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lokisivy · 3 months ago

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Hi! Im a big fan of your work and I saw you were taking requests :) I had a smut fic idea in mind with young (before paralysis) Professor Charles Xavier x fem!student reader. Maybe you and Charles have had some flirty/sexual tension for the longest time until one night when everyone is in bed in their dorms, he reads your mind and notices that you are still awake, touching yourself and having just obscene thoughts of him till he comes into your room and takes matters into his own hands and the rest just be pure smut lmao 👀👀👀 keep up the good work!!

First of all, thank you soooo much for u liking my work. Second of all, it took me like 3 times to process what you requested. I'm ovulating rn, so I'm just so stunned.

Warnings: age gap, mind reading, slight breeding kink, reader is above 18, cursing. use of nicknames, p in v, unprotected sex, daddy kink, slight size kink. let me know if i missed anything

READERS POV

I'm a good student, I focus in class, get good grades, and am always polite to my professors. but there is this one class where I can't seem to focus no matter how hard I try.

Professor Xavier's class like right now I'm sitting in today's class what is the topic? DNA mutation blah blah blah.

he was looking and me oh his eyes were so blue like the ocean I could drown in them- Fuck he can read my mind.

GENATICS! FLOWERS! this isn't working he is smirking he knows what I'm thinking of. I bite my lips hard, trying to think of something else. His arms in that dress shirt sleeves rolled up his hands on my throat- FUCK think of something dark.

"Y/N read page 269 about Genetic mutations" the professor announced "Ahh-" fuck I didn't even have my book open shit. I used my telekinesis to open the page but it didn't I was fumbling for the page until Professor Xavier came behind me and opened the page for me.

"next time focus in class and refrain from having dirty thoughts about me," he whispers in my ears his sharp voice making me sudden goose bumps arise.

"Sorry professor. I promise that it won't happen again" I flirt looking up through my lashes and giving an innocent look.

he leans down to give me back my book "Good Girl."

With my powers, it was gonna be impossible for me to keep him out of my thoughts I was basically a magnet for him my mind like an open book for him. It doesn't matter because no matter what he was my teacher and nothing could happen between us even though I'd sell my soul to the devil for us to touch. and our age gap people would think he was a predator but at this point, I think I am the predator with the unholy thoughts I'm getting.

1:39 Am my clock read I couldn't sleep my interaction with Professor Xavier kept replaying 'having dirty thoughts about me in class'

'good girl' my hands snuck past my nightgown rubbing circles on my clit. imagining Charles bending me down the desk fucking me into oblivion 'Such a naughty girl only focusing on my cock and not the class' I imagined his rough thick accent. I pushed one finger inside me feeling the warmth it was relieving the pressure but not enough I needed more I needed him in every way possible.

3rd pov

You and Charles had always flirted with each other during office hours it was obvious in the being you were attracted to him he was very good-looking and muscular made women weak in the knee and because he could read any person's mind it made it easier for him to know when to flirt back he knew when you were sad or feeling under the weather but when the rumours started to spread around the acted tough with you in class you knew it was a show and it kept all gossip down it not like you were very young you came here after finishing high school to learn about your abilities and how to control them but you were still a student but something Charles never did was crossing the line until today he was awake trying to study a new students abilities. He wondered if you were awake and he was met but dirty thoughts that made his cock burst.

a growl came out of his throat "fuck me!" he adjusted his pants the thought of you touching yourself while thinking of him was gonna make him burst this second he started to palm his cock but could take anymore when your moans grew louder coming close to your orgasm.

Fuck it he thought and walked to your dorm room absolutely angry about the way you made him feel hands running through his hair he was gonna punish you for every time you made him hard, for every time your mischievous ass made him think about you.

He reached your room door knocking lightly not waking anyone and talked to you through your thoughts 'Open this door now!' He interrupted your fantasies making you rise in panic

Readers POV

Fuck Fuck FUCK! How did he read my mind it was 1 am everyone is asleep. I panic opening the door panting from how fast I got up.

"hey proff how you doing, bro?" I opened the door trying to act casual.

"Are you messing with me right now." It was more rhetorical than a question. He slammed the door, pining me against it.

"I-"

"What you thought you could be whore and touch yourself thinking about me and get away with it." He was frustrated both sexually and mentally "and why were you listening to my thoughts anyway I should be able to think what I want without having to worry about you getting into my head." I rolled my eyes. A part of me liked the thrill, but sometimes it was nice to have my thoughts to myself.

"You can block me out but you don't."

"It's exuasting. what you want me to masterbate and think about you and block you out." I sigh

"You don't know how hard it is for me to contain myself from letting all these thoughts of yours come true right now." He leans closer, his body towering in front of me.

Closer.

And Closer.

our lips so close but yet so far.

Till there was nothing but a fine line between our lips.

"Then make them come true." I barely got the words out.

"This is wrong." He voice became deeper

"I saved your life in Cuba professor." I whispered

"Fuck it." He said kissing me knocking the air out of my lungs, his hand come to cup my face our his toung fighting with mine. moving us towards the bed his hands roaming through my my silk PJs unbouting the buttons.

"Charles!" i moaned when his lips contact with my neck marking me plaming and squeezing my breasts, "please" I didn't know what I was pleading for but I needed the relief with the ache that was growing I was so wet aching for him to touch me.

" What darling, what do you want me to do?" he smirked, he knew what I wanted he could read my mind "I- I want you to touch me." I barely whispered my voice practricly unaudioble,"Louder darling?" he disaproved "I want you to fuck me charles like the way I was thinking about when I was touching me self on here." I run my hands through the sheets of the bed.

"Fuck my little whore wants me to fuck her," he growls, he grabs my neck and slams me down the bed causing a moan to leave me. His knee separated my legs from closing. he slid off the top I had on letting my breasts hit the cold air causing my nipples to harden. his thumb ran on my nipples rubbing and pinching. "Charles Please" I beg.

"Have I taught you nothing?" he kissed my chest slowly down to my breasts "Patience is how you achieve everything perfectly. "

"Charles Xavier if you don't fuck me right now I'll throw you against the wall." pull him by his shirt collar kissing him

"I may teach you science, but I think I need to teach you good manners." I rolled my eyes, ripping off his shirt. I stopped to take a moment to take in the sight of his toned muscles, running my fingers through his abs in awe. something inside him snapped at the way I looked at him. he immediately took down my shorts and unbuckled his pants.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked me,"Yes ever since Cuba Charles," I assured me, but something told me he was reading my mind to check if I had any doubts. "Good. Because the moment I start, I won't stop"

"Start first then we can speak about stopping because all I'm hearing is yap yap no acti--" I was interrupted by his fingers entering me all three of them. making me moan very loudly.

"Shh baby your classmates will hear you." he groans at the sight. "S-sorry."

his hands worked magic, and the rhythm was steady, hitting all the good points, building up the fire in my stomach fire that might explode any moment "Charles I'm so close." I whimpered at the loss of contact "Too bad your only gonna cum on my cock tonight" I looked down at his length it was big and thick and precum leaked out his hardness he positioned my left leg on his shoulder positioning himself and entering me at a slow excruciating pace stretching me into half.

"Fuck your so big." now I understood why he was taking it too slow his cock was gigantic that's why he walked around so confidently he is packing.

"Fuck you're tight." he groans the burn started to fade into pleasure "Charles please" probably begged for the millionth time tonight he was killing me. his pace started to grow faster "You are taking me so well darling." he praised me sending it to my pussy clenching on him tighter."Fuck Y/N!" he growls

"Charles faster" he complied going at an unforgivable pace the angle he fucked me in was make me feel all of his length he keeps hitting that spot that was about to explode any second now. my moaning became louder and harder to control probably making someone from outside hear us "Be quiet sunshine" he told me in between his rough thrusts he pinched my nipples lightly causing an overly loud moaning to come out he silenced me with a kiss and replaced his lips with his hand he gave me a warning look then removed his hands. my fingers running through his hair tugging on it tiny moans slipping out of him sending me over the edge with bliss and euphoria washing over me seeing starts in the back of my eyes. his cock twitching "Yes give me all your cum Daddy." I moaned my back arching scratches down his back. his hot warm cum filling my walls making me moan with pleasure it felt right. Charles put my legs down making me turn on my side, as I was about to sleep he grabbed my jaw. "Daddy is not done with you yet sunshine" he teases me.

"let's get you cleaned up sweetheart." he carried me to the bathroom

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angstywaifu · 7 months ago

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The Lost Sister - Part 21

Synopsis: Xaden is known as an only child due to his sister who 'died' during the Rebellion. Little do they know she didn't die and has been so close this entire time.

Garrick Tavis x OC A/N: I just want to say, hello to all the new people! So many of you have found this series in the last week. So welcome! Thank you for making me smile like an idiot when my phone goes off when a binge read happens. Literally makes my day. And you've come in at a great time for me in introduce some tension back into the story. I'm not sorry.

The Lost Sister Masterlist | Masterlist

We had managed to keep my signet development hidden longer than I thought. Xaden had requested I hold off from approaching Professor Carr till some of the tension around Amber’s execution had died off.

In that time I had used any free moment to practice, mainly in the privacy of my room or Garrick’s. But a few times I had practiced in the training room while Garrick, Bodhi and Xaden sparred. Though I had to be careful. One time I had tried to pull one of the weights towards me and instead of a slow gradual pull, I had flung it across the room, narrowly missing Bodhi and Garrick who we’re in the middle of a fight. Both of them had turned to me wide eyed after the weight had skimmed over their heads before imbedding in the stone wall. Xaden on the other hand had burst out laughing even though I’d nearly taken them out our best friends. I had yet to grasp the other part of my ability, coming up short any time I tried to focus on someone. Amber and Jeremiah had been erratic in their emotions. Both knowing death was coming. I had wondered if their calls for help had amplified their presence, allowing me to draw on it. The only other ones I had managed to slightly do it on since were Xaden, Garrick and Bodhi. Which I had put down to how well I knew them. As if my signet already knew exactly where to look, where to seek them out. But even then I couldn’t always do it. I had put the incident in the tower that day down to my heightened emotions. But I couldn’t put it off any longer as I walked into Professor Carr’s classroom for the first time. His room set all of my senses into overdrive. A long chamber with no windows on any of the outwards facing walls. Every wall was padded. Which given the variety of signets we all had and had passed through this room over the years, were probably there for protection. Carr looks up at me instantly, a smile curving at the edge of his mouth that sends a chill down my spine. The way he studies me doesn’t help.

”The other Riorson. Finally ready to join us I see.” He drawls.

I nod and stand up tall. “Sure am.”

His eyes finally meet mine again. “What’s your signet power?” He asks as he slowly walks over to me.

Xaden and I had discussed how to address this topic. We could try pass it off as levitation, but knew that would be no point. The way I could manipulate and control things would soon alert Carr that I possessed another ability. A more powerful ability. The one thing he and I agreed on, as well as Garrick, was that I was not to let on about the projections I was able to do. We just hoped I didn’t get influenced by my emotions and let it loose in the middle of class one day.

I draw in a breath. “My dragon called it Psionic sir.” I tell him.

Carr’s eyes light up instantly at my words. I knew they would. After scouring the records of every rider who had passed through this quadrant, we had not found a single person with this signet, or a name similar. From what we could tell I was the first. Unless it had been redacted. I was something new for Carr to examine, to see what my signet could do. Something I really did not want. But to give myself the best chance at improving my signet, I had to. If I was to help Xaden and this rebellion, I needed all the help I could get. Carr hurries over to his desk and comes back with a scroll, sealed by a wax seal that must be his own. Next to is a marking I know all too well from my time around Melgren. Classified. He hands it out to me. As I grasp it he leans in.

”You must not speak a word of your signet to anyone. Take this downstairs after class with your jacket.” He tells me barely above a whisper before turning back to his desk.

I look down at the scroll in my hand and know all too well what this holds. My uniform is now to bear another patch. A patch I’ve only seen one other person in this quadrant bear. The classified signet patch. A compass. I look up to see the other squads including my own looking at the scroll in my hands with intent. All of them clearly wanting to know what it means. I quickly shove it into a pocket inside my jacket before taking a seat between Rhiannon and Liam. Both of them turning to me instantly.

”Care to explain?” Liam asks as he leans on the desk looking at me.

”Explain that I have my signet? Thought that was obvious by my appearance in the class.” I reply sassily, earning me a roll of his eyes.

”That, but also the fact you didn’t tell us and why he gave you that scroll.” Rhiannon adds as she leans in from the other side.

With Liam and Rhiannon leaning on their desks facing me, I am boxed in completely. No escape while we wait for the class to start.

”It only just happened.” A lie. A blatant lie. And with the way Liam shifts in his seat I know he can tell. He isn’t blind the the training sessions that only Garrick, Bodhi and Xaden have been allowed to since the night Violet and I were attacked. “And even if I wanted to tell you, I can’t now.”

Rhiannon’s eyes drop to my jacket where I had shoved the scroll. I can see the temptation in her eyes to use her signet to draw it to her. “It’s classified isn’t it.”

I merely nod at her as Carr moves from his desk. I might be the first one to posses this signet, but Carr had known my signet was important. As if he had already imagined someone manifesting this. Waiting for it. He probably had a hunch about what else I could do or hoped I could do. I was now playing a dangerous game. Classified signets we’re only told to those who needed to know. Those in command. By the end of the day the leaders of formation would know. Melgren would know. From here on out I was playing a dangerous game.

Walking down the corridors to battle brief I could feel every pair of eyes on me and the new patch on my jacket. As instructed I had taken my scroll to the uniform room, and watched as they had quickly attached the patch to my jacket. And in that time, the first years in third and fourth wing had already spread the news. The quadrant had another classified signet. And everyone knew. As I walked into the battle brief room, everyone went silent. Even Devera and Markham. All eyes on me. Though there were two sets I felt more than the rest as they burned into the patch on my left shoulder. As I meet Xaden and Garrick’s eyes, I could see the worry. No I could feel it. There in my mind I could feel their presence. I could feel the nervousness that now consumed them. Not only did we have other cadets to worry about, we also had leadership. I now had a different and bigger target on my back. A target not even they could protect me from.

A target that had very quickly met its mark. I watched as every single cadet in the room straightened in their chairs or where they stood. Watching as Xaden and Garrick’s eyes went wide. Xaden’s arm raising to push Garrick back as he steps forward. Just like he did on conscription day. I didn’t need to turn to know who stood behind me. I knew their presence all too well. Enough my signet could sense it. A looming black presence, crackling and erratic at its edges. It screamed danger. Screamed to run away from it. It was so fitting for them. But in the five years I had been under their guidance I had never run from it. And didn’t plan to any time soon.

”Sorry to disturb you Devera, but I need to borrow Cadet Riorson here. They’ll be missing your class today.” He drawls. I can hear the smirk in his voice.

Devera stares behind me before nodding. “Of course General.”

I turn around and meet the cold and familiar stare of General Melgren. Part 22

@riorgail @going-through-shit @fw-gt @bbkissme99 @xceafh @leptitlu @came-to-laugh-but-cried @onthewaytotimbuktu @daardyrnitta @lovemesomevesey @mxtokko

#fourth wing fanfic #fourth wing #the empyrean #the fourth wing #garrick tavis #garrick tavis x reader #garrick tavis imagine #garrick tavis x oc #fourth wing x reader #fourth wing x oc

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f4iry-bell · 1 month ago

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𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄 | 2

pairing: jameson hawthorne x nerd/good girl reader

summary: summary: who would have guessed taking an unwanted picture of her could lead to that tense moment? more than that, who would have thought it would get his attention to make a deal? and guys like him drain a person inside out when are interested in you.

series taglist: @clarissaweasley-10 @whatsamongus @sheisntyou @emelia07 @elysianwayy77 @lyra-kane @bewitchingkisses @zenikswaffleshop @off-to-the-r4ces @jamcarven

permanent taglist (for jameson): @clarissaweasley-10 @whatsamongus @sheisntyou @emelia07 @elysianwayy77

warning: edges????

word count: 1.5k

a/n: I'm so sorry, i wrote half of it during my exam week. next part will be better!!!😞

masterlist | series masterlist

← part 1

After making their deal official by shaking their hands, Jameson immediately asked for her number. She was hesitant to give it to him, even suggesting that he'd accept her email address instead. Jameson made fun of her, and convinced her to give her number. She felt insulted when he made fun of her. She knows people do make fun of her behind her back but none of them really did it in front of her face.

“Is that what you're going to save me?” She rolled her eyes, and pushed back her glasses.

It read; Front Row Princess.

“I’m not wrong, am I?” She wished she took boxing lessons so she knew how to throw an actual punch. Because his smirk was annoying to the point she actually wanted to punch him.

“Well then, I'll save you as The Most Privileged White Boy of the Century.” She raised both her eyebrows, and added. “I'm late for my next class, so bye.”

Jameson just laughed at her comment. “Wait. Talk to me.”

“I just said I'm late. Are you deaf?” She looked pissed, she hates it when people act like one's words matter nothing.

“No. I did hear you. That's why I'm asking you to talk to me. Let's start from now, you go late to class. It'll be a different experience to enter a room full of students, or walking in the hallway with barely any students.” Instead of smirking he gave her a friendly smile this time.

“No, I'll start tomorrow.”

“You won't. Start today. Right now.”

“I don't want to be late to class. Everybody will stare at me, and God the whispers. I don't want my professor to be disappointed.” She blinked rapidly when she was talking.

“Your professor won't be disappointed. You still have time, just be 5 minutes late. Won't hurt a fly. And who cares what those whispers say? Don't you have a project you have to work on?”

She was quiet, Jameson had a victory smile. She can't accept that she is wrong, especially when she's with him.

“Let's chat. I'll go first. I like insane rides and speed because of the adrenaline rush. It gives me pure joy.” Jameson sat down on the floor.

“Uh…cool.” What she really wanted to say was ‘freak’ or ‘weirdo’.

“Now tell me something about you.”

“Uh…I don't like heights.” She confessed. “Ironic, I know.” She pointed at the edge of the rooftop.

“No wonder you got so scared when I came. You probably thought you were about to fall.” He chuckled at the memory of her jerking up.

“I could have fallen. Don't do that to me or anyone, it's not safe.”

“Okay, miss right.” He rolled his eyes.

“I’m serious.”

“Alright, change of topic, what's your favourite pizza topping!?” He asked.

She sighed, this boy can never take anything seriously, why did she let him help her? Maybe it's his face, and how pervasive he was, or his charm. She wonders how she is going to keep up with him, because they are two different species.

“I don't like this.” She said on the other side of the call while sitting on her dorm bed. “I could get in serious trouble if I sneak out. New rule; you help me but without getting me into trouble.” She told him.

“You’re not sneaking out, just get a gate pass saying you have to meet a family member for dinner and you'll be late tonight.”

“I’m not good at lying.”

“Then I'll lie for you.”

“How will you do that, genius?”

“I'll tell the dormitory incharge that I'm your boyfriend, and we both are meeting your parents so my dear girlfriend might be late by just half an hour.”

“No! You're not saying that.”

“Then the first option is.”

“Fine. But will you at least tell me ‘Out of the Bubble Experience’ am I going to have?” She asked.

“Why? So you can either be mentally prepared or say ‘I’m not going to do it’? No way. Second lesson; Live in the moment.”

“I- I wasn't going to do either of those.” She frowned at how he was quick to read her mind from kilometres away.

“Sure. I'll meet you outside where I told you at 8:30PM. Don't be late, princess.”

“Now what?” She asked. She was wearing a normal red shirt, and a cardigan over it paired with flared jeans.

“We're going on a mini drive, mini that will only take an hour.”

“An hour?!”

“Just an hour.”

Most of the car ride was “where are we going?”, “are we there yet?”, “just tell me where!” and some music, Jameson asked her if she wanted to play any music of her choice but she knows that he'll judge her music taste so she listens to his stupid fuckboy music.

After an hour exactly he stopped a little away from their destination, he got out of the car to open the door for her but she was already out, and neither of them commented on it. Jameson thought she wasn't aware that he came to her side to open the door, and just let it be.

“What now?” She asked him, raising her shoulders.

“This is the part where you say “Is this the part where you kill me?”” She can see his cheeky smile through the moonlight, and just glared at him. “Alright, so we're walking half a kilometre, is that okay?”

“Yeah, but why?”

“What's the point of coming out on a night like this if not to take a walk?” He said as he started walking in reverse.

They were at the top of a hill, it was high, and the side Jameson was walking in reverse had an edge. He took slow steps towards the edge, there was a foot tall cement railing that was there at the edge, which he could easily trip over. It was about a foot thick as well.

“Stop.” She demanded but he kept going.

“I won't fall, princess. Relax, there's a railing.”

“You could trip over it.”

“Nah, my plan was to walk on it but seeing the fear in your eyes I think only I'll be doing it.”

“You what?!” She rushed over to him to make him stop walking backwards. Her hands reached for him to stop, as soon as they made physical contact, Jameson paused for a moment, and only a moment because he knew if he stopped she'd stop touching him. Like he predicted she tried to stop him by tugging his arms. Although there was a barrier of fabrics between them, Jameson still felt the electric touch that they write about. He finally stopped once he reached the railing, he turned away, and then sat on it then put his legs to the other side where they were dangling down.

“Jameson!” She let go of his hand once he stopped but boy did she not expect him to do that.

“Join me, we are about 90 feet high.”

“90? No way I'm sitting there! God, can you just get off of it please?” When Jameson looked at her she was genuinely worried.

“Are you worried that I'm going to fall?”

“Yes!”

“I won't. Now join me. You're missing out, seriously. If you want I'll hold your hands.” He was teasing her about holding her hand but a part of him actually wanted to hold her hand. “Come on. YOLO, right?”

She rolled her eyes but took a step forward, and hesitated to say something. “Will you actually hold my hand?”

He paused. “To keep you safe.”

She nodded, and sat. He put his hands behind her back to make her feel safe. She didn't put her legs to the other side, she was sitting close to him, he turned to her to see that she was looking down on her thighs but with her eyes closed. When he spoke the hair at the back of her neck rose as his breath fanned over her neck.

“If you're scared to face your fear, you'll never outgrow it. I won't let you fall.” He promised. “Just put your legs over, or not. But at least turn and look at the view. You are seriously missing out. And I really want you to see this.” It was true, Jameson was so excited to show her this small view from this high. He is actually a bit sad that she's not experiencing it like he wanted her to.

She sighed with a nod, and turned back to look, her eyes sparked.

“Woah.”

Jameson smiled at her reaction although it was just whisper he heard it crystal clear, maybe it's the distance but a part of him told him that he would hear her from kilometres away as well. He didn't want to call it infatuation, because he knew that they are binary opposites.

And would never work.

So he called it an experiment, a challenge, anything but infatuation. He was determined to make it stay that way, even if felt a little tug on his heart the way her eyes twinkled, and when she smiled looking at the view.

It doesn't matter, they'll never work.

part 3 →

#the inheritance games #jameson hawthorne #jameson hawthorne x you #jameson hawthorne x reader #grayson hawthorne #the brothers hawthorne #the hawthorne brothers #xander hawthorne #avery grambs #avery kylie grambs #nash hawthorne #the grandest game

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little-diable · 1 year ago

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Lucky Shirt - Prof!Benedict Cumberbatch (smut)

I got the chance to work with @writingliv once again – yes, I am very much fangirling, y'all know how much I adore Liv – and boy, I am so proud of us and of this beautiful fic we've written together. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Professor Cumberbatch was perfect. He was sweet, supportive, ever-willing to help. He was attentive and loved to praise your achievements. It came to no surprise that you had ended up trying and succeeding at becoming his favourite student. The two of you had become an unstoppable duo, however, could there be more than mere passion for academia behind it?

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, lots and lots of tension, small sprinkles of angst, age gap, professorxstudent relationship

Pairing: Prof!Benedict Cumberbatch x fem!reader (about 9k words, she's a long one)

Professor Cumberbatch led a life full of rules, keeping clear schedules, boundaries, and conversations. Honest, passionate, and helpful would probably be the three words most people would use to define him. A life dedicated to teaching, to helping, to learning. He never swayed away from his clear-cut schemes unless it was for somebody else’s benefit. Selfless… Professor Cumberbatch was also incredibly selfless.

You, however, would think this set of facts did not do justice to his character. Professor Cumberbatch was not just selfless. He was an absolute saint. He had been your point of guidance since you first joined his class in your last year of undergrad and had offered you a place as a research assistant as a Master’s student. He had happily stayed until late hours helping you with your first dissertation and had never failed to answer any question related-or-not to his topic. Benedict Cumberbatch was your hero, which made your crush on him so much more inappropriate.

You had tried to stop thinking about him that way, feeling guilty at the idea that this saint of man was so willing to help you and take you under his wing, and all you did was fantasise about him breaking all the university rules and fucking you. It was an awful feeling, especially when you were sure he didn’t feel the same way, but it was something you couldn’t yet find a way to get rid of.

So here you were, sitting in his office, wearing that baby blue shirt he had once complimented a year ago or so, waiting for him to come back with news on whether you had been accepted to attend the most important conference in your field. You had excused your continuous wear of the shirt by referring to it as your lucky colour, making it the perfect attire for any important moment you had shared with the professor.

Your black heels had been incessantly tapping his beautiful Persian rug as you tried your best not to bite your nails when the door of the office finally opened incredibly slowly, and a gloomy Cumberbatch appeared on the opposite side wearing a shirt of a starkly similar colour as yours. “I am sorry…” he started to speak, and you felt your heart drop immediately, your hands moving to your face, covering it. “That you will have to cancel all your plans for the week April 19th because we are going to the conference!” He shouted your way, a gigantic crooked smile filling his mischievous face. You couldn’t believe it, instantly uncovering your face and checking his expression for a bluff.

You couldn’t help yourself jumping up from the excitement and reaching for him, giving him a hug. Your professor seemed to equally disregard all decorum, wrapping his hands around your waist before whispering to your ear, “it seems like your lucky colour works.” You tried your best to hide the growing warmth on your cheeks as he let go of you.

“Thank you so much for this! I am so excited! I cannot believe it!” You replied once the two of you were at an appropriate distance again, still looking at each other with the utmost admiration and excitement.

“Do not thank me. You did this all yourself. I just had to answer a reference request, and you may be surprised about this, but I find it incredibly easy to tell people how incredible you are.”

…

“Can anybody tell me when Operation Overlord was fought?” Professor Cumberbatch’s voice echoed through the classroom, eyes flickering to meet yours at any given chance. It felt like you two were playing a game, a game whose rules you have long forgotten, unable to focus on anything but him.

Him, the one you dream of when the nights grow warmer, when the heat fills your bedroom like the heat filling your veins whenever he speaks to you.

Him, the one that makes you tremble whenever his skin meets yours, never in an inappropriate way, though forced closer like magnets unable to part.

Him, the man that popped up in your thoughts when you wake and when you are about to fall asleep. An ever present sensation you slowly but surely adapted to.

You didn’t pay attention to the answer of the student that tried to catch the professor’s attention for the past minutes. Your thoughts weren’t able to grow quiet, a loud sound that rang through your mind like a song you couldn’t stop singing. It was wrong, so awfully wrong, and yet you couldn’t stop yourself from craving his touch, wanting to feel his body pressed against yours without any clothing caught in between.

Professor Cumberbatch needed a few moments to rip his eyes from your features, breaking eye contact with a slight scowl tugging on his face. The nagging voice inside your head made you wonder if he was annoyed with the other student for cutting your shared moment short. There was always something so intense about the way he looked at you, forcing you to sit straighter, eyes unable to move away.

“Anything else you want to add to today’s lesson? If not, you are good to go.” Your heart picked up its beat as his eyes found yours once again, a silent way of communicating, asking you to stay behind for a few more moments. The other students pushed past you all too impatiently, wanting to flee from the classroom, but you didn’t move, not able to even try to imagine another place where you’d rather be.

“I won’t hold you back for long, I just wanted to give you these folders. It’s everything they gave me for the conference.” Your fingers brushed his as you took the folder, breath hitched in your chest. His eyes followed your every move, watching you thumb through the papers, unable to bite down your smile.

“I am so excited, I can’t wait for us to go there!” Your voice left him smiling, unable to bite down his excited grin. Your nerves were running wild, wondering how being at the conference with him will play out, praying to whoever was listening that you’d be able to also focus on something else besides the gorgeous professor you wanted to call yours.

…

Soft music filled Professor Cumberbatch’s office, ringing in your ears without distracting you from the essays you were grading with the professor. It wasn’t unusual for you to join in on his later sessions, finding comfort in his closeness, even though you wouldn’t share many words, just a few glances here and there.

“What is it? You are biting your lip again.” Professor Cumberbatch’s voice ripped you out of your trance, eyes snapping up from the paper. Heat flushed through you as you let go of your lip, teeth no longer buried in the warm flesh.

“Sorry, I struggle to follow their argumentation, it simply makes no sense, and you know how much I hate saying this.” Your voice was soft, not wanting to interrupt the calm atmosphere you two were trapped in. You watched him move closer, admiring the way he carried himself, the way his beige trousers hugged his legs, and how the rolled up sleeves of his black dress shirt exposed just enough of his muscular forearms and the watch clinging to his left wrist. Fuck, you’d dream of this tonight, you were sure of it.

“Let me have a look.” The professor sat down next to you on the comfortable sofa placed in the far back of his office. The scent of his cologne crawled up your nostrils, making you shudder as his leg was pressed against yours. His eyes carefully followed the sentence you had highlighted, concentrating on the arguments the student seemed to have struggled with. “Yes, I see what you mean. Leave it on my desk later, I’ll add some comments myself.”

He pushed the essay back into your hands, eyes meeting yours. Neither one of you dared to move, eyes not wanting to break contact, hearts calling out to one another without finding the right words to express what was burning on the tip of your tongues. He broke the intense moment first, clearing his throat before he rose back to his feet.

“I think I’ve kept you here long enough, you should get some rest and start packing your bags.” Disappointment filled your system, slowly nodding your head as a quiet “Of course” left your lips. And with one last glance shared, you left his office with a racing heart and sweaty palms.

…

You arrived at your apartment and dropped on your bed, sighing loudly. It was getting too difficult to deal with, to keep your gazes in check, to keep him from knowing how you felt. It was overwhelming. It was driving you crazy. You were growing so desperate for any hint of reciprocation that you had started to imagine things, seeing lust in his gaze when it couldn't be there, when it shouldn’t be there.

You decided to check your already packed bag one more time, giving into the parting words of your professor. All the outfits for the conferences lay perfectly organised in your bag, each accompanied by a pair of matching lingerie. No. you were not planning on sleeping with anyone at this event. It was just an old trick that you had once read; wearing matching lingerie makes you feel confident even outside of the bedroom.

You were about to close the bag when your phone rang on your nightstand. You picked it up, surprised to see Professor Cumberbatch calling you at almost 1 am.

“Hello?” you picked up, your fingers playing with the silky material of the matching nightgown to your lingerie.

“Hey there, apologies for the late phone call,” his voice sounded tired and stressed. You knew exactly how badly he wanted all his students to do well, and grading always put him in a bit of a bad mood.

“No problem, Professor. Is everything okay?” your question was filled with worry as you sat down on your bed and wondered if he was still in his office.

“I was just thinking about our conversation from earlier, and I was worried you would think I dismissed you because you couldn’t finish correcting that paper. You know how much I appreciate you helping me with corrections, and I wouldn’t want you to think anything bad of my dismissal. It was just so late and… I sometimes worry that I am stealing all your time. I am sure you have better things to do on a Saturday night than spend it with me, correcting papers with me.” He ranted away nervously. You could hear the sound of his dress shoes in the background as he paced through the room.

“There is no other place I’d rather be,” you blurted out right away, immediately realising the finality of that statement.

“Really?” he chuckled bitterly, “I am sure any other woman your age would disagree. Your twenties are important for your career but also to go out, have fun, make friends, and make mistakes. Please don’t let me keep you away from doing all of those things.”

“I am having fun, and I have friends,” you laughed, slightly hurt that he thought you were a complete loser.

“You know what I mean,” he chuckled, embarrassed.

“No, professor, I am not quite sure. From what I understand, you think I am a loser with no friends or fun,” you laughed, teasing him further.

“What I was trying to say is that there are significantly funner things to be doing on a Saturday than correcting papers with me. At your age, I was doing much more interesting things, at least.”

“What were you doing, Professor?” It was an inappropriate question, especially in the tone you had spoken it. You were not sure where it had come out from, but the exhaustion and comfort of your bed had pulled it out of you.

“I don’t know…” he seemed to be thinking, trying to understand himself where he wanted to draw a line before this conversation broke his rules, “I was partying, drinking, getting into trouble, trying to get girls.”

“I do all of those things,” you replied confidently, a foxy smile on your lips and a particularly strong inflexion in the all.

“Girls?” he asked, cursing himself right away for falling into your obvious trap.

“Girls… boys…” you laughed, “I am usually not the one trying, though. Especially recently, nobody has really caught my interest that way.”

“I guess I should take advantage of it and continue to monopolise your time until you do,” his answer sent a shiver down your spine. It was late, and neither of you was thinking perfectly straight.

“I think you should,” you replied before a yawn took over your voice.

“I should let you get some sleep. We have a long week ahead of us. See you at the station tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Professor.”

…

You watched the scenery pass by, the lush green countryside, the houses that seemed empty and once left behind in a hurry to disappear from rural places like these. Your heart ached at the thought, finding sadness in the empty places, wondering who had once lived inside these buildings.

It had been a good two hours since you had met the professor at the railway station, boarding the train to the conference. And while he was sitting next to you, elbows and thighs close to touching, eyes focused on a book he was reading, you didn’t find the needed comfortableness to focus on your book nor on your notes.

Your mind painted a colourful picture, wondering how the upcoming day with him so close would play out. Even though you were used to seeing him every single week, this was something new, something exciting, something that left you gasping for air.

“Are you cold?” His voice stroked your limbs like the soft April breeze, hands instinctively finding your arms.

“No, I’m alright, thank you.” You shot him a tired smile, cursing yourself for going to bed that late. A yawn clawed through you, eyes momentarily fluttering close. Perhaps you’d be able to find a few moments of rest, nothing long, though just enough to settle your mind and heart.

It felt like a trick of your brain, focusing on the elbow that was slowly pressing against yours, the forearm that met yours on the armrest separating your seats. Your heart was back to jumping in your chest, pounding louder than the rattling noises of the train.

While your mind started overthinking his move, trying to read between the lines, your body seemed to understand what it was supposed to do. All too slow, you placed your head on his shoulder, eyes not daring to flutter open in case you read the signs wrong. A soft exhale of air left the man, hand finding your knee to squeeze your soft skin.

“Get a bit of rest.” His voice successfully managed to lull you to sleep, heart slowly but surely finding a pace that would allow you to rest.

…

“We are here,” a voice shook you softly awake as you realised you had fallen asleep on the man’s arm. You instantly retracted back to your seat, putting as much distance as the train allowed. He looked at you entertained as he stood up, offering you his hand so you could do the same.

You grabbed it slowly, savouring the way his slender long fingers held yours so confidently and got up.

“The hotel is just a 10-minute walk from the station,” Cumberbatch added as he brought down both of your bags from the shelf at the top and then handed you yours.

…

You made sure to fill up the walk with every possible fun fact you had on the city, describing the few monuments you passed by and making sure you to search for your professor’s eyes, incredibly afraid that you had crossed a line by falling asleep on him. He listened to every single one of your words attentively, nodding and smiling as you made the third energy joke in a row.

“We are here,” Cumberbatch finally interrupted you, pointing at a beautiful historic hotel. You exhaled, thankful that soon you would be able to be in your room, away from him, and finally able to think straight.

The two of you entered the hotel and approached the reception, where a pretty, tall girl offered you a smile. “Hi, how are you? We have a four-night reservation under the name Cumberbatch. Two rooms.”

“Mmh… Cumberbatch?” the woman spoke back as she typed the name. A worried expression crossed her face before she looked up, meeting your eyes first and then the professor’s. “I only have one room for two reserved. Not two rooms.”

“That cannot be.” Benedict’s voice was firm and serious as he calmly placed his arms on the front desk.

“I am very sorry. People sometimes get confused when booking from more than one person and assume there are separate rooms.” She spoke politely, showing her best apologetic look.

“I will then pay for an extra room,” Benedict replied, not once turning to look at you.

“We are fully booked,” the woman replied, pressing her lips together, “I am very sorry.”

“There must be SOME available room,” he doubled down before you interrupted him.

“It is fine. We can make it work. The room has a couch, right?” You tried to ease off the tension, smiling at both your professor and the receptionist.

…

“I am so sorry. I have no idea how this mistake could have happened,” Benedict apologised for the tenth time as you reached the elevator, his eyes as soft and heavy as he tried to find a solution to this situation.

“Professor, it is completely fine.” You finally stopped him as the two of you entered the elevator, “there is a couch in the room. I am happy to sleep there.”

“I won’t let you sleep on the couch,” he replied, shocked that you would even think that was an option.

You sighed, closing your eyes, trying to decipher whether this was a dream or your worst nightmare. All you wanted right now was to be alone, to be by yourself, away from the overwhelming need this man filled you with. You had no idea how you would survive sleeping in the same room, regardless of whether it was on a couch, on a bed or on the ground.

The two of you walked towards the room’s door as Benedict bit the inside of his lip to stop himself from apologising again. He opened the door and was met with a queen-sized bed and a tiny minuscule couch. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, turning back around to you to apologise once again, but you stopped him.

“Let’s grab dinner! I heard some people from the conference are also staying at the hotel and grabbing dinner close by! Let’s go!” You patted him on the back and dropped your bag, ready to leave the room and what it would bring in the following days.

His heavy steps pounded against the ground, following you back towards the elevator. An almost uncomfortable silence was now following you two around, urged on by the inappropriate thoughts you both couldn’t shake off. Perhaps dinner would manage to distract the two of you for a moment, letting go of the tension and relaxing in comfortable chairs with other academics close by.

…

“Some more wine?” Benedict’s breath tickled your neck, forcing you to swallow loudly as you wordlessly reached your glass out for him to refill. His gaze was stuck on your features, on the smile you couldn’t stop from widening whenever he spoke up, murmuring facts about the academics you were now surrounded by.

“You have to tell us, (y/n), how does working with a stubborn man like Benedict Cumberbatch work out?” Your chuckles rumbled through you, eyes finding the piercing ones of the man sitting next to you. By now, you have forgotten most facts Benedict had shared with you, could barely remember their names, and yet you tried to play along, elbows placed on the table with your face placed in your hands.

“Let me tell you, it’s an utter nightmare.” Laughter boomed through the evening, through the garden that surrounded a few tables and chairs. The cosy atmosphere that lingered in the restaurant eased some of your tension from earlier, allowing the two of you to breathe calmly. “I am very lucky to have him by my side. No other professor has ever taught me this much.”

The hand of his that was resting on the back of your chair found your shoulder, fingers stroking your skin softly to communicate the gratitude he was feeling. Benedict was all too used to praises, and yet your words had a new meaning to them, making him sit a bit straighter as he began to pay attention to how some of his colleagues looked at you, unable to bite down their curiosity.

“I am the lucky one, I’ve rarely met students as bright as (y/n).” Heat flushed through you, forcing you to take another sip of your wine. You weren’t nearly as tipsy as you wanted to be, unable to accept his praises, the words he spoke that left your insides churning in excitement.

“Be careful, Benedict, otherwise, we may steal her from you.” One of the men sitting close to Benedict spoke the words without much thought, or so it seemed, not expecting the hard expression to widen on Benedict’s features. The professor didn’t reply, eyes searching yours as you shot him a small smile, hand finding his knee before you could give the gesture much thought. His muscles tensed underneath your hand, but before you could even try to move your hand away, he placed his hand on top of yours, squeezing yours.

“We had a long day, we should catch up on some sleep. Have a good evening.” Benedict’s words forced you to your feet, murmuring a soft “Goodbye” to the others. Your breath got stuck in your lungs as Benedict’s hand found your waist, pulling you closer to him as he guided you out of the restaurant. Once again, you felt your thoughts race, focusing on the way his fingers stroked your clothed waist, guiding you through the warm evening towards the hotel.

No further word was spoken as you stepped into the elevator, standing in front of Benedict with your eyes searching his. You couldn’t ignore the way his eyes flickered between your lips and eyes, praying deep inside that he’d finally close the gap. The two of you stood closer than needed, with his hand still placed on your waist and your hand finding his other one. Perhaps this was the moment you had been desperate for years, hoping that he’d finally cross the invisible line between you.

The mere thought of finally feeling his body pressed against yours left heat to fill your veins, heart pounding in your chest. But before either one of you could move again, the elevator came to a halt, forcing the two of you to step out. Only as the darkness of your shared hotel room lured you closer did you begin to realise that the night wouldn’t end like you had hoped it would.

He turned on the light and spoke, “I will take a shower before going to sleep, but don’t wait up for me, sleep well, (y/n). Please take the bed.”

…

Benedict entered the bathroom and left you alone in the bedroom, leaving you to wonder what you had possibly done wrong to ruin such a perfect moment, to stop him from kissing you. You sat on the bed, defeated, as you heard the sound of the shower turning on. Fuck. Maybe it was the alcohol or the burning feeling on your skin, but this felt like too much, too close, too little. It was ridiculous, nothing that deserved you crying over it, yet you could feel your eyes tearing up. The need was too much. He was too much. It almost felt unfair for him to leave you wanting the way he did.

As the sound of the shower stopped just for a second, you snapped out of your pity party, cleaning the tears from your face and getting changed before your professor could exit the room. You opened your bag and searched for your pyjama, only then realising you had brought your nightgown as your only sleeping option. You sighed loudly, covering your face and then dropping your arms to decide.

“Fuck it,” you spoke to yourself as you took off your clothes, putting on the nightgown that barely covered your ass and left little to the imagination for much else. If he could tease you all night, touching your waist, looking at you the way he did, you could do the same and even if he was not interested at all. Even if you had made every sign up in your mind, no man would not at least be tempted by such an outfit.

The bathroom door opened a few seconds later as you were busy folding your clothes back into your bag. You didn’t even dare to turn around to meet his gaze, suddenly feeling a wave of embarrassment overcome the boldness of the alcohol.

Your professor cleared his throat, and you finally met his gaze, feigning being completely and totally oblivious to what you were wearing. His blue eyes looked almost black by how dilated his pupils were, and you couldn’t help but offer him an innocent smile. He was wearing a loose black T-shirt and some grey pyjama pants.

“I am sorry. I didn’t think I would be sharing my room tonight,” you acknowledged the outfit, walking by his side, brushing his arm just so slightly before entering the bathroom with your toothbrush at hand.

Benedict had to command every single one of his muscles not to turn around, not to look at you walk into the bathroom, not to follow you, to pin you against the sink and fuck you right there.

You left the door of the bathroom open as you brushed your teeth, giving him the possibility to look into to watch as the hem of your nightgown rose high enough to show the curve of your ass. He, however, didn’t. Going straight to his couch and grabbing a pillow and duvet from the cupboard, and laying down.

You exited the bathroom excitedly, hoping to have one more chance to tease him before heading to bed but found him already deep asleep. Facing the back of the couch as he uncomfortably tried to fit within it.

…

POV Benedict

He didn’t dare move, eyes squeezed shut, arms wrapped around his too tall frame for a couch this small. Benedict tried to listen to your breaths, counting them to try and figure out if you were already asleep. His cock was aching, twitching in his boxers in a desperate need to be touched by you.

Fuck, he felt like a young boy, unable to guide his body, to pick up on his needs and urges, and to stop himself from giving in before it got too much. He hadn’t expected you to wear something like this, something that left his heart racing, pumping blood straight to his cock. It was torture, the worst situation he had been forced to live through so far, Benedict was convinced of it.

The second his mind painted a picture of your body pressed against his, he shot up from the couch, searching the false comfort the bathroom offered him, door falling shut with a thud. He could only hope that you were truly asleep by now, not picking up on his movements, the heavy breaths leaving him.

His hand pushed his boxers down his legs, just enough to free his hard cock. Precum was bearding his tip, veins shining through the thin skin, fuck, how much he wanted to feel and see your hands wrapped around him. Would you use your mouth on him? Would you stroke your tongue along the underside of his cock before sucking on his tip?

A heavy moan threatened to leave him, caught seconds before it could echo through the bathroom. His teeth left marks on his lower lip as his hand picked up its pace, fucking himself without any mercy, working on the fleeting time night offered him. Deep down, he hated himself for pushing you away this very night, wondering why he hadn’t given in, why he hadn’t chased the closeness you had been willing to offer. But something had held him back, something he was now regretting.

He couldn’t stop another moan from not leaving him, eyes squeezed shut, head rolled back. His orgasm was close, a desperate need to finally get over the sensations the mere sight of you had pushed through him. Benedict had to stop himself from choking on your name, from talking to the (y/n) he imagined kneeling in front of him.

With one last heavy breath leaving him, white cum began to cover his hand, sticking to his skin. Benedict pumped his cock a few more times before he let go of his cock, settling down on the toilet seat.

…

POV Reader

This night probably counted as the top three worst nights of sleep in your life. You had spent it between nightmares and sweats, waking up every couple of hours, feeling incredibly restless. You were thankful to see that it was already 7 am the next time you were shaken awake by another terrible dream. It took you a second to ground yourself; remember where you were. You instantly turned to the couch and found it empty, the bedsheets of your professor perfectly folded on top of it.

You scanned the rest of the room, sitting up, finding it equally as empty. A mix of disappointment and relief filled your chest as you were equal parts thankful he wouldn’t have to see you with this exhausted face and sad you didn’t even get a glance at how he looked right after he woke up in the morning.

You checked your phone and found a message from him, “Good morning! I wanted to give you some privacy before the big day. I will be waiting for you at the lounge if you want to grab breakfast together.”

You smiled at the message, forgetting all about last night. Everything was okay. The two of you were okay. He was your professor, after all, your rock. He had every right to reject you. Everything was okay.

…

You took your time getting ready, trying the different outfits you had brought as options and opting for the simplest one. Your ‘lucky’ shirt, some black suit trousers, and black stilettos. You exited the room confidently, your bag with your presentation at hand and your earphones in your ears. Your “gameday” playlist playing at full volume.

You entered the hotel lounge, finding your professor sitting on a beautiful leather couch, a newspaper on his lap. He was wearing a white button-up and some navy trousers. You approached him eagerly, removing your earphones and greeting him with a smile, “good morning, professor.”

“Good morning,” Benedict spoke, not meeting your gaze once. Eyes stuck on the newspaper.

“Should we get breakfast?” You kept on the smile, sure, he was just very enthralled by whatever he was reading.

“I have actually already eaten,” he replied with a sigh, intensifying his gaze on the paper. You pouted, disappointed, confused by his sudden coldness. “I have some meetings to attend before your presentation. Do you mind if we meet there already?”

You hesitated in answering, trying to keep the disappointment on your face from turning into clear sadness. He finally looked up, noticing your silence. His eyes were empty, cold like they had never been before.

“Of course,” you finally replied after he raised an eyebrow, “I…I will just go over the presentation by myself.” You had to look away before your eyes started to water, which seemed to pull a reaction right out of you.

Benedict stood up and placed a hand on your shoulder, “you will do amazingly. You are smart and incredible. You don’t need me for this. I will be in the crowd cheering.”

You tried to look at him, thankful that it had just been a small weird moment of coldness, but he had already started to walk away towards the exit of the hotel, leaving you standing there.

…

Were this many people always supposed to be at the event? Had everyone just suddenly realised your topic was cool and decided to listen to you talk? Where was he? You were starting in mere minutes, and there were barely any seats left. Where was he?

You squeezed the flashcards in your hands, trying to stop the trembling in your hands. You peeked once again from the stage, searching for him between the rows of mostly middle-aged men.

“You are going up in three,” some random guy with an earpiece said as you nodded emphatically, shutting your eyes and trying to control your breathing.

You stayed there for a couple of seconds, controlling your breathing, reminding yourself that this was your research. That you could do this alone. That you didn’t need anybody else. You were about to open your eyes when a hand on your shoulder startled you. Blue. All you saw was blue for a second until you could focus on the rest of his face. He had changed. He was wearing your lucky colour.

“Everything will be fine,” Benedict nodded softly, a thin layer of sweat covering his forehead as he seemed slightly out of breath.

“You are here,” you exhaled the words out.

“I am sorry, I-” he lowered his gaze in shame, but he was stopped by the earpiece guy announcing you were up. “You can do this. You are smart. Your research is incredible, and you are so incredibly charismatic that I wouldn’t be surprised if every professor in the room would try to steal you after this. Go show them how amazing you are. I am here.”

You nodded emphatically, instinctively pulling him into a hug and burying your face in his chest just for a second, feeling as he stiffened under your touch. You let go of him and nodded a little more, breathing in and out and walking onto the stage.

…

“Thank you, everyone, for listening,” you closed your presentation as the room broke into a myriad of applauses, a feeling of euphoria filling your chest as you turned to look to your professor, that stood still behind the curtain, giving you the most idolising smile you had ever seen.

You walked out of the stage with a gigantic smile straight towards your professor, whose hands immediately cupped your face, “that was incredible.”

“Thank you,” you looked up at him, immediately filled with all that tension that had been there the night before.

You were interrupted by a group of listeners approaching, and Benedict immediately moved away from you, looking down, realising the inappropriateness of his proximity. It felt as if this moment managed to rip you out of your trance, the bubble of excitement and happiness had popped, and once again doubts began to fill your mind. You were hurt, sad, and angry that Benedict hadn’t been there to support you through the hours leading up to your talk, hiding away from you rather than murmuring comforting words.

Whatever game he was playing, it was a game you found no pleasure in, growing antsy as you began to overthink what had happened in the past hours. From the second he had told you about the conference, Benedict had promised that he’d be with you on that very special day. He’d guide you like a mentor, like a friend, empty promises you were now clinging to. The ship had left the harbour, but the waves of anger had ripped it to the cold ground before the crew could swim to safety. Swimming had always been easy with Benedict near, but drowning had felt so much easier today.

…

The glass of champagne felt cold against your palm as you let your eyes wander. You were able to spot a few familiar faces in the crowd of scientists you were trapped in, celebrating your and their success. Benedict stood close to you, focused on the conversation he had been pulled into, unable to escape before the others had noticed him.

“An impressive talk, (y/n), I hope you’re proud of yourself.” One of the men you and Benedict had dined with yesterday evening was now standing in front of you. He was handsome, almost as tall as Benedict, but his eyes didn’t have that mesmerising blue colour you’d always recognise, his hair wasn’t brown like the coffee Benedict would bring you whenever you helped him grade essays, and his hands weren’t as big as the ones you wanted to feel on your body.

“Thank you! I am very happy about the crowd’s reaction to it.” A smile tugged on your lips as you took a sip, buying yourself some time. Fading seconds Benedict used to study you, the fake smile he instantly saw through, the slightly uncomfortable shifting of your weight from one leg to the other. He stepped closer, hand trying to come to rest on your waist, but you pulled away before he could touch you. “Excuse me, gentlemen, I’ll get myself another drink.”

You felt his eyes burning through your back, standing on the spot you had been standing on seconds ago, jaw muscles clenched. With every step you took away from him, your heart picked up its pace, pounding in your ribcage, fuelled by your anxiety and anger. Why did he have to be so cold towards you this morning? Why did he have to chase the distance rather than finally closing the small gaps between you?

Slowly you made your way through the crowd, holding onto your refilled glass with an iron grip. You weren’t nearly as tipsy enough as you wanted to be, pouring down big gulps to try and get rid of the tension that held your system hostage. Piercing blue eyes found yours from afar, wordlessly guiding you closer, surrounded by men and women you haven’t met before.

“May I introduce you to my wonderful (y/n)?” Benedict’s voice had a strange undertone to it, pronouncing your name with a newfound possessiveness dripping from it. This time you didn’t get to pull away as his hand gripped your waist, pulling you into his side. Your thoughts were racing as fast as your heart, but you tried to smile at the people that now shook your free hand, eyes not wandering from your features. Benedict’s fingers kept boring into your skin, not giving you the slightest chance to even try and escape him.

Only as the people moved on, finding new conversations to get lost in, did you manage to free yourself. With your gaze set on your glass, you took a step away from him and another before his patience seemed to snap. His big hand came down on your wrist, the other took your glass from you to place it down on the nearest table before he started pulling you through the room.

“Where are we going?” He ignored your question, pulling you outside into the hallway.

“What is going on with you? You’re behaving like a child.” Benedict’s words cut right through you, forcing a scoff from you. For a second, you allowed yourself to study him. His eyes no longer reminded you of a cloudless blue sky, but rather an angry storm threatening to unleash its power, fuck, why was he still so very handsome.

“I’m the one behaving like a child? You left me hanging this morning, even though you promised not to leave me alone before the talk!” He clenched his jaw, eyes growing even darker as he took a step closer, towering over you.

“Is that how you speak to your supervisor? I’d be careful of my tone if I were you.” You barely recognised his voice, dark and husky, leaving your thighs clenching and your hands shaking. Even though you were angry at him, so fucking angry, you couldn’t help but let your gaze flicker to his lips, wanting to feel them pressed against yours.

“Are you threatening me? You know what, fuck you, Benedict!” The words left you before you could stop them from rolling off your tongue, trying to turn away from him with hurried steps. But you didn’t get far, pulled against his hard chest with one of his hands cupping your warm cheek and the other resting on your waist. For a few seconds, Benedict studied you with dilated pupils and heavy breaths spluttering from his thin lips. Seconds that passed by all too slowly, torturing you and your racing heart. Something seemed to give him the final push, lips meeting yours before you could speak another word.

Your mind didn’t get any time to focus on the situation, guided by your body, by the way your lips moved in sync with his. For years you had tried to imagine what kissing Benedict may feel like, but this was a new sensation, something raw, something full of emotion, something you were addicted to from the first second on. Your hands found his suit jacket, clinging to him for dear life as if you were scared he’d part from you way too soon.

His tongue moved along your lower lip, coaxing a moan from you. The kiss grew more heated with every passing second, relishing in one another’s touch, the beats of your racing hearts, the blood rushing through your veins, a beautiful mixture. Benedict slowly parted from you to catch his breath, staring down at you with a smirk, an expression that left your insides churning in anticipation. With his hand finding yours, he wordlessly pulled you down the hallway towards the elevator that would take you up to the floor of your room.

Was this it? Was this the moment you had thought of too many times to count? Was this the moment you had thought of as your wandering hands took care of the ache between your legs?

The second the doors of the elevator started to close, you were pulled in for another kiss, pressed against the mirror you didn’t dare look at. You could only guess that you looked like a mess, hair tousled, lips swollen, eyes wide – all because of the man that couldn’t stop touching you.

“I,” Benedict murmured against your lips, hands toying with the fabric of your lucky shirt, struggling to find the right words. “I’m sorry for being this cold towards you, I still struggle with what you make me feel, and with the power my position holds over you, I don’t ever want you to think that I’m using you. You need to know, if you want me to stop, you can always say so.”

His thumb ran along your swollen lips, unable to bite down his smile as you pressed a kiss to his digit. The elevator came to a halt, allowing the two of you to find your way to your hotel room, pushed inside by his big hand finding your lower back. Benedict didn’t let you get far, hands pulling you against his chest, eyes getting lost in yours.

“I need your spoken consent before I touch you.” His lips ghosted over yours, patiently waiting for you to speak up. It took you a few seconds to speak up, unable to concentrate on anything but his touch, the fire he had unleashed inside of you, a fire so daunting he wouldn’t ever be able to tame it.

“Touch me, please, professor.” The use of his title seemed to push Benedict over the edge, growling against your lips as you were guided towards the big bed. His lips found your throat, sucking on the spots that left your toes curling and your heart skipping needed beats. Skilled hands undid the buttons of your shirt, pushing the fabric off your shoulders to expose the lacy lingerie you were wearing. Benedict marveled at you, freezing the moment for seconds as his eyes took in the sight in front of him, wondering how and why he got so lucky.

You murmured his name, snapping him out of his trance, hands working on his shirt. The moment pushed your nerves over the edge, hands struggling to undo the small buttons, signing in relief as he pushed you away, tugging the shirt over his head. Benedict didn’t give you any time to take in his upper body, the muscles you wanted to run your hands across, the freckles and small spots you wanted to kiss, forced down onto the bed. Your professor towered over you, lower lip caught between his teeth as he watched you undo your bra, exposing your breasts to his wandering eyes.

“I’ve been waiting a long time to see you like this, at my mercy, ready to give me whatever I’m asking of you.” His raspy voice left you gasping, eyes rolling back as his hands undid your trousers, helping you out of them. By now, you were only wearing your soaked-through, lacy panties, a sight that could make the blind see again, Benedict was sure of it. A work of art, the finest creation his eyes would ever get to take in. He wanted to take his time with you, wanted to love on every inch of your skin, but his own desperation drove him closer to you, shuffling out of his trousers with hurried movements.

He crawled up your body, flipping the two of you around for you to settle in his lap, feeling his hard cock pressing against your core. Fuck, you were already done for, balancing along the line of your state of pleasure only he’d push you into. His hand found the back of your neck to pull you in for another kiss, eyes fluttering close as his free hand found your chest, cupping your breast, tugging on your hard nipple. Moans clawed through you, all too shamelessly, all too freely, unable to hold back the sounds he elicited.

“I knew I'd never be able to hold back once I touched you, and I was scared of losing my control around you.” You knew he was talking about yesterday evening. You knew he was trying to smooth out the wrinkles on your heart he had crumpled like a piece of paper, and yet you couldn’t focus on them. You kissed him again, murmuring a soft “I need you, professor” against his lips.

His strong hands found your hips, grinding your core against his clothed cock, making your breaths get stuck in your lungs. The both of you were close to snapping, skipping the foreplay just to feel one another, and yet Benedict tried to hold back, not wanting to end your moment together this fast. Your legs quivered, the feeling he pushed through you with the grinding movements left your walls clenching around nothing, forcing a “More, please” out of you.

“Ask for it properly, you know how to be a good girl for me.” Benedict’s teasing words left you whining, eyes fluttering close as he stopped your movements, holding still to patiently wait for you to express your every need.

“Want your cock, fuck, need you inside of me.” A growl was forced out of Benedict, flipping you around once again, panties forced down your legs before your mind could even begin to catch up with his movements. With your body fully exposed to him, you were lying beneath him, staring up at him with lust-blown pupils and your teeth buried in your lower lip. His big hand found your core, brushing his fingers through your folds, moaning as he felt your wetness. You were dripping for him, body showing him how much you needed his touch, how desperate you were for him, for his fingers, for his cock.

His soft fingers circled your pulsing bundle of nerves, forcing your back to arch and your hands to fist the fabric of the blanket you were laying on. Benedict found himself obsessing over your sounds, hoping that he’d get to coax them out of you for endless nights to come, very well aware that he’d never be able to part from you and your bond again.

“Oh fuck, don’t stop.” He had pushed two fingers into your tightness, curling them against your swollen spot. Both of you knew that he was teasing you, fucking you all too slow, wanting to prolong the moment for as long as possible. Curses rolled off your tongue, forcing one of your hands to find his forearm, nails clawed into his skin, set on leaving marks he’d have to hide for the next few days.

“So desperate for me, so pretty, I knew you’d be perfect for me.” His praises left your skin growing warmer, eyes unable to meet his intense gaze. You felt your orgasm growing closer, wanting to let go, giving room to the intense sensation you were aching for. But just a second before you could give in with his name rolling off your tongue, Benedict let go of you.

Your eyes snapped open, staring at him with parted lips and furrowed eyebrows, a moment of confusion passed as you watched him reach for his wallet, pulling out a silvery foil packet. His eyes searched yours as he pulled his cock free, boxers left on the ground next to your panties; you couldn’t pay any attention to the fabric, eyes wandering down his naked frame, taking in the sight of his hard cock. His tip was flushed red, length twitching in his grasp, close to combusting.

“Are you sure about this? We can always stop.” Benedict was once again towering over you, not daring to move as he stared down at you. With one hand, you pulled him down to you, lips finding his as you murmured a soft “Fuck me”. Skilled fingers rolled the condom down his cock, aligning himself with your entrance before he slowly pushed into you. The both of you had to halt for a moment, eyes squeezed shut to take in the new feeling, adjusting to the tightness of your walls to the size of his cock.

“Move, please.” Your command was met with a groan, building a slow rhythm that took a few thrusts for you to get used to. The moans that tried to claw through you were held back by your pressed-together lips, not wanting to give your loud sounds enough room to reverberate through the thin four walls you were surrounded by, something Benedict easily picked up on.

“Don’t hold back, let me hear you, love.” The use of the nickname broke the dam, allowing your sounds to rumble through you. Your nails left marks down his back, scratching at his skin in a desperate try to hold onto him. His hips met yours with every thrust, forcing himself deeper into you, needing to etch this every moment into your mind. “You’re doing so well, my pretty girl.”

The second his tip met your swollen spot, you choked on your gasps, letting go of a high-pitched “Oh god”, very well knowing that you’d cum all too soon. Benedict’s smile began to widen as he picked up on your desperation, fingers finding their way back to your clit. You gripped his shoulders as your orgasm began to rock through you, filling your every pore, overtaking your whole body.

Benedict fucked you through your high, getting lost in your pleasure and drunken features, feeling his own high filling his body. He gave it a few more thrusts before he came, holding still as his cum filled the condom.

…

The rest of the week was spent between conferences, lingering touches, and long nights of fucking. Benedict could barely keep his hands away from you when you were in public. His eyes were always searching for you when you weren’t by his side. His hands perpetually on your waist as the two of you made small talk with other academics. Sometimes you couldn't make it until the night, sneaking into an empty hallway, a bathroom, back to your room. He was addicted to you, and you could barely believe all your dreams had finally come true.

It was safe to say your grading sessions were never the same again. They mostly occurred in his house now, and they included dinner and a couple of fucking-breaks. They weren’t as efficient but significantly more fun.

#Benedict Cumberbatch smut #Benedict Cumberbatch imagine #professor fic #doctor strange #bbc sherlock #Benedict Cumberbatch x you

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paintingwhiteceilings · 9 months ago

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Can you do Male Reader X EXO?

So, its basically when either Male reader or an EXO member is struggling with his homework.

❃EXO and helping with your school/uni work ❃

A/N: Heyyy, I am so sorry this took as long as it did. I had to take some time off of posting on Tumblr as I am about to start my graduation process for my RMA. In a way, it was super cathartic to write this prompt so it became a bit of a mix between school and uni work, I hope you don't mind :')

Regarding male x-readers: I try to keep my prompt as gender-neutral as possible, mostly so anyone can insert themselves regardless of whether they identify as male, female, non-binary, etc. However, I am totally open to doing any LGBTQIA+-specific prompts, so feel free to do so!

Xiumin/Minseok:

✾ Considering this man is rumoured to have a PhD (although not specified in what), you would think that he would be an amazing person to have around when you are struggling through your homework/coursework. However, being smart doesn’t always equate to being able to offer understandable explanations.

✾ His brain skips so many steps when he is tackling a problem or working on an essay. He knows why something is right or wrong, but he can’t really explain how he got to his answers. It comes so naturally to him that he struggles to dissect his thought processes and convey them to someone else.

✾ Ultimately, he will convince you to email your teacher/professor; they can explain it much better than he can, anyway. After having corresponded so often with professors during his own studies, he is more than capable of helping you with formulating your email in such a way that they would agree to help you out.

✾ Still, after having studied as much as he has, he understands the struggle of keeping up with homework/coursework. Considering he got his degrees whilst being an idol, he is incredible at planning his work efficiently. Thus, he instead offers to help you with creating a schedule, giving you a more healthy work-life balance.

Suho/Junmyeon:

✾ Well, considering that he has an MA in Cultural Management and talked at Stanford (plus it has been proven time and time again that Suho is incredibly intelligent), he is one of the best members to go to if you ever struggle with your homework/coursework. He strikes me as someone who, although they are incredibly smart, can explain his inner thoughts very well.

✾ Give him a whiteboard, and he will shine. Don’t ask me why, but I can totally imagine him being one of those people that is convinced that “you have to visualize things. Write it down to have more space in your head to think.” Does that work? Maybe. Is it annoying to be told time and time again to “just draw it”? Yes.

✾ If he isn’t familiar with the topic/class that you are struggling with, he will take time out of his busy schedule to familiarize himself with it. He will find a couple of sources or a handbook so that he can read up on it.

✾ A part of him enjoys studying and learning together, smiling the entire time as you do so. Despite your own stress on why you can’t seem to work through the problem/assignment, you can’t help but return his quiet enthusiasm.

Baekhyun:

✾ Another member who went to university to get his degree (although I can’t find out whether he has a BA or MA, sources are so incredibly vague) and is probably used to studying whilst being unbelievably busy. Furthermore, Suho has said before that although Baekhyun tends to be the mood maker of EXO on camera, Baekhyun is a deep thinker and has many philosophical conversations with him in private. Therefore, I can imagine him being another member who would be good at conveying his thoughts very well, offering you a coherent explanation.

✾ He would be an expert on making studying fun. Instead of having to cram a bunch of facts or read a long dry article for your next class, he would find a way to gamify it, turning it from a long boring study session into a fun competition. Although he might not be a huge help regarding the content of your class, he would help you to keep your motivation while studying.

✾ At the same time, I can totally see Baekyhun being a massive distraction while studying. You will be trying to solve a problem or work on that lengthy essay, and Baekhyun keeps trying to get you to pay attention to him, as he is too restless to sit still and study. He strikes me as someone who tries to convince you to do it tomorrow instead.

Chen/Jongdae:

✾ He has an MA in Media Advertisement so you can bet that he can sell a story. I am pretty sure Media Advertisement falls under either business or communication studies, so he will probably be not too shabby at statistics either. He will, therefore, not only sell you on why studying this particular subject is fun, but he will also be able to help you actually study the contents of most math-based subjects.

✾ Chen probably is too busy to delve deeply into the subject matter that you are trying to grasp, though. He will try, nonetheless, to work through it with you. He will sit next to you as you try to solve equations, and although he might not have mastered the theory himself, he will try to learn it with you, giving you a fresh set of eyes.

✾ I think rather than being incredible at explaining stuff, he would be an amazing person for emotional support. I can see him prioritize calming you down first and having you take a step back from studying to clear your head. He would make sure that you stay hydrated and fed while studying, preparing a bunch of snacks beforehand that he will hand out as a reward for making it through another chapter.

Chanyeol:

✾ Am I tired of repeating myself and saying “This member is smart because they got their degree”? Yes. Am I insanely impressed with most of EXO going to university whilst balancing their studies with a full-time idol career? Yes, and I will never shut up about it. Anyway, yeah Chanyeol went to university bla bla, making him, not just smart, bla bla, but also hard-working, bla bla. You know the drill.

✾ Regardless of whether Chanyeol is well-studied in the field you are struggling in, nothing will stop him from becoming an expert. He is reading up on it as if his life depended on it, driven by his strong dislike of being bad at something. It doesn't matter whether you tell him it is okay and that you can always ask a fellow student or your teacher/lecturer; he is having none of it.

✾ At this point, he is more frustrated about not grasping a particular part of the theory than you. Even after you two manage to work through your homework/coursework, he will continue to read up on the topic until he fully understands it.

✾ He might be an overachiever and perfectionist who could’ve very well used the time that he spent on a piece of information he will never ever use again more wisely, but if anyone ever needs to know more about that specific theory, he can tell them everything.

D.O./Kyungsoo:

✾ Listen, I love him with every fibre in my body, and I will continue to do so until I turn to dust, but Kyungsoo has admitted, on several occasions, that he is not a big fan of studying. Sure, he got his degree, just like the others, and got his culinary license, indicating that he is more than capable of retaining a ton of information and working through difficult assignments/problems. But, does he enjoy studying? No, not really; he got it over with and seems glad to be done.

✾ So, when you ask him to help you with your homework/coursework, he will remind you, at least seven times, that he isn’t too good at studying and that there are better people to ask for help instead. He will try his best, albeit reluctantly, reminding you continuously to lower your expectations.

✾ In the end, he will try to help out in a different way, either by supplying you with a ton of study snacks or recounting how he worked through tough assignments back when he was in university, with the hope that maybe it works for you as it did for him. He makes sure that you are as comfortable as you can be, convinced he can’t do much more than that.

Kai/Jongin:

✾ Listen, don’t get me wrong, I adore Kai. However, I have to say that he is not the brightest when it comes to academia (at least compared to the rest of EXO) or, like, his common sense. Yes, he had his moments of genius in New World, and I am sure that when it comes to memorizing dance and lyrics, he is insanely good. However, give him a math problem, and he will cry.

✾ Kai strikes me as someone who was exhilarated to be done with school, not seeing the point of going to university like the rest of his members. When you ask him to help you out with your home/coursework, something inside of him dies as he knows nothing that will be leaving his mouth will be helpful. He is too sweet to say no and will try his hardest to help you with whatever you are struggling with. Nevertheless, he is even more lost than you upon reading your assignment, confused by all the fancy words the assignment seems to be using.

✾ Nevertheless, Kai would be an amazing person if you need someone to talk to without necessarily needing any advice/answers, just to get your own ideas out of your head. He knows exactly when to nod and say “hmhm”, aware that you don’t necessarily want to get his input, only needing him to work through your thoughts and ideas on your own.

✾ Honestly, he gets an A for effort for me. Kai is good vibes only, and he would give you a hug for support.

Sehun:

✾ Another one who is glad he finished school and never has to go back. Again, don’t get me wrong, I love Sehun, but you can’t deny that he isn’t the smartest person in the room. As Suho said during EXO Ladder, “I think, they (the beluga whales) have the same IQ as Sehun” after noting they have an IQ of 60-90.

✾ Where Kai still tries to help out, he flat-out refuses. What do you mean you need his help finishing your work? He is so unapologetic about it too and slightly offended; why did you have to remind him about the horror that is school? He left that behind him and under no circumstances will he ever be dragged back in. He is rich, and he needs no degree.

✾ Such a bad influence on you as he tries to keep you from doing your work. “Well, if you are struggling with your homework you might as well take a break and go to the convenience store with me.” Funnily enough, it actually helps to clear your head. Sometimes the best thing to do is to step away and try again with a clearer mind. Sehun maintains that it was his plan all along; you doubt it.

✾ He will end up asking one of his members to assist you with your homework, calling in a favour with, for instance, Suho. They are all down bad for him, so you end up with the best tutors EXO has to offer.

Masterlist

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year ago

Text

Common Knowledge 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, power imbalance, bullying, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: Geralt of Rivia, Harald Halfdansson, tall & plus-size reader

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You untangle the strap of your knapsack from the folding desk. Somehow you always manage to caught up on something. Always a bit too tall, always a bit too much. You stand and leave your books on the empty seat next to you to unhook your bag.

You stand straight, the shuffle of students dispelling down the center aisle and out the doors. You reach for your books as a shadow approaches you. You look up at Professor Halfdansson as he approaches casually, a thumb in his front pocket.

Before you can grab the Norse Encyclopedia, he has it in his free hand. You stand straight, clasping onto the open mouth of your knapsack. You give him a tight-lipped smile, but it probably looks more like a sneer. You've been told your resting bitch face can be intimidating.

"Ah, you found it," he smiles, cradling it like a precious child against one arm and fluttering the pages. "I thought to offer you my own copy should you not."

"It's fine. No big task," you assure him.

"Humble," he praises, "so have you decided on your thesis?"

You push one shoulder up, "still thinking."

He grins and his blue eyes flick up from the book. He has a way of looking at you that makes you want to disappear. As if he's seeing right through you.

"Sorry, Professor, I have a class coming up--"

"You must be in Turner's class."

You hold out your hand expectantly. He glances at it and slowly hands over the book. You slip it through the zipper of your bag.

"How'd you know?"

"Birds of a feather," he says.

You nod and shoulder your bag. You have nothing to say to that. He watches you and steps back, waving you past him. You sidle around him in the tight aisle.

"Next week," he calls after you, "I think you'll very much enjoy the readings."

"Thank you, professor," you say as you turn down the steps, "I'll be sure to catch up."

You leave without looking back. He is an odd duck but many of your professors have their eccentricities. Professor Turner often can't figure out the projector. Funny how those regarded as so smart often have such glaring blindspots.

📖

You sit down among the stacks, ready to tuck into a full day of studying. It isn't ideal and frankly fills you with anxiety. College wasn't made for you, nor were you it. Frankly, your interest in history is better sated in books off the shelf than the ramblings of scholars with an attachment to their overinflated titles.

History is vast, you can never know it all, and there are parts which hold little interest to you. Nordic myths left you indifferent. Never a subject you would choose for yourself but as you delve into it, not entirely dull.

You tap your pen as you wait for your laptop to update. Always at the best times. You flip open your notebook and flick through your notes. Right, focus, you just need a straightforward statement. It's not very difficult.

"Ah, a young aspirant on her journey to knowledge," the booming voice is much too loud in the hush of the library.

You look up as Professor Haraldsson approaches, he worn leather bag under his arm and a travel mug in the shape of a stein in his other hand, "very busy in here, do you mind if I invade your space?"

You give him a look between blank and surprised. You probably look dumb. You shrug and gesture at an empty chair. You suspect it was rhetorical.

He drops his bag unceremoniously and puts his cup down with a clank. You flinch and look back to your laptop, urging it to update faster.

"And so the Norns bring us together once more. I am starting to feel Urd, Verdandi, and Skuld's hands upon us."

You narrow your eyes and give him a look. You know the Norns but not by name. You try to smile and force out a scratchy chuckle.

"I guess…"

"May I?" He points to the large encyclopedia.

"Go ahead," you sigh as the login screen appears and you type.

He opens the cover and searches the table of contents. He finds his place among the many pages and leans in to read. You focus on the screen and your own work. Only a thesis statement, easy, right?

"I do find the illustrations rather immaculate," he comments as he runs his hand over a picture, a man with a sword before a woman of great stature. "Have you found it very useful?"

"Mmhmm," you hum and pull your notebook closer.

He slides the open book towards you and you place your notebook atop it, "and have we chosen a subject?"

You shake your head and look down. The small caption of the photo peeks out around the corner of the notebook. The professor slurps noisily from his cup.

"That's what I'm trying to figure out…"

Your voice trails off as you read the description; 'Frey declaring to the giantess, Gerd, that he will curse her to an eternity in Hel should she reject him.' You frown, many of these stories are dreadfully depressing. The womanly counterparts rarely meet a kind end.

"Well, should you have any questions," he offers as he pulls open the flap of his bag, "I do consider myself a bit of an expert."

"Thanks," you cup your chin as you lean forward, staring at your desktop.

You can feel him watching but refuse to acknowledge it, wondering if maybe you have something on your face. As with most people, you tune him out, pretending you are alone. You're always most comfortable that way.

#harald finehair #harald halfdansson #dark!herald #dark harald #harald finehair x reader #geralt of rivia #dark geralt #dark!geralt #geralt x reader #au #drabble #series #common knowledge #the witcher #vikings

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verucac · 1 month ago

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Period sex

Dear fellow menstruating people who have or had sex during menstruation. I have gone down a rabbit hole: I am currently taking part in Kinktober. One prompt: (Day 17) period sex.

So I wrote a story – using the 'trope' of blood as a natural lubricant. During my research I often read that menstrual sex is more pleasurable because of the 'extra lubrication'. I was editing my story and everything I wrote just felt wrong. So I read some older stories about this trope. Problem: I can't agree with them. Firstly, my personal experience, and secondly, I am an engineer. So let's try to science/engineer the shit out of it: There are basically two problems here 1. Periodic flow is a good lubricant 2. Extra lubricant from period flow improves sex

1. Technically, lubrication is used to reduce friction. When you need lubrication for specific purposes, you have to consider the many specific properties of the lubricant (e.g. density, viscosity, demulsibility, etc.). Normally, the wetness of an aroused woman is enough to reduce skin-to-skin friction and make the encounter enjoyable. She has the perfect density and viscosity for this. (Dry sex is no fun, e.g. sex after removing a tampon).

A good artificial lubricant for sex is designed to reduce skin-to-skin friction over a long period of time (no drying out, stays where it is applied). Water, for example, might seem like a good idea, but no. Mainly because it has a very low viscosity (it also promotes corrosion, but that's not relevant here). Anyone who has gone down a water slide knows that skin contact on the slide slows you down. You can even get stuck. The water is pushed out from under you and you have high friction. (That's why I don't like sex in water - but that's another topic.) I quote my old professor: "Water is for cooling, not for lubricating" - to be fair, that was said in a different context.

The 'period flow' is basically just normal blood (which is actually watered down compared to the blood in your veins) and some of the cervical mucus that needs to be flushed out. It's not even a perfect emulsion (if you use a menstrual cup, you may have noticed that the consistency is quite uneven). To be on the safe side, let's take the properties of the worst component of this imperfect emulsion: Blood. It behaves like water. And (I repeat) water is not a good lubricant.

2. When a woman gets her period, there's some additional lubrication to her natural wetness (when aroused), but it's minimal. Period flow is often overestimated. It's a total of 60 ml (we could calculate an hourly flow), but let's make it easy and estimate a constant flow of the whole amount for a whole day, so 2.5 ml per hour. Or half a teaspoon per hour. This is really not a lot of 'extra' lubricant (and we have been very generous in our calculations).

Now we put the two together:

The problem now is mixing them. When you mix lubricants, their properties change. Ask petrolheads about motor oil - you'll get a free lecture. Or ask my old professor: "Mixing lubricants reduces their performance".

When you have sex during your period, two types of lubricant mix together. The natural everyday lubricant (perfect lubrication) and the "period flow" (poor quality additive). This reduces the overall quality of your lubrication during your period. Basically, the blood makes your vagina more watery. This means that sex during your period has more friction due to the poorer quality of the lubricant. A little more quantity might compensate for the poor quality of the mixed lubricant, but don't count on it.

Conclusion:

At best, sex during your period will be like sex at any other time because the amount of extra blood is so small (but maybe the thought of it will turn you on and make you wetter), at worst it will just hurt because of too much friction.

So, if this were a risk management scenario: to be on the safe side, use lubricant.

Sorry if I destroyed any kink fantasies.

Full disclosure: I haven't found any scientific papers on the lubricating properties of period flow vs. natural lubrication, (just a paper on whether women like having sex during their period) but please let me know if you know of any.

Am I wrong?

Any comments? Ideas?

Thanks for your attention. Sorry for the lecture.

TLDR: I wrote a story for Kinktober about period sex. Had big issues with the 'tropes'. Rewrote it according to my (not really scientific) research, which suggests that lubrication is actually worse.

#menstruation #period sex #kinktober #feminism #research #menstrual health #lubrication #why is there no good research regaring women's health #or maybe just ignore me

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pajarinwrites · 2 months ago

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The Perfect Set 03

➳ fem!reader x Jacob

➳ wc: 7.7k

➳ TAGS: volleyball player!jacob, college!au, best friends to lovers

➳ WARNINGS: mentions of underage drinking, Cobie has a steamy dream about reader but it's, again, pretty tame descriptions

➳ AN: it's my one year anniversary of publishing writing here, so I finally felt enough pressure to publish something; I tried finishing two pieces, but I only realise the occasion yesterday, so I didn't make it in time; enjoy this :)

prev | next | series masterlist | general masterlist

Despite your worries, Jacob sleeping over ended up feeling like the most normal thing in the world. You shared your cereal in the morning and walked you to class, hugging you goodbye as always.

“Will I see you for lunch,” he asks and you have to shake your head with a pout on your lips.

“I promised Juyeon I’d eat with him…”

Jacob smiles, although it looks a little tight-lipped. The fight must still be a sore topic, you assume. But he reassures you that is fine and says he’ll see you tomorrow for lunch, instead. You wave until he’s around the corner, only then do you wander into your lecture building.

It’s the same dreary monologue as usual and you heave a sigh of relief when it’s finally over. You’d like to be out of the room before your professor can think of any reading he wants to assign. But you can’t scoot out of your row when someone plops down in the seat next to yours, throwing an arm over your shoulders.

“Hey, babe.” Juyeon says, pressing a quick kiss to your lips.

“Do you have to call me that?” You say in lieu of a greeting. He grins in response, “Just trying to get you riled up.” It earns him an exaggerated eye-roll from you.

“Why are you here already?”

“Snuck out a little early to pick you up from class,” he chirps.

“Why are you in such a good mood today?” You ask, remembering how troubled Jacob still seemed to be by the fight. How could Juyeon treat it like it was nothing, when his friend was still so upset about their argument?

“Just happy to see you, maybe?” He winks at you.

“Okay, cool. You can actually be happy to see me outside the room as well.” You insist with one eye on your professor, who’s just taken a look at his notes. The first lingering students have started leaving the room and you wish they would just walk faster. Why have they still not figured out he’ll give us reading if we stick around too long, you think in agitation.

“Why are you in such a hurry. I wanted to ask you where you wanted to eat?”

You stand up in an effort to hurry your fuck buddy out of the row of seats but he will not budge. You have half a mind to just climb over his lap but you’re sure he’d use it to cause a scene.

“I don’t really care,” you say instead, trying to pull him up.

“What are you doing?” Juyeon asks.

“Juyeon, please, for the love of god start movi—"

“Ah before I forget,” your professor says.

“Ohmyfuckinggod,” you groan.

In your opinion, Juyeon brought your terrible mood on himself. Even his offer to buy you lunch didn’t lift your spirits. You were munching on your free fries, burning holes into the table with your eyes. “Two hundred pages! Two hundred, Yeon! Until next week!”

You think you hear him mumble, ‘Not quite two hundred…’. But he’s clever enough to drop it at the glare you shoot him.

“Sorry… But I couldn’t know he’d give you that much reading,” he tries to justify, but you throw a fry at him. He picks it off his shirt and throws it into his mouth.

“Sure. Except I told you about this dude two days ago. Juyeon, I was trying to get you to leave for five minutes and you wouldn’t budge. So now we have two hundred pages of reading.”

“Okay, okay. I really am sorry. But there’s nothing I can do about it now, is there?”

“You could be a little more empathetic.”

“Am I not being empathetic right now?” You’d like to throw another fry but that will probably just end up making you even more mad. Instead, you decide to redirect your righteous anger to the most pressing issue at hand.

“Anyway, how are you today. Jacob’s been… talking about your fight.” He cocks his eyebrow as if to insinuate you’d speak anything but the truth. Maybe you even want Juyeon to be a little miserable about this. Especially with how Jacob had been acting this morning, you feel like the emotional burden of the row is unevenly distributed between participants. Juyeon shrugs, “I’m fine. Volleyball’s been getting on my nerves anyway.”

Now it’s your turn to raise an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Sure”, you muse, “the sport you’ve been playing for almost a decade and have been super passionate about since I first met you is something you were actually sick of this entire time. I can’t believe I didn’t see the signs.”

“Okay, well maybe it didn’t get on my nerves. But I can enjoy a short break. Maybe it’ll give me room to focus on my academic achievements for once.” You snort into your milkshake, looking up at him.

“Yeah right, ‘cuz you’re always so motivated about those.” You two share a laugh that makes you appreciate how easy Juyeon is about his own shortcomings. You’re used to Jacob being too hard on himself for every little mistake he commits. Maybe Juyeon’s lazy confidence is what drew you to him in the first place. Still, his carefree attitude isn’t something you’d want to encourage. Especially not if it’s about something that is important to so many people: Juyeon himself, your best friend, their team. And in a way, it’s even in the best interest of the university and its students if you press the issue. Your volleyball team never stood a better chance at finals, after all.

So with the heavy heart of the harbinger of hard truths you say, “You shouldn’t take it this lightly, Juyeon. Jacob is actually mad at you. And even you admitted that he had a point about your lack of motivation. I know volleyball is important to you. And I know your teammates are important to you. You shouldn’t forget about that. If this is seriously what will make you throw the next match, I think you’ll regret it afterwards.” His frown had darkened with every word you uttered until he was glaring at you close to the same way you had been glaring at the table earlier.

“I don’t see why you feel like you have the right to talk down to me like that.” You want to interrupt him to reiterate that you weren’t trying to patronise him, only trying to look out for a friend, but he doesn’t give you the chance.

“You’re so entitled with your unbiased opinion. Tell you what, you’re anything but unbiased. You don’t give a shit about whether or not I want to re-join the team. You only want your bestie to be happy. You’ll always look out for him first, before you consider anyone else’s happiness.” He stands up, towering over you with an expression hung up between anger and sadness. You’ve never seen Lee Juyeon truly hurt, so you’re at a loss for words when you should be standing up stopping him. Stopping him leaving in anger. Stopping him from hurting. Stopping him from rushing out of your sight with the idea in his heart that you don’t truly care about him. Instead, you sit there, like the terrible person you are, and watch him disappear around the corner.

You had to finish your lunch stewing not only in your quiet but also in your own spiralling thoughts. If you hadn’t known that Juyeon always needs time to cool off, you would’ve liked to call him and set things straight immediately. It’s times like this that you regret having formed the most part of your group of friends around the boys from the volleyball team. With Jacob busy and preoccupied, you have to carry your worries around with you for another day until you can finally fall into you best friend’s arms with a sigh.

“Juyeon can be so insufferable!” You groan. Jacob chuckles, picking you up lightly and squeezing you tight.

“I know. Although I think in my case it was actually me who was being insufferable.”

“Probably,” you whisper into his neck. He lets out and soft ‘hey’ in mock offence before letting you follow him into the student accommodation. The two of you make yourselves at home in the communal kitchen with you packets of instant ramen, tofu, and kimchi in tow. The number of times you’ve cooked together makes for a comfortable atmosphere, not even disturbed by his dorm mates checking in once in a while. You’re done with preparing the tofu and only waiting for the ramen to cook when a light on your phone alerts you to a new message. It’s from Juyeon, who’s telling you he’s outside Jacob’s dorm in case you want to talk. You didn’t expect him to reach out so soon; you hadn’t even had time yet to discuss it with your best friend or make up your own mind about how to continue the discussion. One glance back at Jacob and you decide that you don’t want to squander the golden opportunity that has presented itself.

“Jake?” You breech the subject softly. He only hums in response, so you continue, “I gotta go out real quick. Just like five minutes. Juyeon’s waiting downstairs.”

Honesty is the best policy, you decide. And if you see a slight hint of disappointment in Jacob’s eyes for a second, you blame it on your own damned hopeful imagination. You take his jacket off the back of the kitchen chair and hurry outside. Juyeon’s standing across the street under one of the big oaks.

“Hey,” he mumbles as you cross over to him, standing as close as you dare without annoying him. You’d like you reach out but you’re scared he’ll push you away.

“How did you know I was here?” You ask.

He shrugs, “Your dorm window was dark. Where else would you be?”

An uncomfortable silence settles over the two of you until you decide to ask the question you hadn’t even realised had been burning on your soul until now, “Does it bother you that we’re so close?”

Juyeon cocks an eyebrow, “Of course not,” he says, “I know he comes first. You’ve always made that clear. I just want you to admit that as well. To me, but more importantly to yourself, I think.”

Who’s being patronising now, you want to say. But somewhere inside you know he’s right.

“I’m sorry I pretended to know better than you yesterday,” you say instead, “I really did want to help. I always thought volleyball was as important to you as it is to Jake.” Juyeon smiles softly in the dark. His eyes twinkle a little too much to be completely dry.

“No, you were right. I’m just scared he’ll still be mad at me. It’s hard to get him angry, but he was pretty intense during our fight.” You nod, remembering how hard he was training after the altercation.

“Yeah, but he knows it’s the best for the team to let you back on. You just gotta make sure to be on time once and again.” You want to joke, but it comes out a little too seriously and for a second, you’re scared that you’ve crossed a line again. At the end of the day, you aren’t involved in the volleyball club in any way shape or form. There’s nothing that would justify you to pass judgement on any of the players in such a way. But Juyeon seems to only have been lost in thought about your comment. His voice is impassive when he continues, “Yeah. About that… we should probably start seeing each other less.”

“What? I didn’t… that’s definitely not what I wanted to insinuate, Yeon.”

“I know. I just think it’s for the best.”

Every further word feels like a punch to the chest. You stare at the man in front of you with wide eyes. Some part of you seemed to have begun to take his affection for granted because between his apathetic tone and the distant expression in his eyes you can feel your heart constrict.

“Did I… Is it because I… because of what I said?” You question. He shakes his head softly, but you can’t stomach the pity on his face any better than the apathy.

“Nah, it’s just about to be exam season, and we’ve got our matches coming up. Also, we were never exclusive, and I wanted to remind you of that.”

You nod, your head full of lead. Of course you knew that. That had been one of the conditions of your agreement but you had gotten used to his steady presence. Still…

“Is it something I did?” You need to hear him say it, explicitly. It may be selfish but you need Juyeon to tell you that he still likes you, still cares for you.

“Of course not,” he placates your worries and you release the breath that had been stuck in your throat for minutes. His gaze is soft, “I just think we could both use the break.”

You don’t agree. You want to scream at him that he has no idea what you want or need or use. You want to scream that he clearly knows how you’re feeling right now and still doesn’t seem to give a single fuck about your emotions. About the fact that, apparently, you needed him more than you thought. In the end all you can murmur is, “I like when we spend a lot of time together. But if space is what you need, I won’t be the one to stand in your way.”

Juyeon looks regretful, saddened to a degree beyond your own superficial disappointment. His eyes are still glistening. He nods, turning to leave. At the last second, he breathes parting words, so low and softly that you don’t catch them, can’t make sense of them until he’s long gone and has left you standing alone in the dark.

“I think you only like spending time with me because then you don’t have to think about him.”

You’re still shell-shocked from his words when you make your way back into Jacob’s dorm. He’s still standing in the kitchen, just finishing up the plating for your dinner and looks up with a bright smile as you re-enter.

“Woah,” his smile drops, “did you see a ghost or something?”

“Umh, not really…” You open and close your mouth a few times, trying to make sense of the words in your brain but before you can find any way to string what just happened into a coherent sentence, Jacob lifts his hand.

“Actually, I don’t want to know. I’ve already had to suffer through so many locker room stories of Juyeon’s make-outs.” You blink, getting your wits about yourself enough to chuckle.

“It’s not that,” you admit, wiping furiously at your eyes.

“Hey, hey, hey. No, what’s wrong?” Jacob coos, hurrying over to you at the sight of your tears. He pulls you into a hug, soothing his hands up and down your back. For a few seconds you stay like that before he pushes you to his room, gently. He sits you down on his bed, rushing back to get dinner. At the sight of your sniffling, he rests both bowls on his nightstand before sitting next to you. His hand returns to your back, still trying to calm you with soft, steady movements.

“What happened out there?” He asks.

“He said we should stop seeing each other,” you heave between sobs. The hand on your back falters for a second before resuming its rhythm. You drop your head to the side.

“And you hate that?” It’s phrased more like a statement than a question, but you still nod against his shoulder.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Jacob whispers. The two of you are encased in silence for a few beats before he continues. His voice is hesitant as he suggests, “Maybe you should tell him. I don’t know what exactly your relationship is. But if you’ll miss him this much, maybe you should… fight… for him?”

You reply with more sobs, “I don’t think he likes me anymore.”

“Nonsense! Not even Juyeon’s that big of an idiot.”

You giggle into his shoulder weakly. “So, what do you think I should do?”

Jacob is silent for a long time, so long you almost start to think he has no answer. Eventually, he replies in a whisper, so low that it’s hard to tell his tone, “It seems to me like you should ask him out.” It sounds less than sure, and he must see your doubt when you lift your head to meet his gaze. He immediately elaborates, “Up until tonight, he seemed to have been… good for you…”

Your best friend turns to the night stand before you can get a proper glance at his face. He hands you a bowl of ramen, decisively.

“No good decisions are made on an empty stomach and sadness,” he proclaims. He sets his laptop down in front of you, turning on Gilmore Girls. By the end of the second episode, your eyes have dried and you’re smiling softly. He puts an arm around you, gingerly. You lean into him.

At the end of the night, he has to wake you from where your head is buried in his shoulder. One of your hands has been draped across his lap since you shifted to face him earlier, nuzzling his side in your sleepy, half-awake state. Jacob allows himself a minute of self-indulgence, simply watching your face. He can still make out the trails of tears down your cheeks. His insides churn at the thought of Juyeon, the way he’d made you feel. And a not so small part also bristles at your reaction. He hadn’t known the extent of your feelings for Juyeon. But if you cared about him this much, maybe he would have to… let you go. For lack of a better term. All Jacob knows, with certainty, is that he hates seeing you upset. And if his friendship isn’t enough to keep the tears out of your eyes, he needs to shove that confusing churning in his chest down, that wants Juyeon and you to stay apart.

He wakes you softly, helping you up and walking you all the way to your own dorm, hand in hand, because you’re still drowsy from sleep. As he waves goodbye in front of your building, you stop him, a hand twisting in his sweater. His words have struck a chord, you think, and you want clarification before you take any further relationship measures.

“Did you mean it? What you said earlier?”

“Which part exactly? In the kitchen? Where I told you I’d do all the chopping because I don’t want any fingers in the food? Yeah, pretty serious.”

“Har har. I meant after I met Juyeon. That we look good together or something…” Your gaze remained stubbornly on the hands in his sweater. Looking at Jacob’s expression seemed an unsurmountable task at that very moment, even though you simply couldn’t fathom why looking at him would ever make you nervous.

“Sure,” there is hesitance in his voice as he sounds out his reply, “I mean, you said you’re happy. And that’s the most important part. I’m glad you’re in a relationship that makes you so… happy.”

You’re doubtful of his tone and the confusing lack of eloquence. Nevertheless, you nod, unsure on what this swirling feeling in your chest indicates. Instead of contemplating it, you give your best friend another tight squeeze and a small kiss on the cheek. He stiffens in your arms, and as you stand in front of your apartment complex, waving good night, it somehow feels like a farewell.

The air between the two of you still doesn’t seem to be cleared when you meet two days later at your favourite café. He places your usual order in front of you.

“How have you been?”

“Since when are you so formal?” You laugh.

Jacob replies smirking, “I just interviewed for an internship. I guess my conversation setting hasn’t reset to ‘standard’ yet.”

You shake your head in amusement, returning to a former discussion of the merits and shortcomings of your favourite comfort sitcoms, and other silly subjects. He’s just begun telling you another funny locker room story from a recent practice, when a jingle alerts you to the entry of a new customer. The silhouette is familiar, even from your peripheral and you whip your head around. Juyeon enters, chatting with a girl on his arm. You think you’ve even met her before, once or twice.

Jacob follows your gaze, looking caught somewhere between pensive and pent-up. You wonder if it’s a good idea to bring up their row, but Jacob beats you to the conversation.

“You should talk to him,” he says. His eyes are fixed on his hands.

“You think?”

“Yeah, I mean… look at you. You clearly miss him.”

You only make a noncommittal noise, looking over at the two laughing again. You’re not sure yourself of what these feelings are. But no one knows you better than Jacob. So, if anyone could give you good advice, it was him. Definitely.

“Maybe you’re right,” you say, sounding about as convinced of the idea as Jacob himself. “I’ll be right back.” When you leave, he finally lifts his eyes. You don’t see the way they follow you.

“Juyeon,” you interrupt the two while they’re taking their drinks off the counter. He turns in surprise.

“Oh, hi!” The girl is first to answer, smiling widely at you. “It’s been such a long time, y/n! How have you been?”

“Uhm, to be completely honest… I’ve been better,” you glance at Juyeon and the girl follows your eyes, realisation hitting. She looks between the two of you before taking a step away from Juyeon.

“Oh, uhm, well… seems like you two have something to discuss. I’ll be waiting… uhm… over there!” She points into a vague direction before rushing off.

“I’ll be there in a sec, Heather!” Juyeon calls after her.

“She seems nice,” you supply pointlessly. Juyeon doesn’t deign you with an answer, only stares down at you intensely.

“I…” you really should’ve thought this through more thoroughly. You’re melting under his gaze, but the memories of his teary eyes break to the surface.

“I don’t want to stop seeing you,” you whisper. Juyeon’s eyes widen in surprise.

You continue, “I like you way too much to suddenly cease all contact with you. If this is what you need, of course I’ll stay away. But… I just wanted to make sure that you knew that I really care for you, and I love seeing you, and you make me laugh, and I will miss you a lot, and maybe we could find some compromise or—“

Juyeon interrupts you with a hand on your face. His expression is more vulnerable than you’ve ever seen it before as he presses his lips to yours, softly, hesitantly. An inquiry, rather than a reply. He pulls away, his face inches from yours. All you can think is that this is horrifyingly embarrassing to be doing in front of the counter of a busy campus coffee shop, but you try to suppress your awkwardness. You giggle, causing Juyeon to also break out into a smile.

“I’m so glad,” he murmurs, “I don’t think I could keep seeing you as just a friend. Or worse, just some fuck buddy.”

“Huh?” You ask, but Juyeon blazes over your remark.

“I never thought you could feel the same way. I always thought,” his eyes flit over to somewhere else for a split second, so short you wonder whether you imagined it. “I always thought there was someone else. But I’m so relieved now.”

“Uhm, yeah… me too,” you stammer, feeling anything but relief. Is this what you came here to do? Was this how you had wanted this to go? Jacob seemed to think you and Juyeon would be good together. That implied a relationship, didn’t it? You are still thinking when Juyeon gives you another kiss.

“I kind of promised Heather to help her with some assignments. But I’ll text you. Maybe we can hang out, no, go on a date tonight? A proper one.” He beamed at you, making your heart squeeze. This is excitement, this feeling in my chest. Surely, it must be, you think.

“Sure, yeah. Text me.”

He hurries over to Heather’s table, who greets him with a wide grin and a ridiculously loud high-five. When you return to your own seat, Jacob’s expression tries to emulate the same feeling, but falls painfully short.

“You really should address that fight with him,” you murmur, your cheeks burning. Jacob replies in a short grunt that could mean everything and nothing at all. He’s staring at his hands again.

You try to shake off the weird feeling, but it lingers for minutes. Only when Juyeon and Heather leave can you breathe more freely again. Jacob doesn’t seem to share your sentiment, and you spent the better part of ten minutes wondering what could be the issue. He responds to none of your prompts properly, preferring to stir his coffee continuously. Eventually you get so sick of his attitude that you announce the first coming to your mind. In hindsight, you still don’t know what possessed you to utter your next statement.

“I could set you up. I mean, Heather’s cute.” It feels like bile is coming up with the words immediately. Your throat feels tight.

“Juyeon’s friend?” Jacob asks, finally looking up.

“I just remembered that Heather likes you a lot. And she seems super nice!” You smile.

“I thought you didn’t like Heather?”

“That’s just ‘cuz we have nothing in common. She’s actually super nice. I have that on good authority!” You insist.

“Whose authority?”

“…Juyeon.”

His face falls a little and you wonder when the two of them will start getting along again. You reiterate both that Heather is a perfectly wonderful person and that Jacob should really sort out the argument with Juyeon before your best friend mumbles that he’s meeting a classmate in the library for a project. You nod, a little taken aback at the abrupt end to your conversation. You go your separate ways when you return to your dorm.

Somehow, your brain isn’t able to turn off, switching incessantly between guilt about Juyeon and doubts about Jacob. So, a relaxing evening turns into a lot of mental gymnastics and unrest for you. At some point you call Shuhua, asking whether she has a time for a movie evening. She immediately agrees, and is standing in front of your door in her pyjamas, with four different sorts of gummy bears and chips in hand within fifteen minutes.

“Did you sprint here?” You laugh, immediately feeling your spirits lift at the sight of her hair rollers, mid-way through the process of falling off her head.

“You expect me to remain calm when you say you want to watch Mean Girls with me? Hello? Do you know me?”

In the end, you’re barely watching and mostly catching your friend up on the events of the day. Shuhua always has the best reactions, gasping in shock or cracking a joke in exactly the right moments. You feel tons lighter after your talk, leaning against each other and chewing on gummy worms. With her presence, you feel almost peaceful as you hang after your own jumbled thoughts, desperately wishing you could pinpoint what had been off between Jacob and you for the past few days so you could work past it. When Shuhua falls asleep on your shoulder, you cover her with a blanket, shooting Jacob a quick text.

You should seriously ask out Heather. You two would be so cute together.

Inside, you wonder if the two of them would really be so perfect for each other but you’ll be damned if you take your best friend’s chance at a nice relationship just because of these funny feelings in your chest.

“I don’t think he’s getting the message,” Heather murmured, looking at the training from the bleachers.

“How do you mean?” Juyeon asked, cowering lower in the hopes of his teammates not spotting him.

“I don’t think your captain has understood, that you now got dibs on his girl.”

“She’s not his girl,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“Suddenly. That’s what you’ve been calling her for, like, two years.”

He smiled down at his girlfriend, who was currently filming the boys’ serves to help them review their form. “Luckily I was wrong.”

“And you’re not bothered that he’s basically all over her?”

“They’re best friends. They’ve always been that close.”

“He’s hanging off her shoulder.”

He turned away from the court, facing his friend directly, “I appreciate that you’re worried about my fresh relationship, Heather. But I know I can trust her, and you need to trust my judgement on that.”

“I don’t question her motivations. I just know boys. And I that looks like a boy hopelessly in love with his best friend.”

“He would never—“

“Love makes you do stupid things, sometimes.” She insisted, raising a cocksure eyebrow.

Juyeon threw his hands up in defeat and shouted, “What’s your suggestion, then, Heather?” A few of the players on the court looked up at the outburst. He winced, waving carefully at them. To his immense relief, most of them waved back. When Jacob followed their gaze and turned around, his captain only acknowledged him with a curt nod. Nothing to work with, but at least he didn’t kick me out, Juyeon thought.

Heather leaned forward, waving towards Jacob. From the corner of her mouth she whispered, “Maybe… okay this sounds a little weird, but, like, mark your territory?”

“That sounds more than a little weird.”

“You know what I mean,” she insisted, leaning back in exasperation, “look, they’re finishing up. Just go down there and make out with your girlfriend for a while. Jacob will see that the two of you are fully committed, and I bet y/n will not mind getting to hang onto you for a bit.”

He mulled it over for a second, considering that the others had already spotted him anyway, and Jacob didn’t seem to be too annoyed at his presence. Although Juyeon wasn’t sure whether making out with Jacob’s best friend in front of his face might not tick him off after all. All hesitance flew out the window when you turned around, spotting him with wide eyes. You waved, smiling widely. Before he could even register it, he was already out of his seat, jumping over the row in front of him instead of taking the long way around.

When he reached the side of the court, he picked you up and spun you around. You giggled, surprised when he covered your mouth with his upon setting you back down on the ground. His hands wrapped around your waist. You sighed against his lips, your hands wrapping around his shoulders as you cocked your head to deepen the kiss. He always lost track of time when he kissed you, missing the smirks of his team mates, and the soft groan of his captain. Only when Heather startled him, tapping him on the shoulder, smiling, did his senses return to his surroundings.

“Are you two ever going to stop again?”

He grinned, while you smiled at the floor. He considered whether to tease you about your reddening cheeks, but a more than mildly annoyed shout of Jacob, urging them to free the gym for the next club, cut him off before he had the chance. He followed the rest of the team out, fingers linked with yours.

Jacob did decide to take your suggestion seriously. After all, there was no person who knew him better and almost no one whose opinion mattered as much to him. It still took him close to a week to gather up the courage to text Heather. The timing also most definitely had nothing to do with what Jacob had witnessed at training the day before or the resulting dream. Not a dream that was entirely new to him, either, but one that stood out against the great majority with unprecedented clarity, and ruined his mood for the entire morning.

Maybe it had been pent up frustration from a subpar practice or the fact that he had to stand in the gym like an idiot, watching his teammate suck his best friend’s face off for a solid five minutes. Jacob could have looked away, of course. But his ever-busy brain was intent on analysing the exchange, making observations that all found their way into his night-time routine. He only had one singular experience to go off of (a very drunk one, at that), but he knew the way you had melted against him, pressing your chest into his with adamance. It was nothing akin to the way that you had leaned against Juyeon. (Jacob didn’t want to attribute it to the publicness of the whole situation.) He knew how your hands wandered, how they grasped when they were looking for something to hold onto, to pull closer. He knew how you sighed in pure bliss when he returned your warm gestures in kind. And he believed, whether true or not, that whatever had happened with Juyeon had been nothing like that. Unfortunately for Jacob, somehow, it seemed a short step from his night time routine to his REM brain. One second, he was lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling and lost in thought. The next, he was pressed up close to you. His treacherous body apparently remembered every second of that night, it was stamped across every fold and ridge of his frontal lobe, it seemed.

“Love,” he breathed against your mouth, because he wished every day that he had said it back then.

You giggled, removing yourself just long enough to tease him about his sappy streak. He didn’t have it in him to counter anything, just smiling at you, in his arms, where you belonged. It was a haze, as dreams usually are, leaving him with nothing but the memories of kisses trailing down your soft tummy, nipping at the flesh of your thighs, taking extra care and time in all the places you were insecure about. Memories of your hand in his hair, something he hadn’t known could drive him this mad before you had been the one to do it. You shuddering under his calloused touch, your head thrown back, the glistening of your skin, your touch, your taste, your voice, you, you, you.

Jacob woke up, swearing he could still taste you on his tongue, feel your skin under his fingertips, your shape in his arms. Groaning, his consciousness dragged him back to the surface, sunlight filtered through the slit in his curtains. He felt beaten and bruised from the sudden absence of you. It registered slowly, together with the pitiable state of his aching cock. To add insult to injury, after the cold shock of reality came the dragging sludge of shame. It crawled up his neck and settled into his burning cheeks as he groaned.

Jacob knew he hadn’t chosen this. He hadn’t deliberately had another scandalous dream about his long-time best friend. But by now he knew from experience that the guilt never lessened any for that fact. Maybe he should avoid you for the foreseeable future. And maybe he should try to get his mind off you.

Jacob Bae fancied himself a more considerate person than to jump onto the first chance of rebound he could find. So, he rid himself of his most pressing problem during his morning shower before pondering his options for the better part of the day. Finally, he conceded to give a date with Heather a shot. She seemed perfectly kind and funny over text, and when he first met her, she didn’t look like she had minded that he got in touch with her over a mutual friend instead of talking to her in person. They went to the park for a walk since she said she saw enough of the inside of a coffee shop during her part-time job. Jacob learned a lot about her daily life and her substantial interest in collecting different kinds of coffee. Heather was opinionated and enthusiastic, and he didn’t mind listen to her rant with a big smile on her face. On a later date, he learned that the actual reason they hadn’t gone to a café the first time was actually because Heather could get too absorbed in a thorough critique of the establishment’s roasts and preparation techniques. He laughed at her sheepish expression when she confessed this and after walking her home that afternoon, he leaned in to kiss her. She returned the kiss, smiling against his lips and whispering, I’ve been waiting for you to do that. They kept kissing until a notification on his phone reminded him that he really had to get to practice. And if the whole affair had been keeping him from spending time with you, well it wasn’t really his fault.

You are waiting in front of the gym for him, frowning in disapproval when he admits that he still hasn’t cleared the air with Juyeon. You let out a breath and get to your feet. The slinking feeling that you only got to see your best friend when you showed up to his volleyball practice, when he couldn’t escape you, didn’t exactly put you in the mood for diplomacy.

“Disappointed. But not surprised, Jacob. Which is why I texted him that he should come because you wanted to talk to him about that silly argument you had ages ago.” Jacob isn’t really sure why he is flummoxed; he really shouldn’t be. The self-satisfied grin on your face is, after all, something he has come to grow accustomed of over years of your scheming.

“In fact,” you point out merrily, “that should be him, over there.” You spin and vanish into the gym with a soft wave of the hand. The man in question saunters up to Jacob, cocking an eyebrow.

“I figured it was a set-up and that it wasn’t you, who wanted to see me.”

Jacob heaves a sigh, “Well, I guess she wasn’t completely wrong either. We should talk about this.”

“Not that she already tried hard enough on your behalf,” Juyeon hisses. This is news to Jacob, who had never expected for you to breach this sensitive subject with your boyfriend. Much less to apparently take Jacob’s side in those discussions.

He clears his throat, “Be that as is may, we should talk about it face to face. It’s not exactly her concern after all.” It comes out a little sharper than he would’ve liked.

“Sure. I assume you’re going to apologise, find a convenient excuse for the fight like ‘we were tired, it had been a long day, assignments were stressing us’, and ask me to re-join the team, right?”

Jacob purses his lips in reply. He was planning to do just that. But now he has to fight down an impulse of spite. Before he can confirm or deny any suspicions, however, Juyeon continues, “You’re much too peaceable, you know that? Don’t be a pushover to make others happy.” His friend holds eye contact with him but there is no challenge, neither in his tone nor his expression. So, Jacob gives in, nods, and smiles softly. He realises he had missed Juyeon’s well-intended meddling.

“I’ll try,” he yields. Juyeon claps him on the shoulder, a similarly tentative smile on his lips.

“I’m sorry, too. I never wanted to fight with you. Especially not over… volleyball.” Jacob is going to invite him in to practice when he is prevented by a familiar voice calling out for him. The two men spin around, surprise on their faces at the sight of Heather striding across the concrete to them. Jacob calls back, waving, and trying to smile in earnest at the unexpected visit.

He is greeted with a kiss before she moves on to give a hug to Juyeon, who looks almost more excited to have her here than Jacob.

She lets them know that she came spontaneously to watch them practice, and Jacob doesn’t have the heart to tell her that practice is technically closed for outsiders. So instead, the three of them make their way inside together. Their greeted by an equally confused team and you, with an expression that drops from elation to something akin to consternation real quick. Jacob doesn’t have time to find it weird before their coach calls them onto the field. They’re warming up and he glances only once or twice over to the bleachers, where Heather has joined you and tries to make conversation with you, who is clearly enveloped in watching them practice. The next time he checks, you’re still watching attentively. Heather has taken out her phone and started scrolling. Jacob doesn’t bother to look back over until after practice, when Heather’s face lights up at the final whistle. He winces at the thought of all the solo practice he’d usually add to their regular schedule. His girlfriend bounds over, her arms open wide, but stops herself short, a mere metre from him. He listens to her tease him about being sweaty and smelly while he sees Juyeon stroll over to you behind Heather’s back. He leans in to whisper something in your ear. You look confused for a second before you reply. Jacob would love to listen in on the small discussion between the two of you before you eventually roll your eyes, lean forward, and smack a kiss onto Juyeon’s lips. He frowns and when Juyeon turns around to cock an eyebrow at him, Jacob leans forward, asks for permission, and starts kissing his amazing, pretty girlfriend. She’s all too eager, as long as she gets to keep her hands from any part of exposed skin on Jacob and it takes them a few minutes to detach again. When he looks over, both you and Juyeon have long gone.

Sandra Oropeza enjoyed nothing more than watching the two of you grow up together. She remembered your family move into the house across the street, the burning heat of the summer sun was especially intense when the movers had finally finished and your family van pulled into the driveway. Your mom helped you out of the car and you immediately took off across the lawn towards the swing set under the big oak tree. Your blue sun hat tumbled off your head, but you didn’t seem to notice, throwing yourself, belly first, onto the swing. You spent almost the entire afternoon in the shade of that tree, content all by yourself.

In the evening, one of your parents picked you up and walked you around the neighbourhood, greeting everyone and distributing home-made popsicles. You waved at most of the people excitedly, until you made it to the Bae’s household. Sandra had to lean far over the edge of her front porch to see the door open to reveal Jacob. His eyes widened and he hastened back, out of vision, as his mother stepped forward. The grown-ups made small talk until you tugged at your parent’s shorts and whispered something up to them. Within a second, you had reached past the doorway, and pulled little Jacob out by the wrist. The two of you took off across the, luckily empty, street and into your garden.

Mrs. Oropeza stayed out longer than she usually would have, watching the two of you swing, laugh, and eat ice cream. The rest of the summer, until the start of first grade, Jacob and you could always be spotted under your oak tree or in his backyard. Sometimes his older brother joined, but it was obvious that the two of you, so close in age, simply clicked into place.

She remembers countless Halloween’s in which you two came dressed up together, matching as salt and pepper, Dora and Boots, Lilo and Stitch, Kim Possible and Ron Stoppable, and so many others.

She remembers watching Jacob sprint over to your place and present you with his newest treasure: a brand new Mikasa volleyball. And how you spent hours practicing digging and setting with him, even though she could tell you were having a hard time.

She remembers babysitting the three of you when your parents were out, before Jeff got old enough to take on the job. How you two would also stick together and agree on things, how no fight lasted longer than ten minutes, and ended with either of you running to the other to apologise.

She remembers watching Jacob’s games with you, wondering when the expression on your face had changed from friendly support to unconditional admiration, and whether you were aware of it.

But most importantly, she remembers something she thinks both of you have, at this point, forgotten. You were in high school, stumbling home in the middle of the night. She was looking out her open window by chance, but couldn’t help watch in amusement at the tell-tale lack of coordination in your steps. Both of you were laughing too loud, and then shushing each other until you broke out into another fit. Jacob took a step forward, trying to press a hand over your mouth, but couldn’t keep his balance, taking you down with him. The giggling died down and Sandra knew she should stop intruding on this particular moment, but the need to see the two of you at least make it inside safe and sound was too strong.

As expected, young people were nothing if not predictable, Jacob leaned down. It was a short kiss, nothing more than a peck, really. But the two of you stayed down, staring at each other for a small eternity, especially given the late hour. Eventually, he helped you up, whispering something Sandra had no way of making out from all the way across the street. With another quick kiss he was gone, towards his own house and out of view. You waved cutely before unlocking your door with some difficulty and entering your house. She heard another door shut before the night returned to its previous state of summer silence, crickets chirping, the wind blowing softly through the leaves. She closed her window and went to bed. She wonders if both of you truly forgot, or if you simply thought it easier to pretend.

#the boyz #jacob bae #jacob x reader #jacob bae x reader #the Boyz Jacob #the Boyz Jacob x reader #tb jacob x reader

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ladyinbooks · 5 months ago

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also I'm really sorry if it's too personal a question but what did you study in college? you're amazing at writing diplomacy and the world building seems like a gift of reading many history books. any particular research you think would be extremely interesting for your readers?

No, not too personal a question, and I'm very happy to ramble about this! 😊

The short answer is: I studied Classics at university. The longer answer (related to how it impacts on my writing) I have popped behind the cut, because honestly your question really got me thinking, and this ended up being very long!

So as I said, I studied Classics. I was lucky enough to be accepted to an absolutely brilliant university, with a phenomenal Classics department and amazing professors. They encouraged you to pursue the subject areas that interested you, and the degree was a fantastic way to narrow down a specialism from a broad area, to your dedicated topics, with a view to you becoming a potential expert in that area.

In short: I started off with Greeks, Romans and Persians, and by my third year I was specialising in ancient Greece, with a specific focus on the Classical and Hellenistic periods (with a particular interest in Alexander the Great). (I was also having a love affair with the Bronze Age on the side, because you can pry Homer from my ravenous, sticky fingers.)

When I read your question, I must admit I had a lightbulb moment, where I went 'Oh yeah! That's where all the politicking comes from!', because I honestly hadn't stopped to actually think about the influences my studies may - or may not - have had on my fiction. And then I realised that, well, they most definitely have. 😂

I think the easiest example of this is in IB, with Lenian culture. I am very conscious that I took an idea (I thought it would be funny to have Sirens - traditionally depicted as scantily-clad temptresses - and make them the most buttoned-up, repressed, hell-bent-on-social-etiquette species), and then I ran with it. It's where a lot of Lenian culture comes from: it doesn't depict Ancient Greece, but it does borrow from its language (mostly made up to sound like Greek, with some notable exceptions), and also, I think some of the mindset. Lenians are culturally Not That Bothered About Killing, especially when it comes to politics, and this is, well, a pretty obvious theme that happens in politics (in Athens, Sparta, Macedonia and beyond) in the 5th, 4th and 3rd centuries BCE, along with all the backstabbing, swapping sides and power grabs.

More widely, I think the galactic politics in my writing may come a little bit from the fact that this period of history deals with a lot of states politicking and warring with one another (things like the Delian League definitely sit at the back of my mind most of the time), so I do definitely enjoy thinking about how smaller, personal things can start to become major political problems (and of course the impact that has on the delicate balance of peace and power).

Upon reflection, I also think Samiel is... unconsciously a little bit of a play on Homeric standards for heroes. He's clever, he's brutal, but he feels very, very deeply. This was entirely unintentional, but the more I think about it, the more I'm going to have to go back at some point and try and pick him apart a bit more.

Jumping back to my studies, my specialism got narrowed down further when I hit my undergrad dissertation, focused on the library of Alexandria, then got kind of overtaken by representations of Alexander the Great in literature. My Master's dissertation ended up exploring a discussion on sources that spoke of Alexander as a representation of Zeus-Ammon. (I'll pause here to point out that this is another one of those moments where the beginnings of P2P entered my head - because we have some tenuous links to Alexander as a potential representation of forces of chaos/the Antichrist, and my brain clearly went 'Hmm...' and filed this away for safekeeping. 😅)

And then finally the start of my PhD was on Alexander the Great versus his mythical representations in the 'original' (I say 'original' but I mean 'the only ones we have left - i.e. Roman') sources. This was a deep-dive look at Alexander as an Homeric hero (he's constantly linked/compared to Achilles, but how much of that came from Alexander himself, and how much of it came from later comparisons?), and as Heracles and Dionysus. All of which is a long-winded way of saying: I also get very excited about public mythical representations of political figures, versus what they're actually like.

In terms of things that might interest you, I think it depends on what you're after. However, some fun places to start may be translated sources, or some accessible works about the time period.

So a quick (and not at all comprehensive) couple of suggestions:

Plutarch's The Age of Alexander

Alexander the Great (Robin Lane Fox) - by no means a perfect biography, but it is very readable

Who's Who in the Age of Alexander the Great (Waldemar Heckel) - a reference book, but such a good one - thoroughly comprehensive work covering pretty much anyone mentioned in relation to Alexander and his successors, and where they appear in the sources

The Iliad (Homer) - find an enjoyable translation because this is just... I adore it, it is such a perfect, wonderful microcosm of war and the Homeric world and it's delicious

The Oxford History of Greece and the Hellenistic World (John Boardman) - a great overview of the time period, a little old now but such an interesting read

Professor Jeanne Reames has written and compiled brilliant work on Macedonia over the years (and specifically to my interests, on Hephaistion) - she's got some great articles online for free and some amazing resources

Professor Mary Beard writes wonderful, very accessible books on the Romans, so if your interests swerve more in that direction, she is a wonderful starting point

This was such an interesting question, thank you!

#lady replies #perils of a classicist in modern life #sometimes lady is a classicist

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asukamood · 8 months ago

Text

Late Night Tutoring (fmaa2)

***

I’m sorry for hyper focusing on fmaa2 lately but in my defense, I did not get to write anything for ages, and I am not even supposed to be writing. Also, I never really had the opportunity before to dwell on Sweammare’s past here sooo...

Used information found on this website, I have no clue what they could be studying about in biology I had to improvise. https://www.newscientist.com/article/2392685-we-now-know-how-many-cells-there-are-in-the-human-body/#:~:text=The%20average%20adult%20male%20has,28%20trillion%2C%20researchers%20have%20found.

Enjoy your reading!

***

Timeline: 20##, 16 years old Dream and Nightmare

Warnings: One-sided attraction, strong language

Synopsis: At first, they were convinced that he was cheating on Dream’s paper, seeing that he was the top student and always sitting next to him, it did not seem impossible. However, Nightmare’s results would be the same even if he were to be put alone in a room. The worst thing is that he only ever seemed to improve.

When he was questioned about it, he only responded that he had a very good night tutor.

But who would be able to teach that well and so frequently?

***

It was Monday morning, and a new day of high school full of learning for Dream and Nightmare. Though, it would be more accurate to single out Dream since Nightmare was currently sprawled over his desk, his face buried in his arms as he slept.

Dream, sat next to him as usual (Nightmare never let anybody else sit beside him, he was his best friend, get your own), seemingly unfazed by the other’s state. There was nothing surprising about it as he usually spent the day sleeping and the night thriving.

But how repetitive this was seemed to just get on the teachers’ nerves and that held especially true for the history professor, who was angrier than usual that day.

They had just finished scolding the whole class when they noticed Nightmare’s sleeping form, their wrath reigniting on the spot as they ordered Dream to wake his friend up.

At the latter’s refusal, the teacher walked up to their table and reached out to Nightmare, about to shake him awake themself. However, they were stopped from touching him by Dream grabbing their hand.

Before they could think of lashing out at him, he spoke up. “Believe me, you do not want to see how problematic Nightmare can be when he gets woken up.”

They stared at each other for a solid five seconds before the teacher finally turned away, scoffing.

They were not the only one dissatisfied with Nightmare’s behavior, their colleagues were too, often complaining about how he did not pay attention to class, too busy sleeping to care for their lessons.

Some would even complain about Nightmare having the audacity to lay on Dream’s lap and sleep, not budging an inch when he was called out to.

They could all agree that Nightmare was a student who did not care about lessons yet, he always got one of the highest grades on tests, right behind Dream.

At first, they were convinced that he was cheating on Dream’s paper, seeing that he was the top student and always sitting next to him, it did not seem impossible. However, Nightmare’s results would be the same even if he were to be put alone in a room. The worst thing is that he only ever seemed to improve.

When he was questioned about it, he only responded that he had a very good night tutor.

But who would be able to teach that well and so frequently?

***

Dream was popular at school and those who interacted with him frequently liked to say that they knew him. Truth was, they did not know anything about him.

Nightmare quite liked to make that point clear.

For example, they had no clue that Dream not only sleep talked about the classes he attended earlier in the day or what he studied for a test, but he was also capable of answering questions about said topics, even better than when he was awake.

So, the late-night tutor he was talking about was in truth Dream, who himself was not aware of it and was as equally confused as anyone else on how Nightmare managed to ace his classes.

Now, even if he was not listening in class, Nightmare was far from stupid and could generally understand things fast.

Literature? He could bullshit his way through.

History and Geography? Easy, done.

Math? He could cook an egg while waiting for his classmates to finish solving their first equations.

Physics and Chemistry? He could do those while in deep coma.

Although, he did have one weakness.

Biology.

That wicked subject was truly the bane of his existence, nothing about it making sense for Nightmare. He was just unable to understand it.

Of course, the next day he was going to have a test on that subject, where would the fun be otherwise?

When they got home, the routine would be roughly the same. Make sure the kids were okay, Dream would make some dinner since it was his turn this week while Nightmare practiced his violin seeing his upcoming recital, eat together and then Dream would get to work while Nightmare played games or something.

“We have a test tomorrow.” Dream would remind him, an eyebrow raised. “You’re not going to study?”

Nightmare would then wave his worries with the back of his hand, his eyes never leaving the screen in front of him. “Don’t worry, I have got it all figured out.”

Used to that, Dream would just shrug and go back to studying. His best friend was always quite the unique individual, he would most likely be alright.

***

A problem that could arise with counting on this technique was that he needed Dream asleep deep enough to start talking, which meant that if that day he unfortunately had trouble falling asleep, it would be bad news.

Of course, the one day he actually needed his explanations, Dream would only find sleep at midnight. He kept his frustration in the back of his head as he patiently waited for the other’s eyes to flutter shut.

Soon, soft breathing reached his ears as Dream’s chest slowly and subtly rose, his head heavily leaning against the pillow. After he had fallen asleep, it usually only took a few minutes for him to start talking so he waited, quietly admiring his sleepy face.

Dream was always so stressed all the time; it was quite a breath of fresh air to finally see him so relaxed after everything.

Whenever he was smiling, Nightmare always found himself staring, thinking to himself how badly he wanted to be the one to cherish that smile forever.

I mean, Dream was quite awfully pretty and always treated Nightmare well when nobody else has, was it really so weird for him to have fallen for him?

He wondered if the other would one day ever return his feelings.

He shook his head, cursing. This was not the time to think of things like that.

As if on cue, Dream’s lips started to open, all the signs Nightmare needed to reach for the notebook he hid under his pillow.

“The average male adult body possesses 36 trillion cells while an average female adult body possesses 28 trillion cells--”

There we go.

Dream just started and Nightmare was already confused.

“How can they be sure of the number? Did they just count the cells??”

A pause.

“They are not actually certain about the numbers cited earlier; those are just estimations.” Dream began to answer, bringing the blanket closer to his body. “They based their research on the number of cells in a tissue, determining their average sizes and mass and only then estimated how many cells that tissue possessed based on 1500 scientific papers.”

Nightmare scribbled down the information, knowing their biology teacher was likely to include fun facts like these in the test. He would bet a hand that Dream was the one who searched up the information on top of reviewing their lesson.

“The research was conducted based on an adult male body weighting 70kg while the woman was around 60kg. However, it is interesting to know that the estimation on the female body’s number of cells was based on figures that largely depicted male bodies so there is a lot of uncertainty surrounding it. Moreover, even the estimation on the male body is largely contested as the variation between male bodies each weighting 70kg is similar to one between a male and a female body.”

Oh stars, he was going to hate tonight’s tutoring, was he not?

***

It was 4 a.m. and Dream had stopped talking.

They were far from finished and Nightmare was eager to finish taking notes already, so he raised an eyebrow at Dream. “Why did you stop?”

Nightmare finally understood what was happening when Dream’s facial expression changed to a frown as he groaned.

He was waking up.

“Fuck!” He cursed, sitting up. “Dream, for the love of everything you want, please stay asleep I really need you to continue your explanation-”

The other did not seem to react to his words, looking even closer to waking up.

The other panicked as he thought of all the ways he could try to prevent him from waking up. Maybe he could whack him like a fly and hope it would knock him out? But then again, that sounded like an awful idea.

Then, two memories popped into his head.

In one of them, he could feel Dream’s fingers in his hair as he laid on his lap as he slowly fell asleep to the feeling. In the other, a similar situation, only that Dream was the one having his hair played with.

...

It was a habit they had as children when the other had trouble sleeping.

They have not done it for a long time, but it was worth a shot, right?

He was desperate to keep Dream asleep anyway, he could think of an excuse to give him on the spot, if he ended up waking up to the other petting his hair.

He hesitantly reached out, his fingers sliding between the other’s locks.

Dream tensed at first, though he was quick to relax, almost immediately leaning into his touch. Soon, as he kept petting his hair, Dream resumed his soft breathing, his eyes closed.

...

Okay, who gave Dream the right to be so goddamn cute? Nightmare questioned as he snickered, hiding his flustered face behind his free hand. He kept going for a few minutes, the other’s speech picking up where he had left it.

He reluctantly retrieved his hand, continuing to take notes.

The next morning, Dream was confused as to why Nightmare could not seem to look him in the eye.

Either way, the following days, Nightmare picked up the habit of petting his best friend’s hair (God, he wished they were more than that) because he found it cute, convenient, to have found a way to keep the other asleep if he ever needed it.

#dreamswap #fluff #ship #ds dream #ds nightmare #one sided love #one sided feelings #ds dreammare #ds dream x ds nightmare #dreamswap dream #dreamswap nightmare #dreamswap nightmare x dreamswap dream #sweammare #fmaa2

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aihoshiino · 8 months ago

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different anon! but i 100% upvote other anon's comment of you being the professor of hoshino-aiology 😎👍 your posts about her give me a newfound appreciation for her and imo you should be the one writing 15 year lie frfr 🤧👏✨️

and if you haven't written anything abt it, could you share your thoughts abt the spica ai chapter? i liked ai and saitou in it but i was shocked at how intense the b-komachi bullying was :0 poor ai 😢

THANK YOU ANON…….. god can you imagine what this manga would be like if i had been given that kind of creative control. you're going to read my 15 volume hoshino ai backstory flashback and you're going to love every single chapter of it!!!

When it comes to Spica, I have pretty mixed feelings on that first chapter. For transparency's sake, I broadly dislike the novel overall and I think it takes away from the relationships it depicts more than it adds. Like I mentioned in a previous ask, my issue with Spica (and its depiction of OnK's world and characters) is its tendency to flatten and simplify many of the interesting interpersonal wrinkles that characterize these central dynamics in the main story. This is much more evident in the GRSR chapters (as outlined in that post) but you can absolutely see it in Ai's chapter as well.

POST-WRITING CLAIRE EDIT: So while this post initially started as me broadly skimming some of the issues I had with chapter 1, it has ballooned into a much, MUCH longer essay about what it is about Spica that I disliked and why, broadly, I think it fails to work both as a standalone piece and as an addition to OnK as a canon. I'm pretty negative about the book in this post and very critical of the writing so if you really liked Spica and it would bum you out to see me take it apart, feel free to skip this post.

On the surface, Ai and Saitou's dynamic is pretty true to the main story and I will admit that I do enjoy their rapport in this chapter and just that we got a chapter focusing on this relationship full stop. Ai and Saitou's relationship is one I've always been particularly soft for and getting a whole chapter that was basically just exploring its early days was really nice. But it's also a very rose tinted view of that relationship in a way I think does it a bit of a disservice. I discussed this in my OnK anime rewatch but Spica's take on Saitou (and thus on his relationship with Ai) frames him as a wholly positive and supportive figure whose desires for money and success in the entertainment industry are explicitly, textually said to be secondary and unimportant to his uncomplicated kind desire to support them as they succeed. There's almost this sense of "wow, isn't it so noble and cool that saitou is kindly allowing these tweenage girls to work themselves ragged making money for his company!!!" that's a bit icky to read.

This is in line with the bizarre ways Spica portrays idol culture, in particular the 'oshi'/fan dynamic. This is another thing I've discussed before, so I'll borrow my previous words on the topic:

The Japanese text of [chapter 137] takes this dehumanization a step further: Rather than the wasei-eigo term アイドル (aidoru), when calling [Ai] an idol, Gotanda uses the word 偶像 (guzou) - an idol by its original definition. It goes beyond just reducing her to an animal - it’s objectification in the very literal sense. Ai is an idol, a ceremonial object of worship, an inanimate vessel for the dirty desires of the people around her. [...] Spica [...] depicts the moment that Ai starts down this road, committing herself to being an idol who will love and support everyone, even people who hate and scorn her. This is framed by the novel as being something of a breakthrough for her and being liberating for it but I came out of it feeling deeply unsettled in a way I don’t think the novel wanted me to be. [...] Spica depicts the moment that Ai goes from アイドル to 偶像 without seeming to realise that’s what it’s doing and thus does so in a way that is not just uncritical but wholly celebratory. In a lot of ways, this makes sense - Spica, broadly speaking, is about the “oshi” part of Oshi no Ko: the emotional fulfillment of not just receiving support but in the act of giving support yourself, in cheering someone on and seeing them succeed. Spica depicts these sorts of relationships in a straightforwardly and uncritically positive light, even in cases of parasocial relationships between fans and celebrities.

There was a lot on that topic that I left out just because that chapter review was already getting so fucking long and unhinged but Spica's entirely uncritical and celebratory view of idol culture in general always leaves me feeling deeply uncomfortable every time I engage with the text. There's a degree to which this can be excused, because Spica takes place in the POV of characters who have drunk the industry kool-aid and thus would not necessarily interpret some of this stuff with the same critical lens as a reader. A charitable interpretation of the material is that, like Viewpoint B and 45510, the story is choosing to refrain from commenting on these troubling elements for the purposes of allowing the reader to have their own take on it.

This would be nice… except it's just not how Spica handles emotional beats at all!

When talking about Spica in the past I have jokingly referred to it as being written like 'the emotional equivalent of the Superdictionary' and by that I mean that it has absolutely no restraint or subtlety when it wants you to Feel Something. When Spica has an emotional beat, it hammers it in until any organically resulting resonance with the material has been reduced to a fine paste. When it has Thoughts and Opinions about a topic, it will explain them to the reader in excruciating detail so there is no risk of the reader taking away anything that wasn't intended by the author.

My point is that there is every indication that Spica's straightforwardly celebratory portrayal of idol culture and the way fans respond to idols is something intended to be taken at face value with no further interrogation. Spica is, by and large, entirely uninterested in acknowledging the ugly underbelly of exploitation, dehumanization and misogyny that drives idol culture and idol fandom.

I think the best way to illustrate this is to look at the scene near the end of the chapter where Ai finally sits and reads her fan letters. The first two are genuinely warm and sweet but the third always jumps out at me in a way I don't think was intended by the author;

“Hello, Ai-chan. I'm a devoted listener to your streams. B-Komachi's songs and talk shows have honestly become my sanctuary. I'm currently stuck working to the bone at a terrible company. They hardly pay me anything, and every day I just want to die. But what keeps me going is knowing I have your streams to look forward to every week. I’m not even kidding. Ai-chan, you're my reason to live!"

The story does not for a second pause to linger on this letter but I want you to stop and really take it in. While we know nothing about this letter's author outside of what's written here, but given that they have a job they can be presumed to be an adult. In addition, the final line of the letter in Japanese is 『アイちゃんは俺の生きる希望！』, using the masculine first person pronoun 俺 (ore), implicitly gendering the writer as a man.

An adult man writes to Ai to traumadump on her uninvited about his suicidal ideation and telling her in no uncertain terms that she is the sole, singular reason he is alive. Ai is a twelve year old girl.

Spica frames this as an entirely good, wholesome and affirming moment for her. It's one of many similar moments where Spica's celebration of idol culture clashes so strongly with the main story's that trying to make them tonally cohere is almost impossible. In fact, mild tangent, but I was working with the Spica TL team on chapter 1 right around the time chapter 137 dropped, and reading the ending of this chapter back to back with 137's tearing down of Ai's exploitation at the hands of the idol industry was some real injury-worse-than-whiplash inducing shit.

To be clear, I don't need Oshi no Ko to have a huge UM ACKSHULLY THIS IS WHY THIS IS BAD!!!! digression every time characters have positive interactions with the concept of idols. It is fundamentally dishonest and lacking in nuance to portray idolhood as something entirely and unrelentingly negative or to act like idols hate every single second they spend as idols. Sarina and Gorou's POV chapters do a very good job of highlighting what I talked about earlier - Spica's ruminations on the 'oshi' part of Oshi no Ko and how a relationship of support can be emotionally fulfilling both for the person being supported and the person unreservedly providing it. But that's purely from a fan perspective and I think it would be really interesting to Spica to take the opportunity afforded to it by being in Ai's POV to properly interrogate what Ai enjoys about being an idol.

But the way it chooses to do so just feels atonal both with Ai's arc and relationship to idolhood as portrayed in the main story and ways the manga has talked about 'oshi' culture in chapters published before and after Spica's release. It clashes with Oshi no Ko in ways I find difficult to satisfyingly reconcile.

This sense of clashing with and contradicting Oshi no Ko is an issue Spica has more broadly, in big and small ways. Some of this is just small, incidental details but other issues are larger and added all together, it results in a sense that Spica was not written by a person fully keyed into Oshi no Ko's world and characters. Like, just off the top of my head, here's some things that stuck out to me just from chapter 1:

Ai notes that she was separated from her mother a long time prior to the story's timeframe but given the ages give for her in 131 and here in Spica, it cannot be more than three years max since she was removed from Ayumi's care.

B-Komachi's formation and Ai's joining the group are both said to have happened 'three months ago' as of chapter 1's timeframe and thus to have happened more or less at the same time. This contradicts the Akasaka written material that consistently frames Ai as being one of the senior members, yes, but as having joined the group after Nino, Takamine and Watanabe.

The portrayal of Ai's bullying by the other B-Komachi members in no way matches Nino's account of it in 45510. This isn't even in a way you can put to Nino being an unreliable narrator. The details are so different that the only way to reconcile them is to assume these are two separate instances of bullying and that Nino just. Didn't mention the first time it happened for no reason.

On the subject of the bullies, the two girls targeting Ai are implied by their physical descriptions to be Takamine and Mei. While we don't really know anything about Mei yet, the vicious and unapologetic hostility Takamine displays clashes with her 'tough love' roughness that we are shown in the main story. In addition, this contradicts 45510's very explicit statement that Ai's bully was IMMEDIATELY fired from B-Komachi, no questions asked, the instant Saitou knew who she was. There is no indication in Spica that Ai's bullies so much as get a slap on the wrist for their behaviour.

Spica attributes B-Komachi's current success almost entirely to Ai and portrays her as working very hard on set and communicating with every other member of staff almost excessively to the point of annoyance. Not only does this contradict the early manga's portrayal of Ai as being antisocial and uncommunicative on set prior to her being sent to Lala Lie, it also contradicts chapters that were released following Spica that explicitly credit Nino as the key figure for B-Komachi's initial boom of success and states that Ai joined the group after Nino had cemented their popularity.

There are absolutely ways that you can handwave these contradictions and sew up the internal logic but to me, the nature of these contradictions matter to me less than the fact that they exist in the first place. This implies, especially given that some of these are in material written by Akasaka after Spica was published that he and Tanaka were, to some degree, not on the same page about the book's material.

There's some other things scattered about that aren't necessarily direct textual contradictions but nevertheless feel really out of step with OnK's takes on these characters. And like… I have tried to be relatively measured and good faith in my critiques so far but there is a part of chapter one that makes me so just bees buzzing around in my brain flames on the side of my face blood boiling in my veins insane that you must allow me to just uncharitably tear into it.

[Ai:] “Ah, now I get it. Are you buying a gift for your girlfriend, President? You like them young, after all…“ Finally, it clicked. The president, being considerably older than his girlfriend, needed the insights of a girl closer to her age in order to pick out the perfect gift. If that was the case, that explained why Ai had been roped into this. [Ai:] “Well, not that I should be getting into your business or anything, but…President, be careful when you mess with underage girls, okay? Nowadays, you’ll seriously end up in jail.”

I'M SORRY. WHAT THE FUCK AM I READING RIGHT NOW. SHE WOULD NOT FUCKING SAY THAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This moment actually makes me so angry that it is difficult for me to clearly and calmly articulate what I find objectionable about it. I understand that it sounds very dramatic, but this is the first in a very consistent line of Spica bringing up the idea of adult men engaging in romance and/or sex with underage girls with this blithe, jokey and dismissive tone that entirely undermines everything Oshi no Ko itself says about CSA. The fact that it starts off this trend by putting these words in the mouth of Ai, WHO IS HERSELF A FUCKING CSA VICTIM, and treats the entire exchange as a throwaway joke honestly makes me feel a little bit sick.

This is part of a much broader and more troubling trend in Spica of Hajime Tanaka simply not being able to write young women in a naturalistic and human way. It's difficult for me to express exactly what it is that feels so off other than to say that it's Covered In The Fucking Ooze in a way typical of Men Who Can't Write Women. Ai's bullies in chapter 1 are so cartoonishly and stereotypically catty and mean that they barely feel human and they are written with all the distinct individuality as Thing 1 and Thing 2. The more complicated, two-sided conflict between two flawed people as seen in Ai and Nino's relationship is totally absent here. It's just the most vapid, stereotypical depiction of Teenage Girl Bullying you can imagine.

On top of that, there is a consistency with which Tanaka puts the topic of sex into the mouths and minds of these young women that fees… icky and offputting to me in a way I find difficult to articulate. In general, the voices of these young girls feel off and inauthentic in a way the main series never struggles with. For all I've criticized Oshi no Ko for in the past, something I think Akasaka is consistently and surprisingly good at is writing female characters who feel just as distinctly well realized and fleshed out as his male characters and that he does so in a way that does not rely on completely degendering them - their experiences as women are important to and inform that their characterization but does not entirely rule it. Despite overwhelmingly centering girls as the heart of its narrative, Spica barely feels capable of writing them as people.

All this together gives Spica this really strong sense - to me - of not really fitting in with the spirit of Oshi no Ko as a story. It's not just that the narrative voice is different but that there is an underlying flavour to Spica's takes on this world and its characters that clashes with the original. The cast as a whole just feels off, not blatantly OOC in a way you can directly point to but just enough to feel uncanny and give me a THEY WOULD NOT FUCKING SAY THAT!!!!! moment for almost every single person with a speaking line. It feels, as I put it on the Oshi no Brainrot server, like a thing that exists not because there was a part of the OnK narrative that worked best as a light novel but because somebody, somewhere thought a Oshi no Ko light novel would make some money and decided to have one churned out.

oh my god anon I'm so sorry lmfao you did not ask for this GIGANTIC ODYSSEY OF A POST!! This was just one of those asks that tapped into a topic I had already been having extensive conversations with myself about in my brain (I have a very boring job with a lot of time spent alone lol) and the more I typed, the more of those thoughts spilled out. I think a big part of why I am so compelled (derogatory) by Spica's missteps and mishandling of its material is that there is so much potential here and so many points where the material really comes close to just being flat out good.

A moment in chapter 1 that I think about a lot is Ai thinking about why she hasn't been reading any of her fan letters - because the last letter she got was her mom's lawyer telling her that Ayumi had gone missing after her release from custody, thus confirming for Ai that she had been abandoned to the system by her. Because of her association between those emotions and the act of reading a letter, she simply can't bring herself to open any of her fan letters because of the lingering anxiety.

Not only is this an entirely human and believable traumabrained anxiety kid fear for her to have but it's totally in line with Ai's flaw of avoidance and unwillingness to engage with or confront things that make her anxious or uncomfortable. It's also paid off wonderfully and in spades when she does finally confront that fear and is rewarded for it by an avalanche of love and support from her fans. It's one of the few moments in Ai's chapter where I think Spica really does well in conveying what a person like Ai gets out of being the 'oshi' in the oshi/fan relationship.

But this otherwise great moment is ruined by like… all that shit I said up there lmao. Spica is just laced through with this issue where moments that come so, so close to working and being really good are just marred by other issues in the text around it or trip themselves up in other ways. It's frustrating both because it comes so close to doing fresh and interesting things with the characters and because… I didn't want to dislike Spica! I was so, SO excited for it to come out and so willing to give it the BOTD even as summaries leaked and I was put off by the plot beats. But the more time I give to it in my brain and the more I try to engage with it in good faith, the more I come away frustrated and feeling like my time has been wasted.

#oshi no ko #oshi no posting #onk asks #meta essays #onk spica #onk spoilers

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