Love: This Is Love Story, indicating that his school is attached to the university. Having just the student's name and no school initials isn't unusual in this case (though not having any logo at all kind of is).

On the other hand, the lack of any embroidered lettering at all, like in The Shipper, is very unusual. In real life this is unique to Triam Udom Suksa School, which is commonly regarded as the country's top school. GMMTV previously did this in The Gifted, which kind of made sense as it conveyed that the school was unique and special, but this isn't true for The Shipper, so the stylistic choice seems a bit lazy.

This is also the case with 55:15 Never Too Late. Even stranger is the uniform from Nanon's storyline, which has khaki shorts signifying a provincial setting but the top is just a plain shirt with no markings or pin at all. It looks rather like an error in the production process that they had to roll with due to some limitation.

Girls' uniforms are much more varied, as private schools follow a variety of different styles. The standard style is mostly only used by government schools. For the upper-secondary level, it's a white button-up shirt (or blouse? I'm not sure of the terminology) with short sleeves that are pleated at the cuff, a navy (or, uncommonly, black) skirt with three pairs of wide pleats at the front and back, a black belt, white socks and black strapped shoes. The shirt will have the same markings as the boys' uniform. We see Pa wearing this in Bad Buddy (and also Tarn in the ITSAY pic above). Note that they made a mistake with her collar dot, as she was in M.6 in this scene and should have had three dots instead of one. (The same mistake happens with the younger music club students in episode 10. I guess the costume department just created one style based on the main characters and forgot to factor in the others.)

I won't attempt to list examples of all girls' uniforms here, as they're harder to keep track of in BL, but if it's a high-school setting and you see a different style of uniform than the above, it should be quite safe to assume it's a private school (especially if it's long-sleeved, with a necktie, or a blue, red or other brightly coloured skirt, like in the 7 Project example above), or a Satit school.

International schools usually have a different style of uniform altogether. They may be variably coloured, use shorts or trousers, include neckties, and the shirts won't have the usual lettering but commonly feature the school logo. Girls' skirts will commonly have a plaid/tartan pattern. Bilingual schools - private schools featuring a bilingual curriculum, with mainly Thai students - will also often use this style of uniform to some extent. We see it in Brothers, where the setting is supposed to be an international school.

While schools may have a full uniform with blazers and all, they'd only be used on special occasions. If characters wear them on a regular basis, it probably signifies a fantasy setting, or one somewhat removed from real life. This is fully utilized in Great Men Academy, which is as fantasy as you can get with magical wish-granting unicorns.

A similar effect is achieved with sweater vests, as seen in Second Chance. However, this is to emulate the Japanese/Korean uniform style, giving the show something of a J-/K-drama aesthetic while moving it away from the grounded reality of Thailand.

Sometimes, as in Friend Forever, a novel style is created that doesn't really carry any inherent meaning but is presumably done mainly for aesthetic reasons.

In real life, the standard-style boys' uniform (with embroidered lettering) may also use trousers, but this is only done in Islamic schools and the vocational education system, which are pretty much outside the realm of BL stories, so you won't likely come across them. (Update: This is no longer true with the existence of Don't Touch My Gang, but it didn't feature regular uniform, only the workshop shirt, which is covered below.)

Apart from the standard school uniform, most schools will also have a PE uniform, used on days with PE (gym) class, typically once a week for upper-secondary students. These aren't legally regulated, so they come in a large variety of styles, though many government schools will follow the same basic style of a coloured polo shirt made with a woven fabric, usually with the school logo on the pocket. We see Teh wearing this (though with the school initials instead of a logo) in ITSAY, with his usual uniform shorts. Most schools will have students wear the PE top from home and change into the PE bottom (typically sweatpants) just for PE class. Don't expect to see school showers, though, as they're not done in Thailand. Different classes mostly have PE on different days, and in meticulously written shows like ITSAY, where everything fits into the calendar, you can tell the day of the week from the PE uniform (it's Monday if you see Teh in his blue PE top).

As mentioned above, white canvas shoes may be required for PE uniforms, as seen again in The Love of Siam. This is mostly a feature of girls' uniforms, though, as boys' uniforms will more often use the shoes that are already part of their regular uniform, but schools which normally use leather shoes are a natural exception. However, they will more typically have students wear white shoes from home together with the PE top rather than change shoes at school like Mew apparently does. The shirt style here, a custom-patterned polo shirt with a knitted fabric, is also common.

We see another example of the style in Dew. Except for shoe colour, PE uniforms are usually identical for boys and girls.

Since there aren't actual limitations to PE uniform designs even in real life, creators sometimes have a field day with them. In Make It Right, the PE uniform is quite obviously a piece of fan service. (There are real-life schools that do use shorts, though they're not quite that short.)

Another uniform you might encounter is the Territorial Defence Student uniform. In Thailand, men face military conscription at age 21, upon which they will have to draw a lottery to determine whether they must enlist for two years. But there's an alternative to that. By completing three years of military training as Territorial Defence Students (often referred to as ร.ด. - Ror Dor (R.D.)), which is offered to upper-secondary school students, one avoids the need to face the lottery completely. Naturally, most middle-class boys will take the training. It takes half a day a week for 20 weeks each year (which is half the school year), plus up to a week of field training around January-February. For the weekly training days, if the session is in the afternoon, school will typically have only morning classes.

The need to attend Ror Dor is probably the most universally hated aspect of high school life for Thai boys, not because of the training itself, which is hardly intensive at all, but because of the military haircut requirements. Naturally this is never portrayed realistically, and many works ignore the existence of Ror Dor altogether. What's kind of funny is that the above storyline concerns Tee needing a haircut to pass Ror Dor inspection, but none of the characters except Mork come anywhere close.

The Ror Dor uniform is a khaki green combat uniform, with the student's name on the right chest and the school patch on the right arm. The Thai numeral on the left collar indicates the student's year. Here, it's ๒ (2), indicating that they're in the second year of training, which means M.5. The green T-shirt worn underneath is often worn casually by some.

In stories that go down to the lower-secondary or primary years, you may also see the Boy Scout uniform. In most schools, participation is mandatory for students up to M.3, and takes place once a week. Here in The Love of Siam, we see young Tong in the Scout uniform, indicating that he's in primary school, while Eiw and Cake in My Only 12% are wearing the Senior Scout uniform (with the maroon shoulder boards) of lower-secondary students.

That's pretty much everything regarding school uniforms, I think. Onto university...

In Thailand, universities have uniforms for undergraduate students. Unlike school uniforms, which are very specific, university uniforms are more loosely defined. In most cases they will be a white dress shirt and black (or navy) slacks for males, with black dress shoes, and a necktie and a belt buckle bearing the university symbol. For females, it's usually a white shirt/blouse with the university symbol pin, a black (or navy) skirt, shoes, and also a belt buckle bearing the university symbol. Some universities will also have metal buttons with the university symbol that have to be attached to the shirt.

While most universities will have defined uniforms, in practice, the requirements vary across universities (and across faculties within the same university). Many require that uniforms be worn for attendance of all classes, but some don't, and expect them only on exam days or special occasions. Strictness and adherence also varies. Often, people won't bother with the belt buckle, sneakers may be allowed (or turned a blind eye to), and jeans may even be permissible. This gives creators more leeway in designing the costumes to a varied visual effect.

In the above scene from Bad Buddy, Pran's upright collar (GMMTV does seem to like these, though I don't quite recall seeing them in real life), Wai's short sleeves (some universities officially have them as a uniform option, some don't), Safe's jacket (which is totally normal, by the way - they do blast the aircon in some lecture halls) and Louis's workshop shirt (more on this below) combine to provide visual contrast. The costume design is also often used for characterization. In Love by Chance, the timid and deferential Pete always wears his necktie, while the brasher Ae is never seen with it, nor does his shirt ever seem to be tucked in. (Untucked shirts are also used for characterization with school uniforms, though it's pretty much the only option.)

Even where uniforms are more strictly enforced, the necktie is usually not worn outside of formal occasions. Some universities have a tradition of requiring them only for freshmen, and similarly female freshmen may be required to wear below-knee accordion-pleated skirts (and for some universities, white shoes) for the entire first year. All of this is shown in SOTUS, as the entire series revolves around these hazing traditions. As freshmen, M and May wear the full university uniform (May with pleated skirt), while the sophomores are seen wearing pencil/mini-skirts and jeans with no necktie. The necktie doesn't have a printed logo, though it's attached as a tie pin - some schools do this. (Quite a lot of series, however, don't bother with having any sort of logo on the tie or belt buckle at all, which is a bit unrealistic, but in some cases could be explained away by the above-mentioned variability in strictness.)

Also famously depicted in SOTUS is the workshop shirt/smock/overshirt, which isn't really an official uniform, but a protective garment meant for practical classes. In some schools, there's been considerable drama over their use, as students often use it as a cover for casual clothing instead of wearing the regular uniform, which the staff disapproves. As so many series show, it's indeed quite commonly seen as an engineering-school symbol.

And that's pretty much all I can think of. If you've made it this far, thanks and congratulations! :p Let me know if I've forgotten anything.

#thai bl #thai culture #bl meta

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meowstri · 5 days ago

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you could wipe my mind, i'd still be stuck on you

tags: peter parker x fem!reader, tooth-rotting fluff, college/university au, lots of sarcasm, 1k words synopsis: while going out shopping to buy snacks for movie night, your bf, peter parker, tries to convince to you to let him get a new video game. chaos ensues. a/n: wow hey welcome to my first fic posted on here... sorry if this seems rushed haha. tysm @103rafes for helping me with the ending, ily man. reblogs, comments, and likes are appreciated!! title is from stuck on you by grentperez

"alright, i think we've got everything!" your eyes scanned through the various assortment of junk food in the grocery cart. "movie night is gonna be awe-" You turned to face your bf only to find no one standing near you. "ugh... where is that idiot?"

walking around the store, you find your boyfriend of 1 year, peter parker, in the electronics section. of course he was. you thought, he probably even forgot what they were at the store for.

he was staring intently at the newest spider-man video game. Spider-Man 2, it had came out just last month and everyone was going crazy over it. he had a scrunched up look on his face, studying the cover of the game in the clear display case.

as you walked up to him, his senses picked up on your location and he turned his head around, quickly glancing at you before turning his head back towards the display case. "i still can't believe they make video games of me. they really captured my likeness" he let out a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. "i am so going to get this."

rolling your eyes, you sighed. "no we're not mister. c'mon its time to go home." you tugged on the sleeve of his sweatshirt, but Peter still didn't move an inch.

"please y/n... ned has the game! so does everyone we know!"

"why don't you just go over to ned's house and play it?" you suggested, rolling your eyes once again. "yeah, keep rolling your eyes. it'll be stuck like that soon enough." he huffed with a pout. "if you let me get it i'll let you pick the movie tonight. i know you love those cheesy hallmark movies..." peter said in a sing-songy voice. he leaned in to give you a small peck on the cheek and looked at you with his chocolate puppy-dog eyes.

"your silly antics don't work on me." you can't help but let out a giggle as buried his face into your neck and kissing every expanse of skin on it. peter wrapped his arms around your waist hugging you close. "but no. out of the both of us, you're the worst at managing your spendings and we need the money."

he hummed. "but mr. stark gave me my paycheck on monday, its more than enough to buy the game and put away some of it in our savings..."

"you mean your allowance?"

"hey! i may not be an avenger, but i still work for one of the richest people in america" he laughed, messing up your hair. "so... can i still get it?"

you hesitated for a moment, doing some calculations in your head. the two of you lived together in a dingy apartment and did extra jobs on the side to keep the both of them afloat. you knew peter worked hard a lot, trying to keep his grades up while maintaining his life as the city's spider-man so maybe he did deserve something nice for himself.

the corners of your mouth lifted in a small smile. "well..."

—

“did you see that! i beat his ass so hard.” your bf laughed. you watched intently at the screen trying to decipher what was going on but all you could see were bright flashes of colour.

“you already beat ass in real life. don’t understand why you need to buy this game just to play a virtual version of yourself.” you said jokingly while eating from the bowls of chips and candy you bought earlier that day. you grimaced as you peter took a large handful of m&ms and popcorn, shoving them into his mouth.

“true, but this is more fun.” he said between mouthfuls. “plus i don’t get hurt.” he gave you a dorky little grin.

well there was no denying that, you thought as you smiled back. as much as peter tried to argue, you insisted on paying for the game as a gift. just seeing peter smile over some silly game made you fall in love with him all over again. it was surreal, dating the spider-man. the same one that appeared on the news 24/7. the same one that made you worry for days wondering if he might come back from saving crime.

but he wasn’t just spider-man. he was just plain old peter parker. the boy from queens that you met all those years ago. the boy who was practically an academic genius and the best boyfriend you could ever ask for.

interrupting you from your thoughts, peter wrapped his arm around your shoulder and held you tightly. he had already finished playing the game but he still grasped the controller in his hand.

“what are you thinking about?” he asked quietly, playing with the strands of hair falling on your shoulders. he smelled like fresh laundry and a hint of butter from the popcorn.

“what?”

peter chuckled. “you were staring at me with that look you get when you’re thinking really hard. like your nose scrunches up a bit and you have this wide smile on your face”

“oh… i wasn’t really thinking about anything.” you locked eyes with him, staring into his big, doe brown eyes. you shimmied closer to him and rested your head on shoulder. “just thinking about how great you are.”

“thanks for feeding my ego— ow!” you punched him on the arm but there was no anger to it. “im joking, im joking. you’re great too.” the smile lines on his face deepened.

peter leaned his head against yours. “thank you for getting me that game by the way. i love you.” he pressed his lips against your temple, making a line down towards your cheeks, then ending at your lips. they were soft and warm, and he tasted like slightly like chocolate.

“mm, love you too spidey-boy. now play your game, i didn’t spend 90 dollars on that for nothing.” you giggled lightly.

unable to pull away from your face, he grumbled. “okay, okay! way to ruin a moment with my lovely girlfriend…”

“does this spider-man have a girlfriend too?” you nodded towards the screen.

“you’re better than any video game girlfriend i could have as spider-man”. you couldn’t help but let out a string of laughs as he pulled you in again, planting kisses all over your face.

fin.

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interloved · 8 months ago

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modern!anakin skywalker as your professor + age gap

lowkey daddy professor!anakin x bimbo!reader

description box; anakin is your professor and your boyfriend. that blurs the lines between his job and you being his student sometimes — but he can’t ever deny his sweet girl a request, and this time you want him to give his honest opinion on the essay you’ve written for an assignment he gave his students, including you.

warnings; nsfw warning, blow job, MINOR BLOGS DNI!!, age gap, smut under the cut!

HE’S TAKING TOO LONG to read it. he’s rereading the same lines, again and again, and he’s frowning.

“you don’t like it.”

you hate the way your quivers, like you’re weak and… and dependant. oh, but you are. you depend on his every word and action like he’s your lifeline.

“no — no, sweetheart, i do, it’s just…” and then, anakin sighs and sets aside his glasses, looking into your eyes directly with his startlingly piercing, frost-coloured eyes.

he’s struggling to find words that won’t bruise your ego too badly. anakin never lies to you, but he can’t find it in him to give you a brutally honest review.

anakin sits on the couch as you pace nervously in front of him, the table in front of him filled with documents, his laptop and… that damned essay.

“it’s just what?” you inquire, and your voice is already breaking, “you hate my essay! i can hear it!”

and then, all the dams break; you’re turning away from him and all the tears start flooding and the overthinking starts to claw its way into your soul.

“you’re… you’re gonna give me an F! you’re going to fail me, i’m going to fail this class — you, you hate my essay…” you’re falling into complete despair.

anakin winces, this is exactly the reaction he had wanted to prevent.

“oh, c’mere, sweet girl, i don’t hate your essay. it’s just a little, er… childish wording, but that’s nothing to worry about — ‘m not gonna fail you, all right?”

you sniffle, and for a moment, your tears stop. “y-you’re not?”

anakin winces again — he may be your boyfriend and he may love you, but he’s also your professor and has to keep a certain neutrality towards the work you offer to him as his student. but he can’t deny it, being so close to you, it’s been blurring the lines of professionalism. you’re such a sweet, little thing — so pretty and so young, so soft and so kind-hearted. he couldn’t ever say no to any of your requests.

and maybe you’ve learned to use that against him somehow. he’s given you way too many A’s and B’s that you did not deserve because as much as he loves you as a person, you are a bad writer. you’re not hopeless; there is definitely a good basic idea and core in every one of your essays, just the execution… somehow fails to be amazing every time. and he’s not exaggerating.

“yeah… yeah, i’ll give you a C, m’kay, kid? it’s not a bad essay, pretty, it just needs a little polishing.” he comforts you, caging your, in comparison to him, small frame in his warm, trained arms.

but this time, you frown. “a C? you… you’ve never given me a C before.”

it’s always been A’s and B’s.

anakin struggles to find the right words again, “well, this time your performance was a tiny bit… lacking… but just a little, darling, no need to cry — aw, sweetheart, don’t cry…”

“l-l-lacking? i’m… lacking?” you wail as you push away his arms and pace to the kitchen, this time sobbing violently.

when he reaches you, your eyes are all puffy and red, and he panics.

“no, you’re not lacking!” he protests, think, anakin, think, “i’ll… i’ll give you an A, m’kay? so stop crying, please, you’re too pretty to be crying like that over a grade.”

your sobbing stops slowly, and a relieved smile makes its way onto your lips. “r-really? thank you so much, ani! love you so much!”

you squeal and jump into his arms, and it’s like the rainbows have started showing after the storm. anakin laughs at your excitement but mentally slaps himself — he’d sworn himself he wouldn’t give you good grades without you earning them anymore, but it appears he really just can’t say no to his little darling.

“i’ll make it up to you, i promise!” you swear to him, covering his handsome face with kisses, and he grins cheekily.

“oh really? how’re you gonna do that, little lady?” he chuckles good-naturedly.

and you think, you think real hard. and you jump down, out of his embrace, and you thank him in the only way you know.

you lead him to the couch and settle between his legs, and you unbuckle his belt.

“oh, like that? i didn’t mean that—” anakin stops whatever he was going to say when you take him whole. whole.

a choked, throaty moan escapes his lips and almost automatically, his big hands reach for your hand; his hand almost covers the whole back of your head, and his fingers are getting tangled in your soft hair, and he bucks up into your soft lips.

“fuck,” he groans and he closes his eyes, and he looks so breathtaking, so handsome, like a greek god, “god, what did i do to deserve you… such a beautiful, obedient girl… must’ve saved a country in my past life to deserve you.”

he feels your lips curling up at his praise and he looks down, and it’s a sight to behold. big, innocent doe eyes looking up at him like he’s a god you’re worshipping, nothing but pure admiration and love shining in those eyes.

“my god, you’re so adorable,” he praises you, eyes closed and brows furrowed so prettily, moaning when you begin to deepthroat him, your pretty head going up and down, up and down, “so, so, so pretty…”

and then, his chiselled abs tenses, his thighs quiver slightly, and you know he’s close.

“c’mon,” he whispers, “swallow.”

and you obey, like his good little girl.

if he’s getting thanked this dedicatedly by a student, surely he can make exceptions from time to time.

he doesn’t get paid enough anyway.

#anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x reader smut #anakin smut #anakin x reader #anakin x you #obsessive anakin #star wars #star wars anakin

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neil-gaiman · 1 year ago

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hi neil !

i have to write a short story for the final assignment worth 90% of my creative writing uni module, it has to be 4k words. i’ve been putting it off for months because 1) i’ve been depressed and can’t find the motivation to do anything, 2) im deathly scared of it being bad because 3) graduating my course counts on the grade i’ll get for it. writing and reading has been a huge motivator to not give up on a future for myself. i am basically terrified of writing and submitting it. all the ideas i have feel bad, or i can’t execute them, or it’s not what the marker would be looking for. i’ve had the deadline extended into summer but i just can’t bring myself to write anything. how do you make yourself write when it matters so much? when something big rests on its quality, and it scares you?

thank you so much :)

There was a colourist I knew who wanted more than anything to colour a comic book I was writing. I got him pages early to start colouring, talked to him about what we were trying to achieve. He was really smart and brilliant and I knew he'd do a great job. The editor was waiting for his work to come in.

He may have started. He may not. I don't know. All I know is he was so obsessed with it being perfect that he never sent the pages in. The person who wound up colouring the comic got the job because we were out of time and our first choice had never sent anything to the editor.

The moral I took from this is that any work, no matter how bad, is better than no work, no matter how brilliant.

I pass this along to you, in the hope that it helps. Divide 4000 by how many days you have to go, and then double that. That's what you have to write each day to get 4K written, with enough time to revise it thoroughly on the other side. Get anything down in the first half of the time. Make it brilliant in the second half of the time.

Good luck.

#how to work #making things #finishing things #you can do it

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vetteltea · 2 months ago

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To Be Free | CL16

Summary: You had always dreamed that your creativity would take you further than you could ever imagine. You never in your wildest dreams imagine it would take you to Monaco [5.8K, A]

Warnings: Implied Smut, Charles Leclerc being a Red Flag

Note: Hi. I’m not dead, far from it. Thank you all for being so patient as I post my first piece in over a year. I hope you all enjoy it. Thank you to @a-distantdreamer for always being my cheerleader, to @vinvantae for getting my out of the mid-writing funk and @percervall for giving me the balls to post. I love you all.

In order for art to tell a story, it has to be free.

At least, that is what your creative design professor told you the week before your final project was due. It was hard to be creative in a mundane town full of the same people, conversations and routines. Every day you would wake up while your mother told a story about how ‘Jenny at the gym seems to have filled out again!’ Your father would grunt, tell you he would be home late from work, and slip out the door, half-drunk coffee on the table.

Maybe simply being creative was difficult because you were crammed into a squadron of children—three brothers, two sisters. You were never referred to as an individual; it was always ‘She’s one of their kids.’ Your friends at school only became that because of their established relationship with your family. Nothing irritated you more than when a teacher would call you by a sibling's name. You were your own person, or at least, trying to be. It didn’t matter what colour you dyed your hair or how loud the clothes were you wore; your identity was tied to them.

Art was an escape; everybody had insisted you would be the same as everybody else in that town. In the fullness of time, you would fit into a job where you were paid to sit at a desk and answer the same two questions: No, I don’t want a coffee. Yes, I sent that report over. Your story would end traditionally, with a wedding and children.

The thought of being just another figure in suburbia terrified you. It may have been the dream for so many, but it was not yours. Each piece of art you created seemed to come back to the beginning. A frown from your teacher. She had told you once to drive outside of the town, go to the lake behind the Old Manor House, and see how it makes you feel.

Being five miles away from your hometown had created the piece of art that had skyrocketed your grades. You could only wonder what being five thousand miles away from home would feel like. It was the push you needed, the metaphorical map to make you leave.

Overnight, you packed away your life in a suitcase, kissed your mother’s cheek farewell, and set out to be free.

It turns out that being free was a lot more expensive when you didn’t have a degree behind you like the rest of your family.

Something had led to Toulouse, the classified city of art and history. With the money you had saved, you had been able to manage a week in Paris. (It was terribly overrated in your opinion, and the only highlight had been the overpriced pair of ears and waffles at Disneyland, but you couldn’t live like an artist when you couldn’t sell art.)

You have to succumb, moving away from the capital and towards the south, wondering why you didn’t come here in the first place. There was something romantic, peaceful. Neighbours said hello, and something seemed to be happening on every corner, not just middle-aged women doing pilates or another school bake sale. (Bake sales were fine, just not when the one English-speaking cafe you now had a job in seemed to have one every three days.)

There were perks to working there: Tuesday and Sunday off, where you could sit by the Garonne with a set of pastel-half sticks that had been crammed into your suitcase. It was a view you could draw over and over, the deep blue twinkling in the afternoon sun. The contrast of the great greenery on each bank of the river made for a beautiful sight—maybe, in your opinion, a beautiful piece, too. Once or twice the locals had raised their eyebrows at the girl in a fluorescent jacket and mismatched trainers, arched over a sketchbook, but even they had stopped, paused to take in her artworks, and nodded approvingly. One woman had even placed a twenty-euro note at your left-hand side in exchange for one of the copious drawings in your book.

You didn’t understand all of their words, still picking up snatches of French each day (and Duolingo had been a welcome companion on your phone), but their smiles and points between the paper and the view were enough to confirm you of their satisfaction.

On the fourth Tuesday of your arrival, your position had adjusted slightly, setting up shop on the bridge rather than the greenery. You almost drop your pencil into the river when somebody stops behind you, humming in admiration. This piece was different; inspired by Lindsay Fox; softer colours, harsher lines in an almost marble effect.

The man says something in French, but you have to shake your head; it’s way beyond a 34-Day Streak for Duolingo. He smiles, understandingly, changing to speak in English.

“That’s a beautiful piece.” He pauses. “Is it your own style?” His accent is clearly from this area but seems almost more reformed and classier.

“It’s inspired by another artist.” You explain, never bothering to go into further detail; nobody ever understands beyond that. “But it’s my own take. I never get bored of this view.”

“Can I see more?” He asks.

You still find it strange; hearing people around the area speak English isn’t uncommon, but their few words are usually to tell you they like what you’re working on or to order a coffee. There’s a hint of worry in your body language when you pass over the sketchbook, but he’s careful, fingers gently turning the pages, pausing every few moments to take in one piece, gently following his fingers across the sketch lines.

“It’s incredible.” He insists, handing the book back. “Tell me, do you take commissions?”

You have to pause. Commissions had come so few and far between; since being here, you had managed to expand your portfolio. Sometimes, locals would ask you to do a sketch of them or their loved ones, returning later in the day to pick up the piece and marvel at the design. You can’t offer a straightforward answer, so you have to just nod.

For the first time, you look at him properly, too. Dark hair, tousled, and clearly in need of a cut. His eyes are the same colour as the river you draw almost every day, with mismatched dimples on each cheek. He’s beautiful.

“Perfect.” He nods, feeling in the pocket of his loose jeans for a pen. You raise your eyebrows, watching as he holds out his hand, nodding for you to give yours over. Hesitantly, you do, eyes fixed as he scribbles a number down on the back of your palm.

“Do you know how to get to Monaco from here?” He asks casually. You have to pause.

“Is Monaco nearby?” You ask, dumbfounded. It’s worth it, you decide. For the smile on his face that appears.

“A few hours away.” He clarifies. “Can you... do that? I can just show you a photo and come back myself, but... the place. It’s special to me. I’d like to see how you would interpret it in your style.”

A frown appears on his face when you don’t answer immediately.

“I can pay you an advance now.” The man insists. “Eighty? Ninety?”

You have to pause then. Eighty or ninety euros may seem minimal in some precautions, but that could buy your groceries for a week; it was practically a day’s work at the coffee shop for a piece of art.

“That would be perfect.” You smile. “I’m off next Sunday. Would that work for you?” You ask. He’s smiling now, nodding in confirmation.

“It would work for me.” He clarifies. “Text me over your bank details." He nods, watching as I reach for my phone, typing in his phone number. “I’ll send you the advance and we can arrange a meeting time.” He finishes, looking down to his watch; his footsteps draw away from you, giving a final nod, but then holds out his hand.

“Charles.” The man introduces himself with his name. You don’t hesitate in taking his hand, shaking it back, and giving your own name to him. “Nice jacket, by the way.” He adds.

You raise your eyebrows, looking at the deep brown leather jacket around your shoulders. It oddly complimented your black and white plaid dress and deep green boots, or so you thought. A grin appears on your face when you pull off the garment, taking in the prancing horse on the back.

“It's a Ferrari.” You explain. “Pretty unique, but people don’t seem to realise it. Found it in a second-hand store.”

“Honestly.” Charles grins. “Some people wouldn’t recognise a Ferrari if it came and shouted in their face.”

Sometimes you need to clarify details before agreeing to something with a complete stranger.

To begin, he hadn’t told you that he meant Monte Carlo; you were being asked to commission in the most expensive city in one of the most expensive countries in the world. You had taken a train out of Toulouse on Saturday evening after your shift, bustling through the crowded town of people on their way out to enjoy the weekend. Suitcase in hand, you had curled up in the corner of a carriage, watching as the ocean and scenery passed you by, practically falling into bed when you arrived at the last-minute hostal bed you had booked, bypassing the sounds of the noisy couple above you.

Secondly, ninety turned out to be an incredibly misleading number.

You had let out the oddest mix between a scream and a gasp when you checked your bank later on that evening, seeing that ninety-thousand euros had been sent over under C.LECLERC. It not only gave you a heart attack, knowing that money could keep you afloat for a lot longer than it would take saving from working in the cafe, but it also gave you a name.

Typing the name into your Google search later that evening had been like discovering a state secret. Charles Leclerc, Formula One driver for Scuderia Ferrari. His face was plastered over your home screen, adorned in red fireproofs, atop a podium, in a car with aerodynamics you couldn’t even begin to understand.

Your stomach had twisted. A truly evil part of yourself had the idea of disappearing and never returning, ninety thousand euros richer. That money could lead to your freedom. But in your heart, you knew what you were. An artist, trying to path their way, and how would it look if you had disappeared after taking money from such a well-known being?

The train from Nice to Monte-Carlo is only forty minutes; before you know it, you’re stepping onto the train platform, mismatched converses in red and black complimenting the cherry red clip pinning back your hair. You had shoved the scrap of paper you had scribbled the meeting point on in your dungaree pocket, pulling it out and shuffling to the side of the platform. It’s only a short walk, but it’s made longer by the constant pauses, taking in the sight of the city. Extravagant, classy, old buildings piling up either side of the winding roads, peeks of an overcrowded harbour, boats that were worth more than you would ever make in your life on view. It was like walking around a movie scene; there was no other way to describe it.

The main character of the city is sitting at the bridge on the address, hands in his pockets, lips turning into a grin when he sees your figure, identical from the day back in Toulouse. Immediately, Charles has left his spot, smiling at your presence.

“You made it." He grins, starting to speak before your tone interrupts him.

“And you didn’t tell me who you were!” You exclaim, your moral compass falling over you. “Charles, I can’t accept that much.”

“I’m sorry?” He pauses. “I thought we discussed; that was just a pre-”

“It’s a pre-nothing!” You shake your head. “I’m not a proper artist—I can’t charge that much!”

“Really?” Charles pauses, nonchalantly. “You seem like a...proper artist to me. Your work is incredible.”

He doesn't give you time to argue further, offering his arm out and motioning to follow him. You can’t help but raise an eyebrow, falling into step alongside him. It suddenly makes sense; why is he keeping his head lower than when you originally met, keeping the sunglasses across his eyes? You want to try and make conversation; you want to feel less awkward than walking alongside a literal billionaire.

You don’t need to; he makes the conversation for you.

“Why Toulouse?” He asks, slowing down his pace, wanting to hear your answer. “Not many artists stay around the South of France for too long.”

“Paris was overrated.” You shrug, giving a completely honest answer. It doesn't hit you until you’ve said it that you had practically insulted the country where you were currently residing and your hand comes over your mouth in realization. “Oh my god, you’re not from Paris, are you?”

Charles is laughing. Something about your expressions made him grin. “You searched me up, but didn’t think to check where I was from?”

“I didn’t get to it.” You quip back. “I was kind of distracted by the fact you’re a multi-race winner in the biggest Motorsport in the world.”

“And you still didn’t recognise me on the bridge.” He pauses. “I’m from Monaco. I’m not French. Just…a lot of drivers live here.”

“A Tax-Haven, right?” Your personality comes through at long last, any sense of awkwardness washing away. “You set up camp here, but you’re not here most of the year, so... more money.” You can tell from the way Charles stays silent you’re banging on, correct in your guess.

“Monaco is my home, too. I am actually from here.”

Our pace slows as we reach a hill. The road is more prominent there, curving in a hairpin. Everything in its surroundings seems to complement it: the high buildings, the shrubbery, the bright red and white stripes outlining the road. Charles has frozen in his spot, and you can tell that this is the spot he was talking about. His commission. You can practically see the memories from track in his vision, almost as if he’s taking in every turn he’s ever made, every time he’s walked along this road since a toddler holding onto his mother's skirts.

“This is it.” You narrate for him. “This is your spot.”

He turns to you, eyes lifted, bright. “What do you think?” He asks, your own eyes still focused on the place.

“It’s beautiful.” You say it with sincerity. It is the way the entirety of Monaco, of its racing pedigree, seems to be captured in one shot. It almost feels too surreal; it almost feels as if you wouldn’t be able to do justice to this place with a mere canvas. “What kind of style?”

“That’s completely up to you.” Charles pauses. “Your creative style. How do you see this place? Because I think you see it the same way that I do, yes?”

“Yes.”

A lot can change in two weeks.

Your bedsit in Toulouse had been the biggest change; in the centre of the room was a large canvas, a curved road in the middle of the page clearly outlined. The sofa is littered with various paints, chalk, and pencils—a collage of rich reds, deep greens, and charcoal black.

The cafe hadn’t been forgotten; you had taken a sabbatical, insisting you needed two weeks—just two weeks—then you would be back to making overpowered coffee and refolding a newspaper four times in twenty minutes to place back on the front table.

Charles stays in contact; it’s a little difficult, within the midst of time zone differences and media releases. Sometimes it’s a text, and other times it's a video sent of where he is, insisting it would be good inspiration for your next portfolio piece. You don’t know how many times you have to explain it’s different; you need to feel it. Understand it further than a picture on the screen of your run-down phone. Sometimes it’s difficult to deny the flutter in your stomach when you receive one of these messages.

You get a FaceTime call on the Saturday night of his current race weekend in Barcelona. The weather is cloudy and there’s already been engine issues on his teammates home turf; Charles was frowning when he originally joined the call. Clearly a weak qualifying was looming in his head.

“Hey.” You’re starting the conversation, a paintbrush tucked behind your ear, a colourful shirt misbuttoned. “Is everything alright?”

“I just wanted to see how it was going.” Charles explains. “I mean, the painting—and well, you obviously. Did you find a chocolate pastry in the end this morning? I know you were craving one.”

A smile falls to your lips; in the midst of a race weekend with no luck, no speed, and no chance of getting into Q3, he has still found time to check in, lying back in the stupidly expensive sheets of his hotel bed, stubble and hair both overgrown, the buttons of his Ferrari Polo discarded, golden chest peeking outwards.

“It’s…going.” You shrug, “I want to do it justice—to find the colours and style that just...” One hand moves in a dramatic gesture. Charles nods understandingly as you continue your rant. “I’ve gone back there three times since the original visit, you know?”

A smirk appears on the driver’s face. “And you didn’t bother to let me know?”

“You were in Canada. You’re also my client; I want to make sure it’s what I promised.” You insist, walking back over to the array of shade pallets on your couch, fingers reaching down to select your third red chalk of the afternoon. Charles is content to watch your eyes focus, the nudge of the camera indicating you were rotating through your next tool.

“Hey.” His tone causes you to turn your attention back to the camera. “Do you want to see something cool?”

“I always want to see something cool.” You grin, watching as Charles sits himself up from his bed, the sound of his bare feet padding against the tiles of his Mediterranean hotel room. There’s telltale signs of his presence in the background: the phone charger by the mirror, the watch he had worn the first time you met him in Toulouse, a bundle of friendship bracelets, lovingly made by the Tifosi.

None of it, however, compares to when he lifts his phone, skin glowing in the soft sun, and flips the camera around to portray his balcony view.

The sight of Barcelona in the deep sun from Charles’ phone makes your heart stop. The sky a deep blue you crayoned as a child, roads twisting into an abstract stroke of tar and coloured dots of various sporting cars. There’s bright greens, specks of colour from the greenery. In the distance, you can still hear the ocean and the lapping of the waves.

You’ve always been clear that before you commit to creating art, you want to see the place and feel the place first. There’s almost certainty in your mind that the rule can be relaxed for the view you’re currently experiencing.

“It’s beautiful.” You finally whisper, after a full five minutes of transfixing through the phone screen.

“I’ll take you here one day.” Charles insists. “Paints and all.”

He doesn't miss the way your eyes flicker to the side, the pink that decorates your cheeks and matches the ribbon tying back your fringe whilst you work.

Monte-Carlo on the Saturday evening before the Monaco Grand Prix is an experience like no other.

Charles had pleaded to send a car to collect you from France, despite the fact the journey would have been faster by train—a whole two hours faster. In the end, the compromise is a ticket that would keep you safe and well-looked after in the First Class carriage. While you reclined in the leather seat, a high-end soda on your table, a canvas wrapped in brown paper, secured with nimble string, was nestled at your side.

You were certain you had spent an entire hour just…staring when it was completed. In your hearts, it was certainly your most intricate and perfect piece. A part of you could have spent the rest of eternity just staring at the landscape, the rest of your bedsit out of focus while you were transported back to that road in Monaco. It helps the mental stimulation that had overpowered you for the weeks; how you had spent an evening comparing your books on Sylvia Hikins’ minute but powerful detail and the reflection work of Dmity Oleyn.

It’s not a huge walk to Charles’ apartment from the train station; what makes it longer is the amount of racing fans, clad in bright red, papaya orange, or deep blue. A cacophony of colours lines the streets of Monte-Carlo, attention diverted to the paddock nestled alongside the arbor. Your heart rate increases as the crowds become thicker, desperately trying to keep your packaged painting away from nudges and knocks.

It’s only when you reach the edge of the city that the crowds loosen a little and there’s a chance for you to slide out your phone, thumb-tapping in the address on Google Maps, a reminder of your first encounter with Charles almost three weeks ago.

There was in fact no need for this in the end. You’re not sure which event takes place first: your map location updating to announce you were less than a one-minute walk from your destination or the shout from above you. Instinctively, your head turns upwards, feeling the long braid of hair fall down your back and locating the source of the noise as a smile beams from your mouth.

There’s two figures on the balcony, both leaning over the glass barriers. One is shorter, a mass of dark hair and thick-rimmed glasses, waving wildly to gain your attention. The other is blessed with brown hair and instantly turns from the balcony when he sees your figure.

A minute later, the door to the complex in front of you is opening, your client grinning as he steps out from the foyer, feet covered in just socks as he hops down the path to you. Maybe it’s the soft sunset, or the way his oversized tee shirt makes the muscles peeking from his arms look even more defined. You’re certain Charles Leclerc could look beautiful by any means necessary.

He doesn't give you time to process these thoughts any further as he wraps an arm around your shoulder, clearly in high spirits from his home race weekend.

“Is that for me?” He grins, eyes widening at the parcel as you shake your head.

“No.” You hum. “I just tend to carry around a giant square wherever I go.” You grin, looking down to your own outfit, then to his own. “Are you sure I’m in the right city? I feel very overdressed compared to the people in sports shirts.”

“You look perfect.” He insists, his arm falling from your shoulder to your bicep. “Come on. Come up and meet everybody.”

“I’m sorry?” You falter. “You want me to come and meet-“

“Please?” His hand falls lower, fingers tracing around your wrist as he slowly connects your palms together. “I want to introduce them to you. Put a name to a face.”

The insistence is good, and you refuse to move your hand away when he entwines your fingers together, praying that you aren’t going to drop the painting or your jaw from the unexpected intimacy.

The smile only grows on this face when you nod, letting him slip your threaded backpack from your shoulder, guiding you into the foyer.

The painting reveal goes…incredibly well.

Four hours ago, you had been led up to his apartment, introduced as ‘The next Van Gogh.’ He gives you a few moments to introduce yourself, noting to you that this wasn’t the entity of his group; you would meet some more faces tomorrow, should they be celebrating. When somebody had opened their mouth to argue that if you were really that good, you should have been nicknamed after Leonardo DaVinchi. Charles only grins when he gives his response.

“But DaVinchi was never a landscape painter like my girl, was he?”

You’re lucky enough to get to watch the reaction of several Monegasques seeing one of the most iconic portraits of their country come to life. There’s applause, cheers, and for the first time in your life, you feel like an artist. Not just somebody who places pencil and pastel to paper, hoping for the best. Your eyes can’t even focus on the work; the colours and strokes entwine into one. No, they fall to Charles; blinking back the tears, he's... overcome. You saw his vision. You got his understanding. You understood him.

He doesn't hold back from walking over to you, arms wrapping and squeezing you oh-so-tightly, applauding and thanking you over and over for your work.

In the remaining three hours and thirty-eight minutes since the reveal, there had been celebrations, soft drinks, and music. Your attention has been completely stolen by a golden dachshund—Leo, somebody tells you—who licks your ankle and insists on being lifted. Do you spend the rest of the gathering with the puppy in your arms? Quite possibly.

When the group dies down, Leo is placed in his sofa spot, chewing on one of his toys, occupied whilst you take the opportunity to look over the lights of the city—lights of buildings twinkling along the shoreline, a clear sky enveloped in black, how the deep blue of the ocean in the harbour is illuminated by the streetlamps.

You’re so engrossed that you jolt when you feel a hand on your back, before a string of apologies and a soft laugh fall from Charles’ lips. A comfortable silence settles for a moment before he speaks again, looking back over the skyline.

“I used to look out over the harbour when I was young.” He explains. “After I had a bad race or lost on something... I knew my home would always welcome me back.”

“It is quite beautiful.” You hum, shuffling from the open-aired area and back into the lounge. Your art piece now hangs in pride on the wall, next to a silver trophy. His first win, one of his friends had told you when they had caught you staring.

Both of you stare at the trophy and then the art piece, and the smile crawls back onto Charles’ face. Before he can fall into an endless spiral of gratitude again, you have to speak.

“Did you always want to be a racing driver?” You ask. Charles nods.

“It’s a part of me, no? Like I believe that being an artist is a part of you.” His expression softens as his vision finally meets the side of your cheek. “I want to know the other parts of you, too.”

It’s enough to make you turn your head from the view, and for the first time all evening, you see Charles. The same one you had seen at the hairpin turn all those weeks ago. Slowly, his hand comes back out, gently circling your wrist. You swear the entirety of Europe could feel your heartbeat, most certainly the man in front of you.

“I want to know about these paintings you love.” He murmurs. “About the necklace you always wear and why your eyes sparkle when you see open water.” His forehead skims across your own, noses bumping, lips dangerously close as his hand moves from your wrist, dancing up your arm, holding your chin.

“Will you come to the race tomorrow?” He asks softly.

Words seem almost incomprehensible until you softly breathe out. “Yes.”

That’s all it takes; the butterflies in your stomach swarm as he surges forward, finally pressing his lips to yours. The world seems almost right; everything finally makes sense; you don’t need to be free to create art; you just need to be found. Found by a man who understood art on the banks of France. Who understood the tri-colour shirts you wore on a phone call? Who understood you?

You had never felt more found then when your lips pressed back into his and he softly guided you back into his bedroom.

Being found washed over you for the next fifteen hours.

You had rolled out of the Navy Blue bed sheets that morning after a deep slumber, wrapped up against Charles’ bare body. Any detailing of his room had been completely bypassed when you had sauntered through his apartment, the top he had been wearing the previous night covering your frame.

Part of you is disappointed to see his golden torso now covered by a scarlet shirt as he bends down to give Leo his water bowl, humming in contentment as his puppy excitedly laps at the water. The happiness only grows further when he reaches back up, arms opening to envelope you into his chest, a hand threading into the back of your head as he tucks you into his neck.

“I didn’t expect you to be up so soon.” He murmurs. “Did I wake you?”

“Leo did.” You grin. “But I could never be mad at that face.” You insist, feeling Charles’ chest vibrate with laughter. Eventually, the hands on your hips have to pull away, a soft kiss being pressed to your hairline.

“Joris is going to be here in a couple of hours to bring you and Leo to the track.” He hums. “I left your Paddock Pass next on top of the mantelpiece. Otherwise the raptor would have chewed it.” He grins, his smile dropping when he sees you look out of the window, towards the track layout. “I’ll… You’re still coming?” He asks curiously.

“I am.” You smile. “I said I would.”

True to your word, you do so. True to his word, Joris appears at Charles’ apartment door one hour and a bit later. He greets you pleasantly enough, asking how you found Monaco and congratulating you again on your art piece. When he goes to collect Leo into his arms, the puppy backs away, sniffing at your legs as he practically demands to nestle back into your arms. You can’t help but laugh, letting him nuzzle into your chest.

Joris says nothing, but when he leads you to his car and you’re reunited with the group of friends who would be attending the race in the Paddock, he makes sure that he takes Leo so that you can enjoy the conversation with the remaining people in the group.

The conversation flows freely and happily, only interrupted when the puppy begins to bark, pulling on his lead towards a figure in front of the group. A beautiful, slender figure dressed in soft pink, dark hair glossy and neat, a smile worth a million stars as she steps in time with Charles.

Joris laughs as he lets go of the lead, and Leo goes bouncing over to the figure, clearly recognising her. When she stands back up, the puppy in her grasp, and steps closer to Charles, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, your stomach immediately drops.

Charles’ own eyes flicker to you for a split second. He’ll never erase the look that was washed over your face when the girl nudges him softly, telling the group that her Charles must have slept well the previous night, which he never usually does before a race day.

Part of you—a strong, passionate part of you as deep and as powerful as the paints in your works—wants to scream out and tell this woman that her Charles had been wrapped up in your hot touch less than twenty-something hours ago. That he had whispered in your ear as his hips rolled against yours, that he had told you soft stories of a promised future together as you had found rest in his arms.

In such a short amount of time, you had allowed yourself to be chained, to be latched into a rope of feeling from the beautiful man who had approached you in a city that was almost perfect. If it had been perfect, the man would have walked to you, squeezed your hand, and gently kissed you again. Instead, his hand finds the woman’s hip, walking with the rest of the group whilst you falter behind, barely giving a second glance, slipping away from the gaggle of conversation, unseen.

As Charles climbs into his car that afternoon, you slide the keys to your bedsit into a small envelope, leaving a wad of cash and an apology note for leaving your contract so early.

In order for art to tell its story, it has to be free.

Charles returns to Toulouse on Monday morning, low on the P8 result he had received the afternoon before and the way his girlfriend had kissed his cheek and told him not to worry, that his luck would change. All whilst she whispered praises into his lips, caught in a kiss at the back of some overpriced club, his mind is overpowered by the thoughts of you, as bright as the landscapes in your sketchbook.

He has to explain. He longs to pull you into his arms and tell you he meant what he said. When he arrives, he looks everywhere. In every art shop, every park, every museum. He remembers you mentioning a part-time job in a cafe. On his ninth attempt, he freezes when he steps through the entrance, the chime of a bell hitting the front foot in mid-ring when he sees a landscape displayed proudly on the wall.

He doesn't need to ask. Feet come over to the counter as he looks over. Two girls. Neither of them are you. One of them turns around and smiles nicely enough, asking what the man would like to order.

“The woman who painted that.” He nods to the picture of the Garrone. “Where did she go?” It’s clear the girl behind the counter knows something and bites down on her lip to stay silent. It only takes one more pleading look from Charles before the words spill from her lips.

“She’s gone. Left the city on Sunday.” She pauses. “She’s gone to be free. I don’t think she’ll be back."

Charles feels his heart crack as harshly as the damages in Manet sculpture on your phone screen wallpaper. Your story insisted on you being free. After all, you had been the art. The piece where no matter what he saw for the rest of his existence, he would never be able to forget.

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kimberleyjean · 4 months ago

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Good Omens S2 Discontinuity Roundup

Hello Good Omens fans! Did you know the Good Omens team has put a lot of work into making “errors'' in the second season? Whether you were already aware, or just catching up, please take a look at the links below. Clicking any link will take you to one of the original posts that mentioned the discontinuity.

This post will continue to be updated and extended as new meta are published. Is there anything missing that you'd like to add? Reblogs, comments or messages are welcome!

Why are there so many discontinuities? Well, existing theories include different perspectives being shown, time-loops, separate timelines, a story told “out of order” and more! What's your opinion?

Discontinuities across multiple episodes:

Crowley’s sideburns.

Crowleys’ sunglasses.

The bookshop clock is frequently showing the “wrong” time (and other time inconsistencies).

The bookshop porch pillars/columns are sometimes clean, sometimes marked.

Randomly dusty streets (on a closed set no less!).

Street signage (Maggie’s and 1001 nights).

Almost every scene with visible extras, see here, here and here for examples.

Episode 1

There's TWO scrolls in Before the Beginning?

Gabriel’s/Jim’s entrance happens twice.

Crowley's conversation with Shax in the park shows him putting down the newspaper twice, and Shax's bag is all over the place.

Honolulu Roast sign.

Moving lamps inside GMCoGMD.

Disappearing eccles cakes.

Crowley's watch is set an hour ahead of his phone.

Episode 2

The lane where Crowley parks his Bentley varies between being wet and dry as well as the position it’s parked in, the colour grading, and the amount of dust on the Bentley windscreen! Also - the backdrop of the lane where Crowley parks the Bentley is impossible.

The amount of dust on Jim’s book changes in between cuts.

Job Minisode - varying wigs used for Bildad.

Episode 3

Muriel's arrival continues from a much earlier scene in E2 - see here and here.

Aziraphale parks in an unexplained location before going to the Resurrectionist pub, and also mysteriously loses his suitcase.

Resurrectionist Pub’s outdoor sign has two versions (no I don’t just mean the Jesus side!).

Bentley now 4-door (may be explained by the transformation sequence).

Awning of a new age, extras are discontinuous and standins for Nina and Maggie are visible.

Edinburgh Flashback - Crowley’s muttonchops change in size during the mausoleum scene.

Episode 4

Each time they are at the Windmill theatre, items in the background keep disappearing.

The polaroids (yes, two!) on screen are different sizes.

The polaroid itself is very confusing with Crowley’s weird arm.

The morse code in Hell is saying something slightly different to the loud speaker...

Episode 5

Nina and Maggie switch places? (Who knew they could teleport like that lol?)

High ranking demons are bottom of the barrel?

The “Surrender the angle” sign is thrown in twice?

A child randomly appears upon exit from the ball (approx 32:36).

Episode 6

Gabriel’s statue sometimes has a cross, sometimes not.

Crowley/David's stand-in is visible as Nina and Maggie leave.

French restaurant Fairy lights.

Final 15 clock shenanigans - why does the clock change from 9:25 to 9:40?

Are there two suns at the end of the episode?

These are the one's I've seen published so far and I'll keep adding to the list as more are published. In the meantime, if you spot anything missing from my list, please share the post about it :)

#good omens meta #good omens #good omens details #good omens continuity #good omens discontinuity #good omens clues #good omens season 2 #good omens analysis #good omens theory

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prettieinpink · 1 year ago

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CREATING A STUDY SCHEDULE/ROUTINE

PLANNING/SCHEDULING

LIST YOUR ACADEMIC STRENGTHS AND WEAKNESSES. This is so you can allocate time accordingly and avoid wasting any time.

PRIORITISE ANY SUBJECTS. These may be subjects that will help you in your future career or just a subject you especially want a good grade in. Anything for these subjects then becomes the most important on your to-do list.

DIVIDE TIME EACH DAY. Not all days you are going to be able to sit down at your desk at the same time. Instead, according to your energy levels and planned activities, divide your time.

E.g I have cheerleading after school and I'm going to be so tired, so I’ll do my studying in the morning instead.

ESTABLISH BREAKS. Depending on how long you can study for, place a suitable break in between. This helps make studying more productive, but only if your breaks are.

CREATING

USE YOUR TIMETABLE. On days you don’t have a specific subject, dedicate more time to that one.

CONSIDER YOUR LEARNING STYLE. This helps to be a bit more specific when creating it, instead of winging it and just doing anything. Having a consistent way of studying helps us learn better.

E.g I’m a visual learner, so I’ll watch animations. I'm an auditory learner so I’ll watch a video of someone explaining it.

KNOW WHAT YOU WILL DO DURING STUDYING. Do not just wing studying, it’s unproductive and you’re more likely to waste time instead of using it.

Before you start studying, write a to-do list of everything you need to do during that session and how you will do it. Less time time-consuming and allows you to use time productively.

SAMPLE – this is Lanny’s daily study routine without any upcoming tests, as an early bird, kinesthetic learner and needs breaks to think with clarity.

Morning

Review my flashcards in preparation for any test.

Write/note any flashcards I'm struggling with.

Afterschool

Check seqta/school website to access my courses, in which I’ll write down which subjects I had.

Do a few quick blurts on paper of everything I learned in those subjects with prior reading. I only do this for HASS, math and science + any electives that require it. (blurting method)

Then I recheck my blurts, add in anything that I’ve missed and correct with a different coloured pen.

After, I push those papers aside but I do not discard them. I’ll then complete my online science homework + class workbook. If I happen not to understand anything I’ll watch a video on it and then complete some questions on that.

I’ll take a break around now because, on an estimate, it has been around 20-40 minutes since I started depending on how my science homework is. I usually eat something and then get back to it.

Math is next. I’ll complete any math homework, then I’ll practice doing math questions on my own. What I like to do is watch a math video, pause the question without the answer then watch to see if I got it. Effective because they explain it and I can see where I went wrong without analysing my working out which is rather time-consuming.

I take another break. Math stuff usually takes around 20-30 minutes.

I then do HASS, which is the easiest. I usually read an article or watch a video on hass then apply that knowledge by answering questions OR doing assigned chapter work.

I do not study English after school, but I usually read an assigned passage/book and then try to apply any techniques/knowledge by taking that paragraph apart and analysing it. Sometimes, I write my paragraphs using any taught techniques and then mark them.

Then, I redo my blurtings again but without prior reading then recheck and correct. Then I am finished for the afternoon!!

Evening

Review flashcards then watch a video/read an article on what I was struggling with in the morning but I do not do anything to consolidate this knowledge.

That is all, please feel free to ask me about any questions about studying as I don't really post much about it, I'll love to help out any fellow students!

#hot and educated #hot girl semester #pink academia #princess academica #study blog #study aesthetic #studyspo #study motivation #studyblr #study tips #studying #high school #pretty academia #pretty and smart #study #study inspiration #routine #time management #sc

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queenie-avenue · 1 year ago

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L-O-V-E! That's what she feels for you!

💌 ⤻THE CHEERLEADER, Katie Williams

—> despite how loud she is on the field, she is always quiet when watching you through your window.

⤻ reader is gender neutral, reader is a nerd, obsessive behaviour, stalking, stealing, posessive behaviour, bullying, jealousy, slightly suggestive, this is a drabble but I will make fics for her in the future

🦋 ⤻ archives.

Katie Williams, the most popular girl in school. Stereotypically pretty with brunette hair, rich ebony skin, and of course, the cheerleader captain of you college. Regardless of what major you take, everyone has heard of Katie Williams and her sorority parties and cheerleading skills. Not to mention the piling number of admirers she has.

Yet, the only person she admired was you. The Hopeless Nerd who was a fellow student in one of her elective courses.

The first time she saw you, you were unassuming, the type of person she would have talked about behind your back but when you offered to share notes with her; without anything in return other than a thank you, it made her heart flourish like a blossom. You seemed so genuinely happy when you managed to speak to her and offer you help in the course.

She even heard you muttering about how you were glad to make a friend.

Oh... oh you... you may seem unassuming from your sweaters and oversized pants, but you — beautiful you — you were such a vixen; seducing her like that.

That night, she could not sleep at all.

Instead, she lulled over your notes in her one-person dorm, taking in the scent of the paper as she wondered whether the paper was accurate to how your delicate fingers actually smelled like.

She wanted those fingers so badly on her skin.

She had never desired anyone as much as she desired you. From a young age, her looks, her sensuality, and her popularity were all a means to an end — from that time she batted her eyelashes at a professor to round up her grade or flirted with the quarterback to get him to bring his crate of expensive beer to a party — but you were different. So different to the point she wanted to study you.

So she did.

✧ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ✧

It started out innocent — as innocent as it could be, really — by just tailing you after classes, even appearing out of nowhere so she could chat with you or maybe even drag you to cheer practice. Oh, your hands were so nice to touch, she didn't care if they were soft or callous, she just liked to touch you. She just loved the feel of your skin against her ebony-coloured hands. She was darker than most people so seeing the contrast made her rather pleased. It was a mark that you were holding her hand. As disgusting as it sounded, she didn't wash her hands till the scent of your hands faded away. If you used lotion, cologne or perfume, she made sure to buy that exact scent just to spritz around her dorm room to mimic the delusion that she was cuddling with you.

More than that, she utterly loved watching you from afar. Sure, talking to you was heaven for her, but seeing you alone, unfiltered, and without any societal pressures on you just made her want to latch onto you. She hoped one day you'd be able to show that part of yourself — unrestrained from social norms — to her. For now, she'll have to watch you from afar and from the camera she had snuck in when she came over to talk about a history essay for your class.

✧ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ✧

"[y/n], I remembered you liked this kind of candy, so I bought it for you!" She exclaimed as she clung onto your side.

"Huh?" You responded as you looked down at the candies she placed into your hands. "Did I ever tell you I liked this kind of candy?" You racked your brain, attempting to find the memory where you had shared such an intimate detail with her. After all, the both of you aren't that close, yet, anyway.

She froze on the spot for a moment. She had never been so obsessed with someone before, so she was admittedly a bit sloppy but she quickly recovered. "I see you around campus always snacking on it, I hope you like it!" She explained, twisting her words to make them sound sweet.

All. For. You.

"Thanks." You smile at her, and she swears she might faint. "See you in class?" You offered.

"Ye-yeah, see you in class." Katie had never been much of a fan of history, it was just something she picked out, but now she had something to look forward to.

"Are you coming to the game next week? I'll be cheering as usual, so you need to come! Cheerleaders need their own cheerleaders too, okay?"

#female yandere x reader #female yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere cheerleader #yandere oc #yandere fanfiction #yandere drabble

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youraverageaemondsimp · 1 year ago

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“Good girl.” // Professor!Aemond Targaryen x Student!Reader

MDNI, DD:DNE : reader discretion is advised.

block the tag #MAE:DARK!CONTENT to prevent seeing dark content from me.

based on this request.

WARNINGS: forbidden relationship, dubcon due to power imbalance, blackmail, virginity loss, rough sex(?), spanking, cunnilingus, fingering, tiddy sucking, both of them are adults, dark!aemond, professor x student relationship. + not proofread.

WC: 1.7k

“Why do you seem to be failing only in my class?” his voice booms, bouncing off the walls in the comfort of his office, you flinch at his harsh tone, your history professor, Aemond Targaryen seemed to be disappointed.

“Its- it's too difficult to remember.” you mumble, and he raises an eyebrow, “Why'd you take up this course then? You're wasting your time, though you may be good in all others, this subject is your main one and yet here you are, scoring extremely low, barely managing to pass.” he says harshly, eye roaming your figure up and down.

“S-sorry professor, I swear I'll get good grades next ti—”

“And how many times will you repeat the same line? You said that the previous test, and it's previous, and before that too, you are failing miserably Miss Y/N.” he rolls his eyes in annoyance, and you remain silent, eyes downwards in shame.

Aemond takes in your defeated form, the way you looked so submissive, quivering in fear under his gaze, he liked the power he held over you, and his eye darted towards your thighs, the way your knee high socks dug softly into the flesh, and your plaid skirt, he wondered what colour panties you were wearing, weather is his favourite colour or not.

“If you fail again, you'll have to repeat this year.” he says and you lift your eyes in panic, not wanting to do that and you speak up “What can i do?”

“Anything, get a tutor, study harder, ask your friends for help, or…” he trails off, tongue poking the inside of his cheek and you look at him confused, “Or… ?” you ask, “The other method is unethical, but would be quite an easy way for you to pass.” he says calmly, voice void of any disappointment he held earlier, filled with far more sinister.

“Please, I'll do anything.”

There it is.

“Anything?” he asks and you nod eagerly, fidgeting with your hands, he hums.

“Lift your skirt up.” he commands and you look at him shocked, “What-? Sir-” you try to protest but he throws a stern look in your direction, “Do you want me to fail you?” he asks and you shake your head, and try to hold back the tears of humiliation as you reluctantly lift your skirt up, revealing your panties to him.

“My favourite colour indeed.” he comments and you feel ashamed as you feel his gaze burning holes, he motions you come close to him and you do, you stand in front of him while he is sat on his chair, your skirt still held up, he hooks a finger through your panty band and pulls it down, mouth salivating at the sight. He licks his lips.

He forces you to sit on the table in front of him, spreading your legs apart as he slides the chair backward just enough to bend down and reach your cunt, he sniffs, taking in the scent which makes you shiver in disgust as you watch him with tear filled eyes, his mouth then latches on your bud, suckling and flicking it up and down and you throw your head back and moan, thighs clenching around his head, squeezing him tightly until he pulls them apart, hand wrapped around each thigh, holding you in place and he devours your cunt like a mad man.

“S-slow down please!” you beg when you feel his teeth nipping at your clit, slightly causing you pain, your hips move on their own accord grinding against his face and he grunts in satisfaction, “Fuck you taste heavenly, just like I had imagined.” he mutters into your cunt and you stare at him in disbelief, like he always imagined? “What? You were so fucking cute in your short skirts, prancing around the college campus looking like a 5 star meal, I don't think you know but almost every student has a crush on you.” he places kisses on your inner thighs, “Yet unlucky for them cause the one who has your legs spread out, is me.” he pulls your top up, revealing your bra, same color as the panties, “Oh my, matching are we? Maybe I'm wrong, maybe you knew that every guy wanted to fuck you, that's why you're prepared like a slut huh?” he stands up tall, hovering over your laid out form and leans down to your breast in his mouth.

You want to protest, tell him you're just doing for yourself, to feel pretty but you knew he wouldn't believe that. And maybe there was some truth to it, yet it was only for one person, for him.

A dirty secret of yours.

You had a crush on Aemond Targaryen.

Your professor.

Yet what you hadn't expected was to land yourself in this situation. How many nights did you imagine him fucking you? Giving your first time to him because you liked him, your professor.

But it wasn't all fairytales and sparkles like you had expected, you're letting him do this to you in hopes of passing his class, not because you wanted to actually fuck him at this moment. It was humiliating, and the realisation he was the blackmail type felt like ice cold water poured on you.

He bites your nipple causing you to snap out of thoughts. You watch as he lewdly suckles on your breast, his saliva coating it, you rub your thighs together at the sight, for an odd reason it is arousing, he chuckles knowing how you feel and you look away, embarrassed.

His hand travels to your cunt, rubbing small circles on your clit making you gasp, his finger travels and prods at your entrance and you let out a whine when he pushes it inside, curling it upwards causing you to squirm under him, his mouth leaves your breast before he takes your other one, giving it the same attention as he did to your previous one, simultaneously moving his hand in and out of your cunt, causing lewd wet noises to fill up the room.

The sounds of his mouth on your breast, his finger going in and out of your dripping cunt, your gasps and his satisfied grunts at the noises you let out bouncing off the walls and back to your own ears.

You reach your peak you a loud moan, gripping the table so tight, and he groans, hearing that lewd sound, “Fuck, need to be be inside you.” he mutters before withdrawing his hand and pulling himself up, you're caught offguard when he flips you over, making your breast push up against the table while giving full view of your ass to him. He pulls down your panties completely, giving your ass a spank.

“You're gonna do better in my class from today onwards aren't you?” he asks and you're confused, and before you could answer, he slaps your ass one more time, “Answer me.” he growls into your ear and you let out a breath, “Yes Mr Targ!” you yelp when you feel him smack your ass once again, “Call me Aemond.” he says and you obey, “Yes! Aemond.” you yelp “Good girl.” he presses a kiss to your ear, before undoing his pants, pulling his cock out.

He watches as the juices drip down from your cunt, and he lines his cock against your entrance, and pushes in slightly, and you muffle your whimpers of pain with your hand, he is way too big, and it seems like he's barely halfway through.

Aemond lost his patience the moment he felt you clench around him, he shoved inside completely without a care and you bite your lip so hard to prevent a scream from escaping. “Fuck you're so tight, like a virgin.” he breathlessly says and you whimper and that's when he realises, “Gods, don't tell me you are one.” he says in disbelief and your silence answers his question, making him groan, as he draws his hips backwards slowly, before thrusting in again. “Fuck- I'd have to be gentle but fuck, your cunt is making me insane.” he gasps, trying to restrain himself from fucking you like an animal in heat but the moment you let out a moan, he loses all his logical thinking and brutally snaps his hips backward and forward, thrusting into you with a fevrent pace.

It hurts at first, but then the pain subsides slowly as his cock hits that spongy part inside of you repeatedly, causing sparks of pleasure to shoot up your spine. He grabs both your hands and pins them to your back side, holding them together tightly with only just one hand while the other gives your ass a smack.

“You're such a good girl, taking what I'm doing to you without protest.” he grunts.

He let's go of your hands, and pulls you up by your hair, causing you to stand up with your back arched, head resting on his shoulder, before that very same hand grabs your throat, holding you in place and he ruts up into you, his other hand travelling down to your front, grabbing and squeezing your breasts before it travels down to your cunt, rubbing fast paced circles unto your clit.

The band in your stomach begins to tighten as he continues his actions, before it finally snaps, causing you to come undone with a loud moan of his name. His thrusts become sloppy and soon he's reaching his peak too.

He pulls out and flips you around, and lays you on the table on your back before pumping his cock with his hand and soon his cum spurts out, some falling atop your stomach and some on your cunt, dripping down to your hole.

“Seven hells, you look so beautiful like this.” he moans and you lay there, taking deep breaths. The next thing you know is that he's cleaning you up with tissues, wiping off his cum from your body and cleaning himself too.

You get up on wobbly legs, and pull yourself together, fixing your hair as you try to calm your nerves from what just happened.

“You're receiving an A+ for this, but if you want to keep passing, you either study or you can always resort to this.” he tells you as if it's the most casual thing in the world.

“Though, don't let anyone find out, it will only cause trouble for you, because I can easily find a way out of this mess.” he warns you and you nod, he grabs you by your cheeks and pulls you close, placing a kiss to lips.

“Good girl.” he mutters.

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fawnprincessblog · 7 months ago

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𝒜𝓃𝓰𝓮𝓁'𝓈 𝒹𝓮𝓋𝓮𝓁𝓸𝓅𝓂𝓮𝓃𝓉 𝒹𝒾𝒶𝓇𝓎.

(part 1: 'the praise and some coffee') type: slow burn, fluff (tom kaulitz 2015 × fem reader)

includes : teacher × student, childish annoying immature school girl who's name is Angel (you), teacher tom, wannabe teacher's pet, age gap. tom is 25, angel is 17. plot : angel, a young, childish and innocent honour student was shunned by her schoolmates due to her being a teacher's pet, but none of that mattered whenever she ran into her favorite teacher, Tom, that she so deeply admired, who she swears on her life she will serve until the day she dies. despite being favourited by many other teachers, tom does not favour her due to her clingy behaviour. she may be smart but her hormones play a huge part in her schooling life as well.

bambi's note! : hello sweeties :3 i don't really wanna explain much but i think you guys will be sick of hearing the same lame excuse to why i disappear quite frequently. writer block makes me want to suicide sometimes, i've been trying my hardest to write, this took me months to finally put tgt. crazy that it's short too. i have drafts from last year in my docs. im also an art student, so it makes it hard to tackle both things rn. anyway, have fun reading part one of 'Angel's development diary ' :3

“Everyone now turn to page 74,” Tom instructs, his voice sharp and echoing across the classroom. The whole room was silent, only he could be heard. Nobody would disrespect a man like him, for he was rather strict, and serious, his only intention being to get his point across and educate his students. That’s what the majority saw in him.

Well, except for one person. That was Angel. The honour student of her class.

Angel saw what other people did not care about. Despite being the very sophisticated and refined teacher everyone knew, to her he was so much more. Tom was a young, 25 year-old Maths teacher. She admired that strong body structure of his, and the way his face features all fit together. The way his hair was always worn in a messy bun, a few strands poking out the front, had just added to his good looks. He wasn’t over-dressed, like those wannabe scientists-looking teachers in her physics classes; he was rather usually seen in t-shirts. On special occasions, she got to see him in a suit.

He wasn’t the kind to play around. He expected all his students to pass his class with flying colours, not one left behind. In fact, all teachers wished the same. In such a popular and very high-class school, of course every single student had to be well-behaved and supremely knowledgeable.

The school Angel went to was one with a high standard of academic and extracurricular achievements. It has a strong emphasis on academics and often has a highly selective acceptance rate, which makes it difficult to get in. She was quite lucky. The campus has beautiful architecture, state-of-the-art facilities, and ample resources for students' academic and personal development. The faculty members are very well-educated and experienced in their respective fields, and the school often has a high student-teacher ratio. The students are often from wealthy families with a strong academic focus, and the school often boasts a high graduation rate.

Coming from such a school that was great and had put Angel’s reputation in great hands meant no mistakes were to be made at all. She had to maintain her good grades. And one thing is for sure: she couldn’t possibly keep having dirty thoughts about her teacher.

“Hey, you,” Tom called out, snapping his fingers twice. “Angel?”

She snapped out of her trance almost immediately, a little startled by his tone. “Oh—yes?” she responds, heat evidently rising in her cheeks the moment he had called out her name. Oh, when he said her name, it only served to heighten her arousal. His voice was so strong and firm, it made her squirm in her seat like a damn worm. All those dirty thoughts wouldn’t go away.

“Are you gonna pay attention? Or is daydreaming the only thing you like to do?” Tom asked, folding his muscular arms across his chest, staring right into her soul. He had this scary glare that usually put most students in fear, but to her, it was attractive. His dominant demeanour when teaching a lesson made her imagine all these horrendous things, like how he was in bed.

“N-No—! Um, I was listening,” Angel responds, clearing her throat. She shifted a little in her seat, tugging at the hem of her red plaid skirt. She was wet. So uncomfortably wet and aroused, she would’ve probably left a stain on the chair if she had gotten up.

“I hope so,” Tom grunted, turning back to the chalkboard to continue writing those endless amounts of Math sums. It was overwhelming to look at; all of the numbers bunched together, the dusty residue of the chalk making it even worse. It was a lot to take in, however that was just how it was.

His teaching continued, his voice loud and clear. Angel diligently started writing down her notes, trying to keep up with his pace. Being such a good student, she had become fond of his teachings, and she was expected to have one of the highest marks among the rest, even if everyone else was already good.

An honour student. That’s what she was. Supposedly, she was the teacher’s pet.

She did well, joined every possible club and involved herself in every school event, making sure she was obtaining high merit points that boosted her reputation in her school. Angel was simply a good little girl that most teachers did like, but the other students, and for some reason, Tom, did not like her. They found her exasperating.

The bell rings. Class is over, and Tom is preparing a stack of worksheets to hand out to the class on the way out. “Alright class, tomorrow I wanna see all your worksheets full of numbers. All correct and no mistakes. I believe I’ve taught you all enough on this topic, so I expect perfect answers,” he announces. “You can pack up and leave now.”

“Sir!” Angel calls out, rising from her seat abruptly, making everyone else pause from their packing up. Majority rolled their eyes. “You forgot to take attendance. Usually you take attendance every morning before class but since you forgot the checklist you said you would—”

“Right, right, okay,” Tom interrupts, an exasperated sigh followed right after. Clearly, he was pissed. Angel was quite aware that he disliked her try-hard behaviour, in fact, she was aware everyone did. Of course as an honour student she was made to please the teachers with good grades and behaviour, but the other students knew clearly she acted the most clingy around Tom. She saw past his strict demeanour and she acted like a child around him. Always trying to point out the simplest things, always reminding him about his meetings, always trying to get him his coffee, always trying to help him out at any damn chance she got— Angel was desperate and needy for his love. She was willing to make him love her. She wanted to be his favourite student.

He notwithstanding, saw her as a confounded girl who was beating a dead horse. A try-hard, annoying, clingy little bitch that stuck to him like a damn tick. It irritated him when she acted like his little servant.

But Angel liked it. She didn’t care.

“Since you wanna help so much, get the checklist for me,” Tom tells her rather bluntly, clicking a pen in his hand as he speaks. Angel’s ears perk up at his request. “What? Really?” she asks, eyes full of joy. That annoying excited voice—it made his ears bleed.

“Go get it, it's in my office,” Tom says. “And hurry. Your classmates wanna leave class.”

“Consider it done, sir!” she enthused, immediately dashing towards the door and running straight to his office. Like a little slave, she did everything for him.

Recess time. One of the times where Angel would bother her favourite teacher the most. Even if she was trying to be helpful, she usually came off as a nuisance. He was an earnest and disciplined man, always keeping up with his set schedule. During break he’d grab coffee in the teacher’s lounge, discuss some things with his colleagues, or he’d take the coffee straight to his office so he can finish up paperwork. However he wasn’t the only one who kept to his schedule…

“Hi sir,” she greeted excitedly, grinning like an idiot. She blocked him, not allowing him to continue walking through the school hallway, which was empty since everyone else was at the cafeteria. “Where will you be taking yourself to today? Do you need help with anything?

He lets out a breath, trying his hardest to not let her irritate him right now. Angel being around him was something he couldn’t possibly avoid. It was an everyday thing now. “No,” he said simply. He then looked around. “Do I look like I need help?” His tone was dripping with sarcasm. Angel could tell, but she couldn’t be bothered.

“You may not be holding anything that I could help you carry, but there’s other things I can help with,” Angel says. “Like, your coffee. Do you want me to get your coffee?” She was just so damn innocent acting like a maid trying to please him with every chance she got. She really acted like life was all unicorns and rainbows, like she had not a single issue in the world.

“For the last time, I can get it myself. You’ve been asking this everyday now,” Tom sighs. “Shouldn’t you be eating? It’s recess. Go eat.”

“I already have,” Angel replies with that annoying giggle right after, making him clench his jaw. She was insufferable. That giggle was ingrained into his mind. He could recognise it from a mile away.

“Okay, good. Now if you don’t mind, you can just mov—”

“One sachet of the coffee mix, two teaspoons of sugar and some milk to top it off,” she interrupted, making him raise an eyebrow. “You use the blue mug. Always the blue mug,” she added.

“You know my coffee?” he asked, a little disturbed by her knowledge on how he liked his coffee. His eyes narrowed to slits, peering at her.

“Yep,” she replies, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. To him, she was a complete stalker at this point. “You have about 12 minutes to go to the teacher’s lounge and get your coffee, and return back to your office to finish marking off the recent test you gave us before you have to rush to the meeting you have with Mr.Harrison about the new changes we’re making to the school’s mural art.”

“What?” he said, almost wanting to laugh in disbelief. That was way too many words for him to comprehend. “You know my schedule?”

“Well I memorised it,” she shrugged. “Tuesday’s and Fridays you stay in your office during break. All the other days you’re eating at the teacher’s lounge.

What the hell, he thought, looking at her with the most perplexed look he’s ever plastered onto his perfect face. “What are you doing, stalking me? My schedule is printed on paper and left in the drawer of my desk—”

“It’s also printed in my mind,” she joked, pointing a finger to her temple.

He looks at her, bewildered. Completely uneasy. He didn’t like this. He knew she always had this weird thing for him, but he didn’t think she was this peculiar, knowing his schedule and all. Tom was taken aback by her behaviour, but he remained unruffled for now. It wasn’t too surprising, since she had been doing this for a while; asking him if she could get his coffee, but he had always declined. In the past, she had been randomly reminding him about his meetings, or anything he planned to do on that day, which he also found annoying, but today she really surprised him, wording out his entire plan for today.

He cleared his throat. “Well, I know my own schedule, I don’t need you to tell me,” he says.

“I know. You’re very smart. But, I figured you’d like help,” she says, grinning.

He had to get rid of her. This damn pest of a student. “I don’t. Not right now. So, If you don’t mind, Angel, please move aside so I can go.” He tries to walk past her, but she stubbornly blocks him again.

“C’mon, I’m sure you need someone to get your coffee,” Angel insisted, looking at him with those set of pathetic eyes, ones that he insanely hated to look at. She was small, pretty, and sweet, but she was tiring. He didn’t like her. “Angel��” he sighed, wanting to snap at her, but he held back; he may be strict, but there was no reason to be shouting at a student who just wanted to help so badly, right? “...Fine. Get my coffee, bring it to my office. Now.” he finally relented, looking down at her rather annoyed that he had forced himself to give in. Oh, she really had her ways.

“Yes, sir!” Angel exclaims, smiling widely, and she dashed off, disappearing immediately. Tom folded his arms, watching the pesky little girl run off to get his coffee like a slave. She obeyed him so much, wanting to do anything just for his attention. He chuckled a little, he couldn’t help himself.

“One coffee,” she says, placing the blue ceramic mug onto his desk slowly, as if she were a waitress. Tom had been busy on his computer, going over some emails while waiting. She had returned rather quickly. Tom flashed her a faint smile, and he took the cup, taking a small sip. She had got it right. It tasted exactly like how he wanted.

Wait for the praise, wait for the praise, Angel thought in her mind, eagerly looking at him for a positive reaction with big, innocent eyes.

“It’s exactly how I like it, Angel,” Tom finally says, looking up at her. He noticed her small hands fidgeting with the hem of her school skirt. “Good job,” he finally praised, his voice low and soothing.

Angel’s cheeks immediately flushed pink. Everytime he gave her praise, her arousal hit her like a brick. She couldn’t contain herself. She could already feel herself soaking her panties. “N-No problem, sir…” Angel says, her lips slowly curling into a nervous grin. She squeezed her thighs together a little, trying to contain herself.

“You may go now,” he says.

“Y-Yes,” she nods, bowing a little as a sign of respect. She then left.

Tom did not know the effect he had on this girl. If only he could ease that ache.

#tokio hotel #love #boyfriend #tom kaulitz #smut #tokio hotel x reader #tom kaulitz smut #bill kaulitz smut #bill kaulitz #tom kaulitz x reader

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gabgabwrites · 13 days ago

Text

BEHIND CLOSED DOORS | Professor!Patrick Zweig [part 2]

summary ⇝ You found that there was no better way to get under Patrick’s skin (and him) than deceiving him by getting up close and personal with his colleague.

warnings ⇝ semi-Art x reader, language, kissing, smut! choking, oral (F), humping, hair pulling, cum-eating, finger sucking, degradation, cutesy Patrick at the end, mdni

you can read part 1 here

That morning you decided to mess with Patrick, and by mess, you meant getting with his co-worker, Professor Donaldson, the quiet History professor.

You'd put on a pair of stockings, and had gone for a white button up blouse, and a pencil skirt, a deep red in colour, that reached half way down your thighs.

You had to come up with a reason why you needed to speak to Professor Donaldson, Art was always early, by a good hour and a half, so you had time to spare as you planned and got to the University earlier.

As you strode through his empty lecture hall, you began, "Professor Donaldson, may I ask you for a favour?"

You found the timid Professor at his desk, grading students work, and he looked up in surprise as you popped your head through the door, he took a moment to look you up and down before answering. "Uh, yes?"

You gave him a smile, you had done your makeup a bit more than usual, in hopes it would win him over. "I have a writing task for my students, and it's about the revolutions in literature, can you help me out so l know what I'm marking?"

He flushed at your smile, he always seemed to get a little flustered when you were around. "Of course, l'd be happy to help. Please, sit down." He gestured to the chair across from him.

You strode over to the chair and sat down before turning your attention back to Art.

He watched you in silence, just barely trying to keep his eyes on your own instead of your thighs that were exposed as you sat down. "So what's the question?" He asked, clearing his throat.

"What is revolutionary changes you can expect to read about?"

He thought to himself for a moment, clearly trying to focus on thinking instead of the way his gaze kept drifting down to the top of your blouse. "Hmm... perhaps the rise of the novel, or shifts in the style of writing, the change from more traditional values to modernism."

You nodded, acting like you were listening. "And what are examples of revolts in history?" You asked, batting your lashes at him.

He could feel himself grow even more flustered with the way you were looking at him, and he had to pause to think for an extra moment before he managed to speak. "Uh, I mean, the American and French revolutions, the Mexican revolution, the Russian revolution..."

"Ooh, tell me more about the Mexican Revolution." You dug your heels into the hard floor and began to silently scorch your chair closer to his.

He swallowed, watching you get closer to him as he tried to form his answer. "Uh... well... it was a social, political, and armed struggle. The main focus was to overthrow the dictatorial regime of Porfirio Diaz, who'd been in power for 35 years..."

You hummed, placing a hand on his knee. "Wow, you're so educated in History, it's inspiring, really."

He looked down at where your hand was sitting on his knee, he could feel the heat of your skin even through his trousers as his face began to flush even more. "Y-You flatter me, Professor."

"It's the truth," You shrugged. "I know all your students look up to you, and I do too."

His eyes widened with surprise as he looked back up at you, the flush on his cheeks and ears only growing deeper as you continued to flirt with him, while his hand subconsciously moved to rest on top of yours. "You... really?"

"Mhm, and, excuse me if this is unprofessional, but it's a little bit sexy talking to someone who's as smart as you."

At this point, he wouldn't be surprised if all the blood from his brain had been transferred to lower down, he was flustered, and the compliments just made it even worse. "I-I don't know about that..." He muttered.

"Why not? Not everyone has beauty and brains, yet you manage to defy that." You smiled, inching your hand a tiny bit up his thigh, now just above his knee.

His breath hitched as your hand slid against his thigh, and his pulse was racing. He'd dreamt of this for so damn long, never thought he'd really be sitting here with you, telling him how smart and handsome he was. It was almost hard to believe. "You... really think so?" He asked, quietly.

"Professor Donaldson, it isn't subjective but objective. You can easily make a lady swoon by looking her way."

He let out a huff of a chuckle at that, shaking his head and attempting to keep any kind of composure, even though he felt like you were melting him into a puddle. "Any lady?" He asked, his voice even quieter than previously.

"All." You replied softly, your voice dripping like honey.

He was practically shaking now, your voice and hand on his thigh making it almost too hard to speak. "Even you?" He half-whispered.

"Especially me."

He didn't respond, but you saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed thickly. His gaze was locked on your own eyes, but his focus shifted as he saw the way your top was starting to sag open, and his focus started to slowly slip down.

You didn't miss his gaze, deciding to shift your self so that he could get a better view through the gap. "Tell me you feel it too."

There was a small moment when you saw his eyes widen again, taking in the view he was getting now. "F-Feel what?" He asked, his voice raspy, almost like he'd lost his words.

"You tell me." You grinned, letting your fingers bend to lightly scratch his thigh.

He shuddered at the feeling of your nails against his thigh, and he knew that if you continued, he wouldn't be able to last. "God, you're killing me..." he mumbled, shifting his thighs apart ever so slightly to make more room for your hand. It was sweet how easy it was to get him wrapped around your finger.

You almost felt bad.

He was already falling for you so easily, and all you'd said was a few well placed compliments. He knew how he must've looked, so desperate for you already, and he didn't care one bit. "l... I don't think I've ever met a woman like you." He mumbled.

"Meaning?"

He glanced down at your hand still on his thigh before looking back up at you. "I mean a woman that was so confident, and bold, and... attractive."

"You find me attractive?" You asked, with the tilt of your chin.

His mind barely kept up with your question, all he was focusing on was how your hand was moving against him, how much he needed you to touch him more.

"Yes. God, yes, definitely."

You smiled, removing your hand. "It is quite hot in here." You mumbled, your fingers popping open two buttons of your blouse, exposing more of your cleavage.

You saw the way his eyes darted down to your chest as the buttons on your blouse came undone, and he swallowed again as the skin peeking through the fabric was exposed. "Y-Yeah... hot in here.” He agreed, half-rasping the words as his tongue darted out to wet his lips.

You got up, and you could see how he tensed as you walked behind his chair, clearly unsure of what you were doing, but completely willing to go along with whatever it was.

Once you were standing behind him, you could see how his hand clenched and unclenched in anticipation, his breathing getting even more ragged as he waited to see what you would do next. "Do you mind?" You asked, tapping on his collar.

He was too overwhelmed to do anything but nod, the feeling of your hands on his shoulders already sending sparks down his spine. "N-Not at all." He managed to get out.

You twisted his buttons and undid three, exposing you to the pale expanse of his hard chest from his youth of being an athlete.

He gasped, sucking in a breath as he felt your fingers undoing his buttons, and he could practically feel your eyes on his bare chest. You could almost see the flush of his skin start to spread further down his body.

Your hand moved up, to his chin where you gently persuaded him to look up, giving you a dazzling view of his puppy blues.

You could see that he was almost completely wrecked already, his lips parted and his breaths coming in heavy pants. When your eyes met his, you saw a look of desperation and need, and you could practically feel how his heart was racing. He was falling hook, line and sinker.

It was so easy. You'd got him already so desperately wrapped around your fingers, he would do anything to keep your hands on him. He was completely at your mercy.

You honestly felt like a devil by his shoulder, but you couldn't pass up the opportunity to slip your thumb into his mouth, almost groaning when he easily welcomed it, sucking on the digit.

You saw his eyes flutter closed as he sucked gently on your thumb, and you swore you could see a few small, shaky, shudders from him as he did.

His tongue felt warm and slick, and he'd already started licking greedily at the skin. You pulled your thumb from his lips, and you watched with fascination as a string of saliva connected the tip to his tongue as you pulled away.

Art’s breaths were coming out even heavier now, his mouth still opened, and you saw him slowly open his eyes, the dilated pupils now making them look almost completely black.

You smiled, bringing your thumb to your lips before placing it sideways between your teeth, not sucking, just lightly biting it. "I think I know a bit more about revolutions," You said, walking back around him. "Thank you."

His gaze stayed locked on your thumb and he couldn't help the strangled whimper that came out from his throat. His brain was too foggy to think about your words, all he could focus on was how he needed you, your touch, your voice, you. "A-Anything else I can help with?" He managed to ask, his voice still sounding raspy.

You cleared your throat while your fingers fell to your buttons and began to do them up again. "I do hope we can have more chats in the future, but I have to go now. I need to catch up with marking before it catches up to me."

He slowly blinked, trying to get his mind working again, and he let out a small huff of a chuckle, still sounding a little bit dazed. "Of course, any time, I'm... always here after classes."

You only replied with a small smile before turning to the exit, Art jumped up, just wanting to walking you out. He trailed behind you, almost bumping into you when you suddenly spun around.

"Wait, I just remembered I forgot to ask you. Who are some revolutionists in history, because maybe they helped persuade revolutionists in literature."

He stumbled to a halt when you stopped in front of him, and he tried to process what you were asking him through his lust-addled brain. "Uh... W-Well I mean, Lenin, and Mao Zedong, and Castro, there's a whole bunch in the past century to pick from."

"Go on." You said, placing a hand on your chin.

Art gestured back towards his desk. "It might take a while, so you might want to sit."

He led you back to his desk, and sat you down first, before sitting in the other chair next to you. He was already starting to regain some of his composure, but he could still feel his heartbeat thundering in his chest, and there was no way you wouldn't be able to see how flushed his face still was.

"U-Um, well as I said, there was the Russian Revolution led by Vladimir Lenin, and... there was the Chinese Revolution led by Mao Zedong, and the Cuban Revolution, led by Fidel Castro. Is that what you were asking?" He asked.

You nodded. "Yes, did any of these influence writers?"

He nodded in return, pausing for a second to think. "Yes, they did, all of them did. The Communist ideals of the revolutions were picked up and put into literature, like 'The Communist Manifesto', and 'How The Steel Was Tempered' by Nikolai Ostrovsky."

You snapped your fingers. "Yes, I read 'The Communist Manifesto'." You say up straighter in your seat.

He smiled at that, clearly surprised that you'd read something like that. "Oh really? So... what are your thoughts on it?" He asked.

"I found it really interesting, actually. The part that really got me was the Feudal Socialism part, I mean, to think something from the 1800s still had an impact a hundred years later."

He nodded in agreement, happy to continue talking about something he was passionate about. "That part was fascinating to me too, it's insane how it still has a bearing on modern politics and economics, and how so many still think it's a feasible system today."

You two literally discussed for about ten minutes more, while you took in barely anything, but still sat there idly, listening to him talk.

Art spoke with his hands, and at one point he knocked a jar of pens on his desk off. "I'll get those." You piped up, before sliding off your chair and onto your haunches, before picking up the pens.

He got a brief glimpse of down your blouse, your chest pushed out and on full display, and he had to resist the urge to reach out and touch you. He almost forgot about what he was saying as he watched you, and you heard the falter in his voice.

By the time you collected all pens, your hair was slightly out of place.

"Got em." You said, before dropping the pens back into the jar.

He swallowed, watching your hair fall haphazardly out of its previous style, and he itched for the chance to reach out and run his fingers through it. "Good... good." He managed to rasp out.

"Right, well I think I now finally have all the information I need. Thank you so much Professor."

He cleared his throat, shifting on his chair and trying yet failing to compose himself. "You're very welcome, any time." He said, smiling, but it came out almost like a grimace.

He was still desperate for you, but you seemed to have gotten what you wanted from him now.

He stood up. "Let me walk you back out." He said. Art walked slowly next to you as you headed for the door, his mind still stuck on how you're blouse had looked as you leant down, and his thoughts were filled with all the different ways he wanted to touch you.

His mind was racing of thoughts, thoughts he shouldn't have, thoughts that were almost unlike him as he watched you leave, trying to tame your hair.

It took everything in him to not grab you and pull you against his body, to not press you against the wall and get his hands on you, to not press himself in between your legs and feel your body against his. He tried to keep his eyes off your body as you fixed your hair, but he was staring at your chest like a starving animal staring a meal.

His blue eyes held a sadness that you left, yet it was frosted over with lust, it was then when he noticed another figure, standing a few metres away.

Professor Patrick Zweig, who stood there menacingly, and glaring at the back of your head, when his dark eyes flicked over to Art.

Patrick's gaze was cold and calculating, as he watched the two of you, and it clearly didn't take much to see that something was going on. His gaze hardened even further as it landed on Art, and Art felt a pit of dread drop into his stomach as he met Patricks gaze.

He continued to watch the two of you talking, his dark eyes staying locked on Art as he tried to gauge the situation. He could see how Art was looking at you, and he was seeing the way you were holding yourself, a subtle confidence in your movements.

Patrick scoffed before he turned around and marched into his lab.

He walked into his lab silently, and he quickly went to his desk, sitting down as he tried to get his mind under control.

The sight of you had stirred up a lot of emotions for him, and he was frustrated and confused by the fact that Art was seemingly falling for you so easily.

Patrick hated you, yet he couldn't fathom why he cared so much if you were screwing other people, I mean, he wasn't a saint either. Plus, he practically encouraged you to go and fuck half the staff when he was balls deep in you, so why did he care.

He rested his head in his hands as he tried to get his thoughts in order. You weren't his, and even after everything that had happened between the two of you, you never would be, yet seeing you with Art just pissed him off. He didn't want to believe that he still had feelings for you, but the tightness in his chest said otherwise.

You wondered why Patrick ignored you the rest of the week. It wasn't like you were friends, but you thought after that then you two would’ve been a little bit closer. It's like anytime you entered the room, he'd find an excuse to leave. If you managed to catch him in the teachers lounge making his coffee, he'd discard his cup.

You were confused by his behaviour, you had thought that he'd be the same old professor he was, but he was practically avoiding you, and you had no idea why.

You had spent the entire day puzzling over his behaviour, the look in his eyes and the way he acted whenever he saw you. It annoyed you, why couldn't he just act like he always had? You could see him in his lab again, and you decided to walk in, determined to figure out what was making him act like this.

You walked in and initially thought he wasn't there, until you heard shuffling from his storage room.

You could hear the sound of shuffling from inside the storage cupboard, and you made your way over to it, stopping in front of the open door, only a few feet away. The sounds were getting louder, like someone was rummaging through something quickly, and you called out.

"Professor?"

The sounds from inside the cupboard froze, stopping suddenly. You could see that the lights were on in there, and you were waiting for a response, before footsteps moved towards the door, and Patrick, looking a little frazzled, appeared in the doorway.

When his eyes landed on you, his gaze hardened. His neck rolled as he threw his hands up. "Oh, you," He mumbled. He let out a scoff as he saw you, a resigned kind of irritation on his face. He looked stressed, even more than usual, and he grumbled at you as he leaned against the doorframe. "What do you want?"

"You've been ignoring me," you raised your chin. "And I want to know why."

He looked at you coldly, before he shifted, leaning more against the frame, his arms folded across his chest. "Why does it matter? Shouldn't you be over playing your little games with other professors?"

You gave him a look. "What are you talking about?"

Patrick grumbled. "Don't act like you didn't go and fuck Professor Donaldson the other day. Yeah I saw that, you fixing your hair and him looking all happy with himself."

He spoke to you harshly, and you were shocked for a second as his words registered in your mind. You'd honestly thought you'd been pretty discreet with how you'd been with Art, and you didn't realize that anyone, especially not Patrick, had seen you.

"And what if I did? And what if I do it again? Because let me tell you, he was everything you were not." You said slyly.

His eyes darkened at your words, and he pushed himself off the frame, taking a few steps forwards to tower over you. He clenched his jaw, an annoyed kind of anger bubbling up in his veins. "What's so great about him, huh?"

"He's good with his tongue, and he touches me in all places a woman can only wish to be touched. But oh, his tongue." You emphasised with a groan, your wrists pushed together as you fell onto Patrick, feigning to be weak in the knees.

Patrick was done with this, and done with you. He grabbed you by the throat and pushed you back, spinning you around and eventually having your face squish right up against the storage room door. You had no time to react to his swift movements, and he had you pinned up against the door, your cheek crushed against the wood as his hand tightened around your throat, and you could feel his body pressed up against your back.

He leaned forward, his whole body pressing up against yours as he leant in close to your ear. "Don't you dare mention him around me again." He practically growled into your ear, and you could feel the anger in his voice, and the way your body was already reacting to the way he was pressed up against you.

"But why? He really was just that good. He eats pussy like no one else." You grinned.

You were baiting him, teasing him, and it worked. The hand around your throat slowly began to tighten, his grip making it slightly harder for you to breathe. "You like him, do you?"

"No, Patrick. I just let everyone with a dick fuck me."

You were acting like a brat, and the more you talked, the angrier he got. His hand around your throat tightened even more as you spoke about other men. "I bet you spread your legs for just about anyone, don't you?"

"What? You thought you were the only one?"

He let out a huff of a laugh, a harsh, bitter sound, as he moved his hand up, taking a fistful of your hair in his hand instead. "You're a little slut, aren't you? Spreading your legs for just about anyone, I bet you love that, huh?"

You had to bite your tongue. This was almost too easy. "Uhuh."

You were driving him crazy, and he could feel himself losing control, the anger flooding through his veins as you pressed all his buttons. In an instant, Patrick's hands let go of you before they found the hem of your skirt and yanked down, exposing your nylon covered thighs and ass.

You gasped out, and tried to turn around but your efforts were futile. Patrick fell to his knees and your tights went with. Now having only your thin panties protect your most private area.

"Patrick?" You gasped out in confusion at his actions.

"No, no, no. You don't get to talk," He said, as he slowly began to pull your panties down your thighs, exposing your dripping sex. "You want to talk about Donaldson? You just can't seem to shut up about him. So, let's give you something else to think about." He said, his voice low and rough.

His rough hands spread your thighs, leaving more of you revealed. Your hips jerked when you felt this warm breath fan your thighs.

"Let's see how that big mouth works when you're not talking." He said, his breath now right on your skin. He could see the way you were panting slightly, you could still try to play it cocky, but he knew it was all an act.

His nose was so close to your cunt, and he inhaled. He sniffed your scent, the musky, heady aroma going straight to his head. He wanted you, despite all his anger and annoyance, he couldn't deny that he still wanted you.

"Just like I thought...." He said lowly, pausing before he continued. "Wet for me, aren't you

He couldn't deny that there was still a part of him that loved how you were acting. So cocky, so confident, despite the situation you were in... it drove him crazy.

You almost screamed when he pushed his face into you, being smothered by you while his lips and tongue began to work their magic on your cunt.

He was ravenous, his lips working hungrily against you, as his tongue swiped between your folds. He couldn't get enough of you, his mind still stuck on what you'd said, but his primal instincts and need for you

It was enough to overpower the anger.

He was driven by the need to show you, to remind you of who else was there if you didn't behave. He pushed his face even further into you, his lips and tongue worshipping you

His beard, which was two weeks of hair growth, scraped your thighs, and lower ass cheeks. Patrick didn't care. His tongue was a frenzy and fury and passion, and it wrote so many words.

Words of hatred, words of lust, but all you knew was it worked magic.

His tongue moved against you like it was made for you. He hated you, hated how you'd got under his skin, how you'd made him lose his control, how you made him feel things he didn't want to feel. He was angry with himself, with you, and he had to take it all out on you.

You were writhing against him, lost in the bliss of his lips and tongue, but deep down in the haze of your pleasure, you found your mind drifting, and wondered how you'd got into this situation.

Your nails dug into the door, needing some sort of grounding. Your jaw was lax as your hips ground back into Patrick's face. "Mm, don't stop."

You could feel the way his grip on your thighs tightened and he let out a low, guttural noise against you. He was beyond words now, his only thought in that moment was to make you feel good, to drive you crazy, to remind you that he could do things to you that no one else could. He pushed his tongue deeper, determined to draw every bit of pleasure out of you

There was still a part of him that was annoyed with himself, that he was letting himself fall so easily to you. But in that moment, his mind was focused on you, his need for you, and hearing your moans and gasps and the desperate way you groaned out to him.

He continued to work you with his tongue, switching between long, languid strokes and short, quick movements, his nose still pressed up against you, and his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, holding you still as he worked. He could feel you getting closer, your gasps and moans becoming more desperate.

He wanted to push you over the edge, to give you a reminder of who you were with, and to drive you crazy. He knew exactly how to do it, and he was going to use it all against you, to make you go crazy. He focused his efforts, his tongue swirling against your clit in tight circles

He could hear your breathing get quicker, your gasps and moans becoming more frequent, and he knew you were close, lost in the pleasure he was giving you. He was almost smug that he could make you feel this way, but his own need for you was starting to take over, and his own lust for you

Patrick was starting to lose himself again, his own need for you starting to take over, but he couldn't stop now. He had to make you feel good again, to remind you of how good he could make you feel, and make you want nobody else but him.

Fire licked between your legs that shook like leaves. Incoherent words tumbled from your lips.

Feeling your legs shaking, and seeing the way you were slowly unraveling beneath him was doing things to him that he didn't want it to. He could feel the way you were clenching around nothing, desperate for something to fill you. He almost wanted to stop, to pull away, to see how you would react. Patrick thought better of it, however, instead he pushed his tongue back into you and gave you a flat, firm lick, before moving back to sucking

He could feel the way your body was straining, trying to get closer to him, his actions pushing you closer and closer to the edge. He knew you were close, and he wanted you to go over the edge, he wanted to remind you that he could make you feel like this, and make you want no one else but him. Patrick increased his pace, his tongue swirling and circling and writing

He couldn't get enough of you, the taste of you, the sounds of you, the way your breathing quickened, just for him. He needed you, in that moment, and he was determined to make you feel better than you ever had before, to remind you of who was making you feel like this.

Your gasps were getting more and more desperate now, and Patrick could tell you were almost at your limit. He loved seeing you like this, so desperate and wanting for him. It fed that side of him that needed to know that you wanted him, that he could make you feel this way, that no one else could make you feel like this

With one last stroke of the tongue, you came undone. Your cries echoed around the room, and you could feel everything else just wash away as you became lost in the pleasure.

You almost collapsed for a second before you caught your balance, and you were still panting, your breaths coming out in heavy

Patrick slowly withdrew his mouth and stood up, a pleased look on his face. He wasn't looking smug anymore, but more satisfied with himself. He looked at you with a smirk as you tried to catch your breath, your body still shaking slightly as you clung onto door.

Patrick stood behind you, watching as you tried to catch your breath, and he couldn't help himself from taking in your form. Your back was heaving as you panted, trying to cool yourself down, and he couldn't stop the way his eyes raked your body, taking in your still exposed flesh. "So," His voice echoed through the storage room and partly his lab. "Who did it better?"

You could hear the low, gravelly tone of his voice as he spoke, and you could feel his gaze on you, like he was studying every inch of your body.

"Who..?" You asked breathlessly, still trying to straighten yourself up, but mostly just leaning against the door again.

He stepped up behind you, his body almost touching your back, and he moved his head to your ear. "Who's better between me and Donaldson?" He asked again, his voice closer in your ear.

The ball was in your court, and you weren't a fair player. "It's just... Professor Donaldson had skill. He was just so sweet and good to me."

You could feel Patrick tense up behind you, and his jaw clenched at your words.

He wasn't happy about your answer, and he didn't want to hear about how good Donaldson was to you. He could feel his anger and jealousy bubbling up again, but he pushed it down, trying to stay calm.

Patrick grinned, holding back his spite as you continued. "It's nice to spend 'time' with someone who knows what they're doing."

He was struggling to keep his anger in check, listening to you talk about Art like that. He knew you were baiting him, trying to rile him up, and it was working, but he tried to keep his voice neutral as he spoke. "Oh, and I don't know what I'm doing?"

You simply shrugged.

He was getting more and more annoyed by the minute. "I don't know what I'm doing, huh?" He repeated, his voice getting a little bit harsher. "Seems like I did just fine a few minutes ago."

"Yeah, but it was just... subpar." You hummed.

It took all his self-control to not explode at your words. "Subpar? You seemed to be enjoying it just fine a few minutes ago." He said, his voice getting lower.

"Maybe I was doing it for your sake." You slowly turned around, now facing Patrick who's eyes were darker then dark.

He was glaring now, his eyes almost black as he looked at you. He was not happy with your words. "Oh, you were doing it for my sake, were you? You didn't seem to mind yourself, not with the noises you were making."

"Again, maybe it was for your sake."

He was getting more and more irritated by the minute now. "You're enjoying this, aren't you? Trying to piss me off?" He said, his voice low, almost as a growl.

You nodded slowly, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. "Is it working?"

He gritted his teeth as you teased him, his hands curling into fists at his side.

"Oh, you little...." He said, struggling with his words for a moment. "You think you're so clever, don't you?"

"I do." Your voice was low, as you pushed your chest up into his.

Feeling your chest pressed up against him, he couldn't help the way his body reacted to you. The anger was still there, but it was mixed in with a growing need and want for you. He tried to ignore it, but it was hard when you were standing in front of him, looking all smug.

"You have no idea how much I want to rip that little smirk off your face." He said, his voice lowered into almost a growl. He was struggling to keep himself together, his body and mind at war with each other.

"So do it." Your words pushed him over the edge.

The control he'd been struggling to hold onto finally snapped, and in an instant his hands were on you. He pushed you back against the door, pinning you there with his body.

Then, his lips were on yours. His beard scraped your skin and his teeth bashed against yours. It was hot, it was angry and it was passionate. There was no gentleness or care, just raw, unrestrained passion. He kissed you hard, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth as his hands grabbed at your body, pulling you closer to him.

His taste was almost addictive, the combination of coffee and tobacco mixing together with your own taste as his mouth pressed against yours. You were trapped between his body and the door, your body completely under his control.

His leg caught between yours, providing some relief to the ache that grew back.

Patrick could feel the way your body was pushing against him, needing more, and he gave you what you wanted. He ground his thigh up into you, his body pressed up against yours as his lips never left yours.

"Since you wanna... act like a slut," He huffed against your mouth while his hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging into the flesh. "You'll get treated like one." His words sent chills down your spine, his fingers gripping your hips tightly as he spoke, like he was holding you in place.

His words were rough, almost like a threat, but it only made the fire in your stomach burn hotter. You knew what was coming, and you could feel the anticipation building.

You whined, pathetically nudging your hand against the tent in his pants. "No, you don't get this dick since you took it for granted."

He grunted as your hand pressed up against him, his body instantly reacting to your touch. But his anger was still there, and he was still determined to teach you a lesson and pushed your hand away.

He removed himself from you, except for his thigh which was caged around yours. You were left to do all the work.

Your eyebrows dipped down and the corners of your lips followed. You were tired and still recovering from your previous orgasm.

Determined, you shifted your hips, over and over as you slowly built friction. He stayed close to you, his leg pinning you in place as you moved your hips, trying to create some friction. He watched you, his eyes dark as he took in the sight of you, struggling against him.

Your palms found his shoulders to help anchor yourself, his jeans' folds catching against your clit, leaving you to whimper and whine.

You were making soft little moans and gasps as you moved against him and he could barely keep himself together. It was taking all his control to not just grab you and make you submit to him. He knew what you were doing, trying to get him to cave, and he was fighting against it as much as he could.

Patrick spoke slowly, his voice rough and gravelly as you continued to grind yourself against his leg. "You're desperate, aren't you? So needy and wanting to be touched."

You shook your head, looking up at him through heavy eyelids. "I can do it myself." You said, your fingers nimbly undoing your buttons to your blouse.

He watched you with dark eyes as you started to undo the buttons on your blouse. "Oh, you can, can you? You don't need me, do you?" He asked, his voice still deep and laced with lust.

You shook your head, letting your top curtain down your shoulders, exposing your bra. Your hips never stopping, as a heat built between your legs. Your hands pulled at your bra straps until they folded over, bearing your breasts to Patrick.

He had to restrain himself from reaching out to touch you, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as he watched you. You were a vision to him, the sight of you naked in front of him driving him mad. All his anger and pride in that moment was slowly crumbling and turning to need and want for you.

He could feel the way his body was reacting to you, his pants feeling increasingly uncomfortable as he watched you touching yourself. He was struggling to stay in control, to not just give in to you, but it was getting harder and harder. He gritted his teeth as he spoke. "You think you're in control. That you can just play me like that, and I'll just give you what you want?"

"Just, shut the fuck up." Your voice was hoarse, you brought your fingers up to his mouth before prying his lips open, giving him no time to comprehend what you were doing before you scooped up some of his saliva and popped your fingers out of his mouth.

He watched you bring your fingers down to your breasts, where you squeezed and tugged on your nipples, tight and hard, getting them slicked up with his spit.

You moaned as you rolled your nipple between your fingers before moving to the other one, feeling your tummy tighten. "Oh fuck."

His fists were still clenched, the sight of you almost driving him wild. He was desperately trying to keep himself in check and not just give in to you. He was fighting an internal war, his mind telling him to not give in, but his body screaming at him to go to you, to take you right there and make you his.

Your mouth fell open, and a new feeling came over you. Patrick felt a warm puddle deep into his jeans. Not only had you made yourself cum, but you fucking squirted. The hairs on your nape stood up, and your back arched, a scream ripping from your throat as you rode out your pleasure.

Patrick's control completely snapped. He couldn't hold back any longer, the sight of you losing control had snapped the last of his restraint. In an instant, he was on you, his mouth finding yours as he pushed you roughly against the door. His lips were demanding, almost bruising as they pressed against yours. His hands grabbed at your body, touching and feeling you in every way possible. His need for you was overwhelming, and it was consuming him.

Your body fell forward, now sitting in your own puddle.

His hands continued to roam your body, grabbing and gripping you, holding you close to him. He had completely lost himself in the feeling of you, the need to have you overwhelming all his thoughts.

He pulled away from your mouth and nipped along your jawline, his lips finding the sensitive skin of your neck.

He sighed against your skin, dropping his leg and taking a step away. "I'll take it I was better." He said softly, yet there was no smugness to him. He quietly bent down and pulled your skirt up.

The feeling of him pulling the skirt up, even with no sexual intention behind it, still sent a shiver down your spine. You watched him, seeing the change in him from before. He had lost the smugness and arrogance, now replaced with a kind of gentleness. It was a side of him you hadn't seen before, and it left you feeling strangely giddy.

He stayed close, watching quietly as you tucked in your blouse and smoothed out your rumpled skirt, still trying to catch your breath from everything that had just happened. He had regained his composure, but there was still a softness in his eyes that hadn't been there before.

When you finished, you felt a bit misplaced. "Right, we'll um, l'll be going..."

There was a moment of silence as you spoke, and for a brief moment, he looked like he wanted to say something.

But his usual poker face quickly took over. He nodded and took a step back, giving you space to move. "Yeah, yeah, you should go."

You sighed before walking out of his lab.

As you walked to the door, heading back out of his lab, you could feel his eyes on you. You had left, but you couldn't help but wonder what was going through his mind. You couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between you both, even if you couldn't quite put your finger on what it was.

You stopped walking, a few feet out his door when you turned around, and made quick steps back to his lab. "Hey, um, Patrick?"

He looked up as you stuck your head back into his lab, his face betraying nothing. "Yeah?" He asked, his voice calm and reserved.

"Would you wanna go get dinner sometime?"

His stoic expression faltered for a moment, surprise flashing through his eyes. He hadn't been expecting that, not at all. He stared at you for a moment, his brain trying to understand your words.

Finally, he responded, his voice still smooth. "You want to have dinner with me?"

Your face flushed, "I just thought..."

Seeing you get flustered, he softened his stance a bit. He took a few steps closer to you, his gaze studying you curiously.

"No, I...l would love to go to dinner with you. I just wasn't expecting you to ask."

You looked up at him. "Okay, okay good. I'll see you around."

He nodded as you spoke, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Yeah, 'll see you around." He said, his voice still gruff, but with a hint of something else underneath it. His eyes stayed locked onto you as you turned to leave, watching you go.

As the days went on, it became more and more evident to the students that something was going on between you and Professor Zweig. They couldn't quite put their finger on it, but they could see the way he looked at you, and the way he spoke to you. There was an undeniable chemistry there, even if you both tried to hide it.

And the poor history professor had to swallow his feelings.

#gabgabwrites #my works ✎#x reader #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader x art donaldson #patrick zweig x you #patrick zweig smut #patrick zweig x reader #challengers patrick #josh o connor x reader #josh o'connor

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eamour · 8 months ago

Text

unfavourable concepts.

i've been meaning to address this for some time now. with social media becoming a platform with such a large number of people talking about different concepts in love, work, health and so on, there are concepts which i think need to be discussed, especially as they affect so many of us.

before we start, celest1albeing on twitter inspired me to write this post! make sure to check out their thread on there as well.

disclaimer.

these are concepts that don’t serve me personally. i don’t expect you to stop believing these concepts or make them apply to you and the world if you have no problems with them. if you can resonate and identify with these, that’s perfectly fine.

concepts of love.

information · these are all only examples which i seem to encounter frequently and which seem to be common.

young men cannot commit · men only treat pretty women with respect · all male friends of women just wanna hit · if he wanted to he would · they categorise you into sweet, sexy and pretty · he doesn’t love you if he does this · men always cheat and lie · they all only want one thing · they only like ass or tits · all men are the same · you can't change his type · you aren't his dream girl · men love quiet women · if a man doesn’t pay he isn't the one

you are just an option · once you are married your partner will become less romantic · after 3 months their true colours will show (honeymoon phase) · true love doesn’t exist · after the talking stage you either get into a situationship or go no contact · getting into a relationship is hard ·

women can’t be friends with men · women are complicated · they only want your money and wouldn’t want to date men who earn little · there is always another woman · they always look for someone better · you have to work on your divine feminine energy · you need to get out of your masculine energy · a woman needs to know her place

concepts of work.

money doesn’t grow on trees · it’s hard to get money · you have to work hard in order to afford your lifestyle · only if you do the work you can get a promotion · you could never be a ceo · you need to be privileged and born into richness for this position · this generation is lazy · no one wants to work · they are all going to end up jobless and poor · nowadays we are only evolving backwards

concepts of school.

you need to learn in order to get good grades · you cannot be smart without putting in the effort · teachers always have their favourite students · it's almost impossible to get good grades by teachers who can't stand you

concepts of health.

pasta makes you gain weight · you need to eat xyz and you cannot eat zyx · junk food is unhealthy · you need to workout in order to be fit · you can only lose weight by eating less · good skin requires an expensive skin care routine · t's hard to treat acne · you cannot get rid of scars on your face

self sabotage.

all in all, it all comes down to one thing: but is this what you want to believe in? do these beliefs serve you in any way? can you continue believing in them without worsening life for yourself? see, i am not the one shoving these concepts down your throat and expecting you to tweet "men ain’t shit". it’s all up to you if you want to claim these concepts as your truth or not. but if you keep believing in any undesirable concept that you KNOW does not help you in any way, you are only self sabotaging yourself IF you know that you can change these beliefs of yours.

evaluation.

the reason why i made this post is to emphasise that you can CHOOSE to believe in these concepts or not. you aren't tied to them. you don't depend on them. and you don't need to follow these concepts either.

i know we live in a society where even if you don’t initially believe that men suck or that you will get cheated on one way or another, we are still influenced by the experiences of others and may end up experiencing these things regardless. but you don’t have to!!! just because jessica had a man promise her the world and left her with nothing it doesn’t mean that it’s gonna happen to you as well. you are NOT her, you aren’t — and you don’t have to be — ANY of these people telling you about how awful people are, how sickening it is to date in this decade, etc. you don’t have to believe ANY of these things, in fact, you can change these concepts and the people around you.

in conclusion, you are your own person with your own individual beliefs. however, you have the CHOICE. no one's forcing you to believe any of these concepts, nor do they hold a universal truth to them. they come from the same awareness that can state the exact opposite.

with love, ella.

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slytheringangstuff · 2 months ago

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Mattheo x reader with stomach bug and tons of school work (pls I’m so sick)

𝐻𝑒𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃𝓀 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝑜 𝓂𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉. 𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝒾𝓇𝓈𝓉 𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝐼'𝓋𝑒 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓇𝑒𝒸𝑒𝒾𝓋𝑒𝒹 𝓈𝑜 𝐼 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑒𝓃𝒿𝑜𝓎 𝒾𝓉. 𝒮𝑜𝓇𝓇𝓎 𝒾𝓉 𝓉𝑜𝑜𝓀 𝓈𝑜 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝐼'𝓋𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝓊𝓃𝒾 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝑜𝓇𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝒹𝒾𝒹𝓃'𝓉 𝑒𝓍𝓅𝑒𝒸𝓉 𝒾𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒 𝓈𝑜 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔. 𝐼 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓇𝑒 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓀 𝓁𝑜𝒶𝒹 𝒾𝓈 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑜𝓃𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝓁𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓇𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒸𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔. 𝒮𝑒𝓃𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓌𝒶𝓎.

𝒮𝓉𝑜𝓂𝒶𝒸𝒽 𝐵𝓊𝑔

𝑀𝒶𝓉𝓉𝑒𝑜 𝑅𝒾𝒹𝒹𝓁𝑒 𝓍 𝐹𝑒𝓂𝒶𝓁𝑒 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝐹𝓁𝓊𝒻𝒻

𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒞𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 𝟤.𝟤𝓀

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: 𝒱𝑜𝓂𝒾𝓉 𝓈𝓅𝑜𝓀𝑒𝓃 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓂𝒾𝓁𝒹𝓁𝓎 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝒸𝓇𝒾𝒷𝑒𝒹

𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: 𝓎/𝓃 𝑔𝑒𝓉𝓈 𝓈𝒾𝒸𝓀 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶 𝓈𝓉𝑜𝓂𝒶𝒸𝒽 𝒷𝓊𝑔 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓇𝑒𝒻𝓊𝓈𝑒𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝒹𝓊𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓀 𝓁𝑜𝒶𝒹.

𝐸𝓃𝒿𝑜𝓎 <𝟥

Raising herself off the cold bathroom floor, y/n steadied herself on the sink, a sudden wave of nausea returning as quickly as it had left just minutes before. Swirling some water in her mouth to rid herself of the sour taste, she looked into the mirror; the reflection that greeted her was a ghost of herself. Glossy, bloodshot eyes stared back as she sniffled, nose running as a result of the tears that were running down her flushed cheeks. The rosy pink being the only part of her face that held any colour compared to the pale canvas she had become.

She audibly groaned upon seeing the time, knowing Matteo would be waiting for her in the common room, something he started in their second year at Hogwarts after she had missed breakfast one too many times for his liking. She smiled at the memory, before rushing to appear more ‘human’ to avoid questions.

Truthfully, she had no desire to eat; her stomach was still unsettled, and her nausea was not leaving her any time soon. But if she had any chance of completing the piles of work Snape, along with the other professors, had so lovingly set, she had no choice but to put on her best act.

She didn’t even want to know what her family would say or do to her if she were to let her grades slip.

“You’re late.” Matteo teases, hands in pockets and hair looking as though he had just been attacked by a bird. y/n shrugged, “I’m not late. You’re just early.”

He shook his head, eyebrows raised, a smirk pulling at his lips. “If one thing’s for sure, I’m never early princess.”

She mirrored his reaction, giggling, which proved to be a mistake. The side-to-side motion set off the previously dormant dizziness. Pausing her movements slightly too abruptly to be considered normal, she placed her hand on the sofa to ground herself. Her eyes closed in a desperate attempt to stop the spinning and calm the creeping nausea that followed.

Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself enough to glance up at a concerned Matteo, who, despite her small movements, noticed everything. She cursed herself for faltering before they had even left the common room, her mind racing for any excuse possible.

Forcing a yawn, y/n looks at Matteo with a tired expression, which she luckily didn’t have to fake. “Still waiting for my brain to realise I’m awake.” Praying for Matteo to believe the lie, she continues with a teasing tone. “Are you ready? Or are you just going to stand there?”

The five seconds he takes to respond feel like hours as worry starts to creep in her head, alongside a migraine, which y/n felt was incredibly unfair given the current circumstances. With an uncertain look, he finally responds an edge of humour present in his voice. “Since when were you aware of the time?” he starts to walk off. “Keep up slow poke.”

“I see you have finally decided to grace us with your presence. We feared you may have died.”

The group nods at Draco’s words. Sitting down, the pair chuckle at their friend’s dramatics, y/n being careful not to further aggravate any current issue, her migraine already worsening in the noisy hall. Rubbing her temples, she is promptly brought into a conversation with Pansy and Blaise opposite her before she has a chance to even look at the food on the table, which, in all honesty, she was thankful for.

Unfortunately for her, Matteo, being the attentive boyfriend he is, noticed and began plating up her favourites unbeknownst to her. Nudging her side, y/n briefly glanced back at him, only to be met with a plate full of food and an overly happy Matteo. “I got all your favourites. " Despite the nausea she felt at the sight of the food, she mustered up a smile that matched his at the sweet gesture. “Thank you, Teo.”

Staring at her plate, the conversation around her turned from words to illegible sounds, as she bit back the grimace that threatened to show on her face. Noticing how checked out y/n was, Theo tapped her shoulder before whispering in her ear. “You ok?”

Snapping out of her trance y/n looked back at him. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why?” She cringed slightly at her tone, not meaning to come off so sharp. “You’ve not touched your food. In fact, you’re looking at it like it’s the most offensive thing you’ve ever seen.” At his words, she picked up her fork, somehow shoving a whole pancake in her mouth.

Minutes of tedious chewing later, she met Theo’s gaze again, swallowing down not only the excessive amount of pancake but also the wince and retch that threatened to force their way out. Her desperate attempt to disguise her struggles went almost undetected if it weren’t for Theo seeing the way her eyes went glassy and hearing the deep, slow breath she took to steady herself.

“You were saying?” Honestly, she just wanted him to drop the issue, and between her feeling at her worst and the worry of Matteo knowing the situation, she let manners fly out the window. To her relief, Theo held up his hands in surrender, turning to listen to Blaise and Pansy, who were in a heated debate over who should get the last muffin.

Picking at her food and making it look like she had eaten more than she had, y/n tapped Matteo’s arm to get his attention. It being the weekend meant that the library would get busy fast, causing the tables available to become as rare as unicorns in the enchanted forest, and she had a bad feeling she’d be seeing her pancake again soon.

He looked at her as she whispered in his ear. “I’m gonna go and get a table in the library before it gets too busy.” Taking a glimpse at her plate he frowns, whispering back. “Are you sure you’ve had enough to eat? You’ve barely eaten anything.”

“I’ve had some food. Pancakes are always really filling anyway.” Getting up, she giggles to disguise the waves of dizziness and nausea that hit her. “I probably shouldn’t have had too many pancakes.”

“Ok. I’ll meet you there in a moment, princess.” He smiles back at her but falters as he sees her wobble slightly on her way out. Noticing his worry, Theo slides next to Matteo, kicking his leg to get his attention. “Do you mind?” “No. Not really.”

“What do you want?” he snapped, not realising his tone, too preoccupied with his thoughts. “Calm down, sunshine.” He laughed at his own joke before continuing, his voice more serious than before. “Check on y/n would ya? Something’s wrong.”

“She seems off, doesn’t she?” Bouncing his leg in worry, Matteo looks back and forth between Theo and the exit, ready to leap out of his seat. “Go talk to her, she’ll listen to you over me.”

That was all the encouragement he needed to jump up and walk, borderline run, towards the library, not before grabbing the last muffin from the table for y/n. Leaving behind a cackling Theo and a bewildered Blaise and Pansy.

Staring at the book in her hands y/n felt her frustration start to creep up on her. No matter how many times she read the same sentence, same paragraph, or same page, it made no difference. Nothing was sticking in her head and she could hardly remember the chapter title, let alone any of the content. Her head was throbbing, and her stomach was threatening to throw out the little food she had eaten, and tears started to well in her eyes as she rested her head in her arms.

As fate would have it, Matteo entered the library, spotting y/n instantly. He hesitated, ultimately letting his concern take over, gently nudging her shoulder and whispering in her ear.

She jumps up, startled, and walks backwards towards the bookcase a few meters away. However, she stumbles, not even a meter away from the table. The speed of getting up, paired with the stress she’s feeling, causes her vision to go dark for a brief second, forcing her to pause and close her eyes.

Panicking, Matteo goes to rush towards her stopping in confusion when she puts her hand out. “Do you need to sit down? You look like you’re going to tip over any second. Come here. Please.” He speaks fast, worries consuming him. Noticing his distress, y/n goes to calm him, moving before she has a chance to fully steady herself, her stomach churning and her migraine blaring, even in the quiet of the room. This time, she doesn’t have a chance to steady herself, her vision going black as her legs give out from under her.

Groaning, she looks around, finding herself in a familiar room. Matteo’s. y/n moves to sit up only to feel a hand on her chest gently coaxing her back down; realising it was Matteo, she complied. However, the slight movement was enough to provoke a protest from her stomach, tasting the unfortunately familiar bile in her mouth. Noticing this, Matteo produced a bucket from somewhere unbeknownst to y/n, sitting her up as gently as he could manage and pulling her hair out of her face.

Tears roll down her cheeks as she is greeted with her breakfast and anything else she hadn’t previously evicted from her stomach. Matteo’s hand rubbing comforting circles on her back, and his soothing words were the only thing grounding her while she cried and wretched.

“You’re ok.”

“It’ll be over soon.”

“You’re so strong.”

“I’m here, princess.”

“All done?” he waited for a response, watching her face. Seeing her give a small nod in response, he handed her a cup of water, speaking softly. Here, swirl and spit it out. It’ll get rid of the taste.” He put the cup to her lips and tipped it slightly as she took a sip, spitting it into the bucket.

Setting the bucket aside, he lays back with her on his chest, arms wrapping around her in an attempt to soothe, careful not to put pressure on her stomach.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He sounded hurt and confused, she thought, guilt gnawing at her heart.

“I don’t know. I just didn’t, I guess.” It was a lie, but they both knew that. She tried her best not to look at him, knowing that the second they locked eyes, the tears that she had tried her hardest to avoid would spill out. Her resolve could only handle so much, and the disappointment and concern from Matteo would be her breaking point.

As if sensing her thoughts, he lightly held her chin, angling her face towards his own, looking directly at her now glassy eyes. Had this not been a sombre moment, he’d compliment and relish in the beauty that her eyes become in soft moments like these when they are entirely raw and open with one another. He wanted to know what was going on inside her mind, and with one word he did. “Why?”

She broke down, tears falling freely down her face and into his shirt, muffled apologies falling from her lips. It wasn’t until he caught some faint words that, on a normal day, he would have missed leaving her mouth. “I didn’t want to disappoint them.”

The statement broke his heart. Ever since he met her, she has always been a perfectionist, trying to live up to her family name since she was born, and in a family of overbearing overachievers, it was hard not to feel that way. The words break and rest were simply not in their vocabulary, it being a lesson that the group had tried years to help her with, all ultimately failing unless it was him. Unfortunately, that meant she knew to avoid him in situations such as these, fearing if her parents discovered she was doing something other than studying, even if ill, they’d disown her.

“Hey, hey. It’s ok. Just focus on my voice. Don’t cry.” He hugs her closer to his chest. “If you cry, I’ll cry.” This makes her giggle, which in turn makes her retch. “You ok? Do you need the bucket?” Shaking her head, no, y/n whispers, “I’m ok.” taking a sip of water.

“Remember. Small sips. Anything more will make you sick again.” He sighs, leaning back. y/n followed him quickly, wanting nothing more than to sleep it off and act like nothing had happened come morning.

“Don't cry, princess, everything will work out. I’ll make sure of it. I pinkie promise.” He says, holding out his finger. Smiling, y/n locks her finger with his. “And I have never broken a pinkie promise, right?” She nods into his chest, a smile stuck on her face.

“I will always be here for you. Don’t you ever forget that.” He presses a kiss to her head, fingers combing through her hair, as he feels her start to dose off. “I’m not perfect. But I’ll change the universe to make sure your life is.”

𝐼 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑒𝓃𝒿𝑜𝓎𝑒𝒹 <𝟥

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