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batboyblog · 9 months ago

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Things the Biden-Harris Administration Did This Week #39

October 18-25 2024.

President Biden issued the first presidential apology on behalf of the federal government to America's Native American population for the Indian boarding school policy. For 150 years the federal government operated a system of schools which aimed to destroy Native culture through the forced assimilation of native children. At these schools students faced physical, emotional, and sexual abuse, and close to 1,000 died. The Biden-Harris Administration has been historic for Native and Tribal rights. From the appointment of the first ever Native American cabinet member, Secretary of the Interior Deb Haaland, to the investment of $46 billion dollars on tribal land, to 200 new co-stewardship agreements. The last 4 years have seen a historic investment in and expansion of tribal rights.

The Biden-Harris Administration proposed a new rule which would make contraceptive medication (the pill) free over the counter with most Insurance. The new rule would ban cost sharing for contraception products, including the pill, condoms, and emergency contraception. On top of over the counter medications, the new rule will also strength protections for prescribed contraception without cost sharing as well.

The EPA announced its finalized rule strengthening standards for lead paint dust in pre-1978 housing and child care facilities. There is no safe level of exposure to lead particularly for children who can suffer long term developmental consequences from lead exposure. The new standards set the lowest level of lead particle that can be identified by a lab as the standard for lead abatement. It's estimated 31 million homes built before the ban on lead paint in 1978 have lead paint and 3.8 million of those have one or more children under the age of 6. The new rule will mean 1.2 million fewer people, including over 300,000 children will not be exposed to lead particles every year. This comes after the Biden-Harris Administration announced its goal to remove and replace all lead pipes in America by the end of the decade.

The Department of Transportation announced a $50 million dollar fine against American Airlines for its treatment of disabled passengers and their wheelchairs. The fine stems from a number of incidences of humiliating and unfair treatment of passages between 2019 and 2023, as well as video documented evidence of mishandling wheelchairs and damaging them. Half the fine will go to replacing such damaged wheelchairs. The Biden administration has leveled a historic number of fines against the airlines ($225 million) for their failures. It also published a Airline Passengers with Disabilities Bill of Rights, passed a new rule accessible lavatories on aircraft, and is working on a rule to require airlines to replace lost or damaged wheelchairs with equal equipment at once.

The Department of Energy announced $430 million dollars to help boost domestic clean energy manufacturing in former coal communities. This invests in projects in 15 different communities, in places like Texas, West Virginia, Pennsylvania, Tennessee, Kentucky, and Michigan. The plan will bring about 1,900 new jobs in communities struggling with the loss of coal. Projects include making insulation out of recycled cardboard, low carbon cement production, and industrial fiber hemp processing.

The Department of Transportation announced $4.2 billion in new infrastructure investment. The money will go to 44 projects across the country. For example the MBTA will get $400 million to replace the 92 year old Draw 1 bridge and renovate North Station.

The Department of Transportation announced nearly $200 million to replace aging natural gas pipes. Leaking gas lines represent a serious public health risk and also cost costumers. Planned replacements in Georgia and North Carolina for example will save the average costumer there over $900 on their gas bill a year. Replacing leaking lines will also remove 1,000 metric tons of methane pollution, annually.

The Department of the Interior announced $244 million to address legacy pollution in Pennsylvania coal country. This comes on top of $400 million invested earlier this year. This investment will help close dangerous mine shafts, reclaim unstable slopes, improve water quality by treating acid mine drainage, and restore water supplies damaged by mining.

Data shows that President Biden's Inflation Reduction Act (passed with Vice-President Harris' tie breaking vote) has saved seniors $1 billion dollars on out-of-pocket drug costs. Seniors with certain high priced drugs saw their yearly out of pocket costs capped at $3,500 for 2024. In 2024 all seniors using Medicare Part D will see their out of pocket costs capped at $2,000 for the year. It's estimated if the $2,000 cap had been in effect this year 4.6 million seniors would have hit it by June and not have had to pay any more for medication for the rest of the year.

The Department of Education announced a new proposed rule to bring student debt relief for 8 million struggling borrowers. The Biden-Harris Administration has managed despite road blocks from Republicans in Congress, the courts and law suits from Republican states to bring student loan forgiveness to 5 million Americans so far through different programs. This latest rule would take into account many financial hardships faced by people to determine if they qualify to have their student loans forgiven. The final rule cannot be finalized before 2025 meaning its fate will be decided at the election.

The Department of Agriculture announced $1.5 billion in 92 partner-driven conservation projects. These projects aim at making farming more susceptible and environmental friendly, 16 projects are about water conservation in the West, 6 support use of innovative technologies to reduce enteric methane emissions in livestock. $100 million has been earmarked for Tribal-led projects.

#Thanks Biden #Joe Biden #Kamala Harris #politics #US politics #American politics #Native Americans #indigenous rights #lead paint #reproductive rights #reproductive health #lead poisoning #disability #infastructure #climate change #drug prices

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svmjaeyvn · 9 days ago

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LOVE MAZE — 심재윤

An unfortunate encounter, drunken mistakes, and a sort of (definitely) stalker lead to Sim Jaeyun 'dating' his best friend's childhood crush!

or, your life gets intertwined with a rich boy’s in an attempt to not get sued by his crazy personal fangirl and like with all good cliches, sex overcomplicates things.

pairing — trust fund baby!jake x college student fem!reader

word count — 33k (ongoing)

genre — college au, frat boys!enhypen, (failed) fake dating trope, SMUT MDNI

content — sort of strangers to fuck buddies to lovers pipeline, childhood best friend!jay, mentions of oc!yeji as your best friend, curly haired reader, rich nepo baby!jake, 02z are rich in general, lots of kissing, fake dating turning into fwb real quick, totally way too into it for it to be fake early on, baddie reader (per usual – fat ass, perky tits) that jake’s obsessed with, reader described as smaller than jake, smut smut smut!, partying and alcohol use, slight violence, he fell first and harder trope, stem bf & writer gf, (kinda overly) possessive jake, some angst to spice things up, daddy issues, hyper independent reader who struggles with her feelings, fluff and happy ending cause im terrible at angst!!

note — another basic fake dating trope bc they will always be like crack to me! kinda straight forward, i’m mostly talking out of my ass about the rich boy aspect (my sources are crazy rich asians and xo kitty atp) so dont think about it too much. i honestly dont know if this was originally supposed to be based in korea in my head when i first started writing it but lets make up a pretend land thats not “the west” where they have frats at their universities for plot sake. okay that’s it, any necessary warnings will be posted at the start of each chapter, pls make sure to like, repost, comment and interact !! tysm and enjoy :D

LOVE MAZE MASTERLIST !

00 — pineapple

01 — intoxicating

02 — contract

03 — firsts

04 — relationships

05 — exs

06 — camping trip

07 — bets

08 — jealousy

09 — pretty rich boy

10 — dress up

+ more to come

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vanessagillings · 1 year ago

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I’m posting the ever-so-rare photo of myself alongside one of my characters based on my childhood because today is World Autism Acceptance Day, and I wanted to show my little corner of the internet who this particular autistic person is:

I was officially diagnosed in February, at age 38 (I’m now 39). A lot of people thought I couldn’t be autistic. Some people who know me in real life still don’t. And until around 10 years ago, I didn’t think I could be either, because I was nothing like the stereotype media portrays. I was told that autistics lacked empathy (untrue), and never played make-believe (also often untrue) and only enjoyed STEM. I was — and am — an empathetic artist -- and make believe? I can spend days sketching finely bedecked bears brewing tea or carefully choosing the right words to weave tapestries of fiction — though perhaps my hyper focus was a bit of a red flag. Even so, how could autism describe me? I was a good student. I got straight A's. I didn’t act out in class. I can make eye contact…if I must. And lots of girls hate having their hair brushed with an unholy passion, right? Clearly I swim in sarcasm like a fish, so autism couldn't be why I was so anxious all the time, could it?

If someone had told me when I was younger what autism ACTUALLY is — instead of the nonsense I’d seen on screens — I would have seen myself in it. I didn’t hear that autistics have sensory issues until I was in my mid-twenties, which is when I first began to really research autism symptoms, and I had almost all of them: sensitivity to light, smells, fabrics, temperatures, textures, and certain touches, all of which make me feel anxious, I fidget (stim), I never know what the hell to do with my hands or where to look, I talk too little or too much, I have special interests, I have entire animated movies memorized shot-by-shot and can remember the first time and place I saw every movie I've ever seen but I often forget what I'm trying to say mid-sentence, I echo movies and tv shows (my husband and I have a whole repertoire of shared echolalias, making up about 20% of our conversations), I was in speech therapy as a kid, I have issues with dysnomia and verbal fluency, I toe-walk, I can't multitask to save my life, I like things just-so, I’m deeply introverted but not shy, I need to recover from all social interaction — even social interaction I enjoy — and I find stupid, every day things like grocery shopping, driving and making appointments overwhelming and intensely stressful, sometimes to the point where I struggle to speak. It turns out, I am definitely autistic. My results weren't borderline. Not even close. And while these aren’t all of my challenges, and not everyone with these symptoms is autistic, it’s definitely something to look into if you present with all of these things at once.

So why did it take me so long to get diagnosed? The same bias that exists in media threads through the medical community as well, and because I'm a woman who can discuss the weather while smiling on cue, few people thought I was worth looking into. Even after I was fairly certain I was autistic, receiving an official diagnosis in the US is unnecessarily difficult and expensive, and in my case, completely uncovered by my insurance. It cost me over $4000, and I could only afford it because my husband makes more money than I do as a freelance illustrator — a job I fell into largely because it didn’t require in-person work; like many autists, I have been chronically underemployed and underpaid, in part due to physical illness in my twenties, which is a topic for another day. But it shouldn’t be like this. It shouldn’t be so hard for adults to receive diagnoses and it shouldn’t be so hard for people to see themselves in this condition to begin with due to misinformation and stereotypes. Like many issues in America, these barriers are even higher for marginalized groups with multiple intersectionalities.

It’s commonly said that if you’ve met one autistic person, you’ve met one autistic person. This is why it’s called a spectrum, not because there’s a linear progression of severity (someone who appears to have low support needs like myself might need more than it seems, and vice versa), but because every autistic person has their own strengths and weaknesses, challenges and experiences, opinions and needs. No two people on the spectrum present in the same way. And that’s a good thing! No way of being autistic is inherently any better than any other, and even if someone on the spectrum struggles with things I don’t — or can do things I can’t — doesn’t make them more or less deserving of respect and human dignity.

But speaking solely for myself, the more I learn about autism, the happier I am to be autistic. I struggle to find words and exert fine motor control, but my deep passion and fixation has made me good at art and storytelling anyway. I find more joy watching dogs and studying leaf shapes on my walks than most people do in an entire day. More often than not, the barriers I’ve faced weren’t due to my autism directly, but due to society being overly rigid about what it considers a valid way of existing. My hope in writing this today is that maybe one person will realize that autism isn’t what they thought — and that being different is not the same as being less than. My hope with my fiction is to give autistic children mirrors with which to see themselves, and everyone else windows through which to see us as we actually are.

If you’re interested in learning more about autism or think you might be autistic, too, I recommend the Autism Self Advocacy Network autisticadvocacy.org and the following books:

What I Mean When I Say I’m Autistic by Annie Kotowicz

We're Not Broken by Eric Garcia

Knowing Why edited by Elizabeth Bartmess

Unmasking Autism by Devon Price, PhD

Loud Hands edited by Julia Bascom

Neurotribes by Steve Silberman

(trigger warning: the last two contain quite a lot of upsetting material involving institutionalized child abuse, but I think it’s important for people to know how often autistic children were — and are — abused simply for being neurodivergent).

Thanks for reading 💛

#autism acceptance day #actually autistic

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slattlicker · 23 days ago

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college age schlatt i beg 🙏 like the proper nerdy computer science college student everyone seems to forget he was

╭﹐✦˚₊· 𖤐 * no recursion without return ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ╮ imagine: hot engineering nerd meets cute cs nerd. she needs help passing a required class. he needs someone who actually listens. one tutoring session turns into two... and then they build something together. ╰﹒♡₊˚๑ *✧﹒✦ ࣪ ˖ ┊

﹒₊✦ a/n: college schlatt is real, actually. nerds deserve romance too. i'm so so sorry if this is inaccurate,,, i am an english writing major (who used to be in biochem) so take everything stem-talk in this with the biggest grain of salt ♡

warnings: academic setting · lots of stem talk (cs + engineering) · mutual nerd crushes · slow-burn vibes · tutoring sessions · project bonding · lab flirting · light insecurity · soft & earned first kisses

✧✧✧

it starts with a room that smells like dry-erase markers and burnt coffee.

tuesday afternoon, 3:15 pm. you’re ten minutes early to the cs building’s third-floor lab—mostly because the alternative was sitting through another insufferably slow dining hall lunch, and partly because you weren’t sure if you’d find the place at all.

the whiteboard has a half-erased doodle of a mushroom in glasses. someone’s labeled it fungi with a minor in comp sci.

you snort, drop your bag onto the table, and slide into the nearest swivel chair.

you're not exactly struggling in the class—but you're also not thriving. cs230: data structures and algorithms. it’s mandatory for your minor, and you’ve been putting it off for two semesters too long.

the professor announced last week that office hours would be staffed by the department’s “stem peer guides.” you hadn’t planned on going.

but then the last lab nearly made you cry in the library bathroom.

so here you are.

you’re still tugging your laptop out of your bag when the door creaks.

he walks in backwards—wearing a hoodie that probably cost too much and socks with cartoon ducks on them, juggling two coffees and a laptop under one arm.

“hey—sorry,” he says, turning around and freezing when he spots you. “didn’t think anyone was gonna show up.”

he sets the coffees down. his glasses slide a little down his nose when he tilts his head.

“you here for cs230?”

you nod. “yeah.”

he blinks. then smiles—just a little. you catch the beginnings of smile lines.

“i’m schlatt,” he says. “stem guide. i did the class last year.”

you raise an eyebrow. “and survived?”

“barely.” he slides into the chair across from you and cracks open his laptop. “what are we working on?”

you pause. he’s surprisingly cute for someone who clearly color-codes his life. his keyboard has custom caps. his notes—when he turns the screen to show you—are annotated with little pixel cats.

you try not to show your amusement. “i think i broke my brain trying to write a recursive function.”

schlatt huffs a laugh. “you and everyone else.”

he takes a sip of his coffee, then pushes the other cup toward you.

“extra,” he says. “in case you need brain fuel. also because i got nervous and ordered two by accident and i couldn't tell them i didn't want the other one.”

you accept it without thinking. warm. lightly sweet. you usually take yours iced, but it's cold in this room, so you'll take it.

“thanks,” you murmur.

“no problem,” he says, already pulling up the assignment prompt on his screen. “let’s untangle some loops.”

✧✧✧

you’re twenty minutes in and already rethinking your life choices.

not because schlatt’s bad at explaining things. actually, the opposite.

he’s good. really good.

he’s got the kind of brain that makes metaphors on the fly—comparing recursive functions to russian nesting dolls, stack overflows to a laundry chair that’s reached critical mass, and call stacks to cabinets held open in sequence.

“okay,” he says, spinning the whiteboard toward you, “so imagine you're opening those russian dolls—you know, the ones that keep getting smaller?”

you nod, watching as he draws a series of half-circles nestled inside each other.

“each function call is like opening another doll. every time the function calls itself, it goes one layer deeper. but the only way to start returning values—to actually finish—is to reach the smallest one.”

“the base case,” you murmur, tapping the smallest doll he’s drawn.

his smile quirks. “exactly. once you hit that, you start putting them all back together. one by one, returning values up the chain.”

you tilt your head. “so recursion’s not about jumping around—it's about going in and then back out in the same order.”

“bingo.”

he pivots to his laptop and pulls up a short recursive function on the screen. you lean in.

“okay, next part—this,” he gestures at the lines of indented code, “is the call stack. think of it like trying to put dishes away.”

“…dishes?”

he nods, animated now. “you open a cabinet to put a plate in. then you grab another plate, but instead of closing the first cabinet, you open a second one. and a third. and a fourth. you keep opening cabinets without shutting the old ones.”

you raise an eyebrow. “sounds like how my roommate loads the dishwasher.”

he grins. “right? but the point is, each open cabinet is a function waiting to finish. they can’t finish until the one they just called returns. so when you hit your base case, you finally start closing those cabinets, in reverse order.”

you stare at the screen, tracing the indents with your eyes.

“so,” you start slowly, “the top function keeps waiting—holding its cabinet door open—until the one it just called is done. and that one’s waiting for the one it called. like a long hallway of open doors.”

“yes!” schlatt nearly bounces in his chair. “and that hallway is your stack. it fills from the bottom up—every time you go deeper. but if there’s no base case—or it’s too far down?”

“then the hallway gets too crowded.”

you glance up at him. “and the stack… overflows?”

he throws both hands up, mock-dramatic. “you get it!”

you laugh—really laugh—and shake your head. “it actually makes sense. which is annoying. because i was ready to just declare defeat and become a barista.”

he nudges his coffee toward you. “nah. baristas don’t use call stacks.”

you take a sip, smiling into the lid. “honestly? if you’d used metaphors in the lab handout, i might’ve passed the last quiz.”

“metaphors are how i survive,” he says, then lowers his voice in mock-conspiracy. “they trick your brain into thinking you’re doing storytelling, not math.”

you grin. “you are such a dork.”

“thank you,” he says, deadpan. “that’s the highest compliment in this lab.”

you roll your eyes—but you’re still smiling.

✧✧✧

you hadn’t meant to invite him.

it just slipped out—somewhere between scribbling return values and teasing him for his handwriting—your mouth said, “hey, i’m grabbing food after this. you want to come?” like it was the most normal thing in the world.

he blinked. just once.

then shrugged and said, “sure,” like he wasn’t surprised either.

now you’re sitting across from him at a corner table in the dining hall. your tray’s got a slice of pizza and a sad salad. his has a sandwich, two cookies, and three chocolate milks.

“you know,” you say, chewing thoughtfully, “for someone who talks like a grad student, you eat like a middle schooler.”

he takes a sip of one of the chocolate milks. “middle schoolers are onto something.”

you snort. then pause. then blurt it out—because you’ve been thinking about it since the cs homework started, and he feels safe, in a quiet, weird way:

“okay, don’t judge me, but i’ve been working on this stupid little side project where i’m trying to build a low-power prosthetic hand using recycled printer motors.”

schlatt looks up, mid-bite. “wait. seriously?”

you nod. “yeah, i’ve been salvaging parts from the e-waste lab and retrofitting them. it’s dumb and janky and probably not functional, but—”

“that’s so sick,” he says, with total sincerity. “like—you’re making that from scratch?”

you sit up a little straighter. “well, not the whole thing. i’m using an arduino as the controller right now, because i suck at microprocessors and writing drivers from zero is hell. but i’ve been wiring it to flex sensors, and i’m experimenting with these homebrew 3d-printed phalanges—”

you don’t stop.

not once you get going.

you talk with your hands, gesturing wildly, pulling up half-broken images on your phone, sketching quick shapes on your napkin with a pen in the side-pocket of your backpack.

and the whole time? schlatt just watches.

listens.

not just politely—but engaged. interested. like he wants to hear it all. like you’re not over-explaining, or rambling, or going on too long about a niche thing that keeps your brain lit up at 3am.

you pause somewhere around “wrist articulation via recycled watch gears” and finally look up.

his eyes are warm.

“you know,” he says, grinning, “i think you just activated my stem side quest.”

you blink. “what?”

“i wanna help,” he says. “i mean, if you’ll let me. i’ve never coded a servo system, but… i’m a fast learner. and i think it’s badass.”

you don’t say anything.

not right away.

because your chest feels kind of full. your face feels warm. and for once, your brain doesn’t immediately try to shrink you back down.

instead, you nod. just once. “okay.”

he smiles at you over his chocolate milk.

and you think, shit, maybe office hours weren’t the highlight of the week after all.

✧✧✧

the next few weeks settle into a rhythm.

it starts with tutoring.

once a week turns into twice. then three times. not because you’re struggling (anymore), but because he’s… kind of fun to talk to. at least when he’s not roasting your variable names or trying to explain recursion using empty cereal boxes.

he sits across from you at the library table, hoodie sleeves pushed up, laptop screen smudged from how often he drags his fingers across it to point something out. sometimes he forgets to eat. you learn to pack granola bars in your pencil pouch. he never says thank you—just steals one with a smirk and keeps talking.

you start getting better. grades creeping up. error logs shrinking. you don’t dread opening your ide anymore. the code starts making sense—not just his, but yours.

one afternoon, you casually mention a project idea you’d been playing with—something stupid, just for fun. something to do with hardware integration. you expect him to laugh.

he doesn’t.

he spins his laptop around and starts mapping out a database schema like he’s been waiting for you to say it.

that’s how the side project starts.

lunches get longer. office hours get later. one day you bring your soldering kit to the library, and he lights up like you just handed him a rare pokémon card. the whole table smells like burnt plastic for an hour. no one complains. but no one sits near you either.

you nerd out hard. unapologetically. you find yourself going on tangents—about conductive thread, or how weird the i2c protocol is—and instead of zoning out, he asks questions. good ones. thoughtful ones. he doesn’t just tolerate your rants; he builds on them.

and okay, maybe you start noticing things.

like how he mumbles to himself when he’s focused. or how his hands are always warm. or how he smiles at you—not in a big, charming way, but in a quiet, earned one. like you’re the only one who gets to see this side of him.

it’s nothing serious. just… a shift.

you brush it off.

but your code’s never looked cleaner.

and your heart’s never beat louder.

✧✧✧

it happens by accident.

you’re heading toward the back patio of the student union, iced coffee in one hand, a stack of circuits notes in the other, when you spot him.

schlatt.

at one of the outdoor tables.

not alone.

there’s a group of students—three of them, maybe four—leaning in. cs majors, you recognize them. they’re the type who ask three questions per lecture and answer five more that weren’t theirs. big voices. bragging energy.

you can’t hear everything, but you don’t need to. the body language’s loud enough.

schlatt’s sitting off-center. not really in the circle. elbows tucked in, voice low, like he’s trying to contribute. like he wants to. but they’re talking over him. dismissing. one of them even laughs—not the good kind. the kind you’ve felt in your spine before.

and you watch it happen:

the way schlatt’s mouth tugs tight at the corner. the way he adjusts his sleeve, like it’ll make him smaller. the way he tries one more time to speak, then gives up halfway through the sentence and shrugs it off, pretending it didn’t matter.

they keep talking.

he goes quiet.

you’re frozen in place, coffee sweating through your fingers, because it clicks.

he’s like you.

he is you.

all that time you thought he was the confident one—the one who belonged. the one who was already part of something. but he’s not. not really. not when it comes to this. not when it comes to them.

he’s just better at hiding it.

better at laughing it off.

but the look in his eyes, right then—small and a little tired—that’s a look you know too well.

no one talks about what it feels like when your brain lights up for something and everyone else treats it like a joke.

no one talks about what it’s like to be too much in the wrong direction.

and suddenly, all your late-night rambling about microcontrollers and e-textiles feels different.

because he listened. not just because he was polite. but because he got it. you don't think you've ever felt so fully understood until him.

you take a step forward. you don’t know what you’re going to say.

but you’re not about to leave him sitting alone in a conversation that doesn’t want him.

not when you know what that feels like.

so you walk over.

“hey, there you are,” you say, nudging your knuckles gently against schlatt’s shoulder. “i was looking for you.”

he turns, surprised—then relieved. “oh—hey y/n.”

“sorry,” one of the students says, hesitant. “uh, are we… interrupting something?”

“nah,” you say, easy. “just didn’t want to miss my favorite stem guide.”

schlatt’s ears go a little pink.

you glance at the table—some kind of project group, you think. their laptops are open, notebooks out, but their conversation’s turned awkward now. the vibe’s off. not hostile—just… cliquey.

“you guys working on something for fundamentals?” you ask, glancing at their notes.

“uh, yeah,” one mutters. “trying to figure out the recursion stuff.”

you smile. “then you’re in luck. this guy’s a recursion whisperer.”

schlatt huffs a little laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

“i’m serious,” you say, looking at him now. “you explained it to me with like…those russian dolls. made it make sense in ten minutes.”

“you remember the russian dolls?”

“obviously,” you grin. “changed my life.”

he smiles, a little shy, but brighter now.

you turn to the group. “anyway, sorry to interrupt. i just wanted to steal him for a bit. we’re working on something together—well, more like, he’s doing the hard part and i’m nodding along and pretending to contribute.”

they chuckle. the tension eases.

“good luck, though,” you add, friendly. “you’ve got a good one here.”

you tap the back of his hand.

“ready, genius?”

he nods. stands up. follows you without question.

and once you’re a few steps away, you glance over and say, casually but soft:

“for the record? you’re way too smart to sit through that kind of conversation, with those kinds of people, and not say anything.”

his voice is quiet. “didn’t think they really wanted my advice…or any of my input, for that matter.”

"sucks for them," you bump his arm. “i do.”

he looks at you.

and smiles.

“you’re different,” he says.

you shrug. “nah. i just don’t have the patience for people who don’t know a good brain when they’re sitting next to one.”

he laughs under his breath—bashful, but warm.

“besides,” you add, nudging him again, “you’re the only guy on campus who’s ever made me care about code.”

“flattered,” he says, with a little bow of his head. “high praise.”

“it is,” you nod. “don’t let that go to your head, though.”

“too late.”

you both laugh.

and as you walk side-by-side down the hallway, something feels… lighter.

✧✧✧

the lab is mostly empty—just the hum of old fluorescents overhead and the rhythmic click of schlatt’s keyboard echoing off the cinderblock walls.

you’re both hunched over the prototype, wires splayed like spaghetti across the table, your laptop screen casting a pale blue glow over your notes. it’s late. not late-late, but late enough that you’ve lost track of time in that delicious, focus-hazed kind of way.

“okay,” you murmur, “i think that’s the last adjustment on the sensor matrix. wanna try running the loop again?”

schlatt doesn’t answer right away—he’s rereading your code, brows furrowed, mouth slightly open like he’s working through it out loud in his head.

you wait.

he presses enter.

the terminal blinks once more.

and then—

nothing.

the servo doesn’t twitch. the sensor reads null. everything is still.

you groan, letting your head thunk forward onto the table. “are you kidding me?”

“hang on,” schlatt mutters, already scrolling. “it’s not a full crash. there’s something—it’s just not hitting the output loop.”

“i swear,” you grumble, face still mashed into your notes, “if this is another semicolon issue, i’m throwing myself into a ditch.”

“nah,” he says, voice calm, reassuring. “it’s not your code.”

you lift your head just enough to side-eye him. “it’s not yours either, huh?”

he doesn’t answer right away.

instead, he reaches for the breadboard, fingers quick and precise as he repositions a single wire—green to yellow. it’s such a small shift you almost miss it.

“that,” he says, “was plugged into the wrong pin.”

you blink.

he presses enter again.

and this time, the prototype moves.

just a little—just a careful curl of synthetic fingers, one joint at a time, like a hesitant wave from a ghost hand.

your jaw drops.

schlatt stares too. for once, he’s quiet.

“…did we—?”

“yeah,” he breathes. “we did.”

you let out a half-laugh, half-squeak. “dude—”

you turn to him without thinking.

and he’s already looking at you.

and before your brain catches up with your body, you’re reaching out—arms around his shoulders, heart in your throat.

he stiffens for a second. then melts into it.

his arms curl around your waist, tentative at first, then tighter. his cheek brushes your temple.

“holy shit,” you whisper, still breathless. “we did it.”

“we really fucking did it.”

the hug lasts longer than it needs to. it shifts. softens. becomes something else.

your hands curl in the fabric of his hoodie. his thumb rubs slow circles at your back.

neither of you move to pull away.

but eventually—awkwardly—you both realize you probably should.

you shift first, just a little, arms loosening. schlatt mirrors you a second later, like he’s waiting for permission.

and then—

your foot bumps a loose cable under the table.

you stumble, just a half step, enough to make you grip his hoodie tighter out of instinct.

he catches you by the elbow—quick, steady—but in doing so, he knocks into the edge of the desk.

a pen clatters to the floor. your hip bangs against the chair. both of you freeze.

then, in perfect harmony:

“sorry—”

you look at each other.

he’s flushed to the tips of his ears.

you’re no better.

his hand’s still on your elbow. yours is still in the front pocket of his hoodie. neither of you seems to know what to do with yourselves now.

“…so,” you say, trying to laugh it off, “we’re, uh—officially engineers now, right? or, mad scientists? mad engineers? built something that works and almost died doing it.”

“sounds about right,” he mumbles, eyes not quite meeting yours.

you step back fully, brushing imaginary lint off your sleeves. he clears his throat and bends to pick up the pen—just a little too quickly.

“we should, uh…” he gestures vaguely at the wires. “log this. before we forget what we changed.”

“yeah,” you nod. “documentation. good. yep. very sexy.”

he snorts.

and the tension cracks just enough for both of you to breathe again.

✧✧✧

friday lunch.

same table.

you’re there first, as usual—tray to the left, elbow room cleared, and your little “project napkin” tucked just out of sight beneath your phone.

it’s not schematics, not exactly. more like an outline of “natural” movements. lean angles. average post-meal proximity. potential trigger phrases that could ease the moment into something more than just eye contact and banter.

it’s stupid. it’s excessive. it’s so you.

but it’s not like you’ve kissed him yet.

and it’s not like you haven’t thought about it. a lot.

he slides into the seat across from you—slightly out of breath, hoodie slightly askew.

“hey,” he says. “sorry, i ran into a professor who wouldn’t stop talking about his cat’s gut biome.”

you snort. “sounds riveting.”

“almost kissed him out of pity.”

you choke on a bite of salad. “what?”

“nothing,” he mumbles, sipping chocolate milk. “just—brain fried. bad sleep. lots of… thinking.”

you nod. you get that.

you were up half the night replaying yesterday’s hug on a loop. you hadn’t meant to squeeze him that tight. hadn’t meant to say “good job, genius” like that. hadn’t meant for your fingers to linger on his hoodie hem when you stepped back.

but he hadn’t pulled away.

so.

you both eat in silence for a minute. your foot brushes his under the table. once. twice.

neither of you moves.

finally, you say it. quiet. almost like a confession.

“i, uh… may have tried to engineer a perfect kiss scenario today.”

he freezes, sandwich halfway to his mouth.

“...engineer?”

you nod, cheeks warm. “like… ran a few simulations in my head. built a model. set parameters. i was…probably gonna initiate if you laughed three or more times by the end of lunch.”

his jaw drops. “are you serious?”

“extremely.”

he blinks. “because i wrote a whole conditional loop for this.”

“…what?”

he fumbles in his hoodie pocket and pulls out a sticky note. it reads:

python: if eyes_hold >= 3.5 and cafeteria_noise == low: lean_in()

you stare at it.

then back at him.

and burst out laughing. “we’re so stupid.”

“no,” he says, laughing too. “we’re scientists.”

“why can’t we just communicate like normal people?”

“who needs normal?”

he’s still smiling.

you are too.

and this time?

there’s no plan. no diagram. no if/then logic.

you just… lean in. and he meets you halfway.

your noses bump. just slightly. your knees knock beneath the table. it’s clumsy at first—uncoordinated, like every group project you’ve ever had to rescue last-minute.

but then his hand grazes your wrist. your mouth fits against his like it already knew how. like maybe, all along, this wasn’t something to calculate.

it just needed to happen.

and suddenly, none of it feels theoretical. not the way his lips press softly, then more certainly. not the quiet exhale he lets out when you shift just a little closer. not the way your fingers curl in the fabric of his hoodie like you’ve done it a hundred times.

no flowchart could’ve planned this.

it’s instinct. it’s connection. it's human.

it’s easy.

you pull back first. slow. breath caught somewhere behind your grin.

but before you can say anything—

he leans back in. less hesitant this time.

his hand cradles the side of your neck, thumb brushing just beneath your jaw. his mouth meets yours like a spark catching on dry kindling—familiar, but heady. deliberate. like he’s trying to commit it to memory. like he’s making up for every time he could’ve kissed you and didn’t.

your heart stutters. your fingers grip the edge of the table.

he tastes like chocolate milk and lip balm and something stupidly addictive.

when you part again—barely—you stay close, noses brushing, breath mingling.

“you’re gonna break my brain,” he whispers.

you grin. “then i guess i'll be the one to tutor you.”

his laugh is low and warm and very, very fond.

“deal.”

#vuewrites #jschlatt #schlatt #jschlatt x reader #schlatt x reader #jschlatt headcanons #schlatt headcanons #jschlatt imagines #schlatt imagines #jschlatt x you #schlatt x you

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theegyal · 24 days ago

Text

THIRD WHEEL

[STACK x OC ]

Synopsis

Stack and Janae had known each other for years. Their cohabitation knew some ups and downs but never circumstances too hard to overcome.

Two broke students trying to figure out how to live their life

Two broken hearts that longed for unrequited love

Two people who gonna learn to love themselves before mending others to do.

Stack had been her roommate for three years.

What started as a mutual arrangement between two broke students sharing a worn-down two-bedroom in a creaky old complex, had grown into something tangled. The kind of closeness that wasn't exactly friendship, but not quite anything else.

They shared groceries when money got short,passed each other in towels, argued over speakers left too loud and toilet seats left up. She learned his horrible, partygoers sleep schedule. He learned her silences.

And somewhere in the quiet, Janae had fallen in love with him.

She couldn't say exactly when. Maybe it was that night he rolled her out of a panic attack with his deep voice steady in her ear. Maybe it was when he told a random guy at a house party to keep his 'ashy-ass hands' off her, even though Stack barely glanced her way otherwise. Or maybe it was just a slow build : one lingering stare at a time, one laugh too loud in the kitchen when she burned the eggs, one tired smile shared across the couch while she was struggling with her homework.

He never noticed. Not really. She wasn't his type, and Janae knew that. The girls he often brought home were all the same kind of beautiful : Tall or petite, caramel skin or porcelain, thick only where it counted, bubble ass, pretty white toes, curly hair or Betty Booped pixie, fit with flat tummy, eyes that tell fairytales...everything she was definitely not and couldn't really be.

Janae was too thick, too big. Well, at least, through the way her eyes saw her own body. Never did she get complimented for her coiled locsed her which she bleached ashtray blond to contrast with the glow of her hot shaded black dark skin.

One common thing with the beauties he shared bed with, Janae also got a roundish ass—would have enticed Stack, maybe if it wasn't covered by stretch marks and sculpted on hips dip.

Despite all, she watched him. Waiting for him to glance a meaningful eye toward her.

It was a Friday night when everything shifted.

Stack was at a bar downtown — one of those dim spots where the music didn't try too hard, and the drinks came cheap if you knew the bartender. He'd gone with a couple friends from his old neighborhood. Nothing wild, just the usual laughs, poker talk, smoke breaks. He was winning a game hand when he saw her, sitting by the bar.

A woman, fair porcelain skinned, a brown classy Bob hair crowning her head. She seemed older. Mid-to-late thirties, maybe, but that didn't dull her edge. If anything, it sharpened it. She wore red like the devil from her lipstick to her heels, her dress was magnificent, the kind that clung to her hips and opened just low enough at the chest to be a statement. She sipped something clear from a stemmed glass, nails clicking softly against it. Her gaze was intense and her mouth inviting.

Stack noticed her the same way men like him did, with a quick sweep, a tilt of the chin and a flicker of interest he didn't try to hide.

She met his eyes. Didn't smile. Just looked.

And that was all it took.

He ended up beside her at the bar with two drinks in hand and that grin he knew got him ways with women. He said something smooth — probably too much. She answered with a quiet laugh that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"You always try that hard?" she asked.

A bit embarrassed, he chuckled, licking a drop of rum from his thumb.

"Only when it works."

She finally smiled.Not widely, just a poised, seductive smirk.

"My name's Mary."

"Stack."

They talked for long minutes to an hour, discussing of relevant and irrelevant topics. Close enough for their knees to brush. She didn't ask how old he was. He didn't ask why a woman like her was out alone. When she leaned in, he leaned back. When she reached for her drink, he let his fingers linger too close to hers. One thing was to respect her boundaries the other was to missed the chance to get her number. Stack decided to be bold.

"Are you only available by mail or appointments can also work?"

She laughed, teasing her perfect teeth, then responded

"Texts or call are always an option". They exchanged their numbers.

Later, when the bar thinned out and her driver pulled up, she gave him a look that left the door open.

He walked her to the car. Hand brushed her back. A kiss on her cheek that landed too close to her mouth.

She was gone after that. But he could tell that something had already started.

He got back to the apartment a little past two in the morning

The hallway smelled like someone had burned popcorn again, and the door stuck slightly when he pushed it open. Stack stepped inside, letting the warm weight of the night trail behind him — the faint bar lights still swimming behind his eyes and the subtle scent of Mary's perfume clinging to his collar.

He shrugged off his jacket, kicked off his sneakers without looking, and caught the faint blue glow of the TV in the living room.

Janae was still up. Curled on the couch, legs tucked beneath her like always, face washed clean of the day. Her bonnet clung to her edges, and her pajama set was mismatched: a worn-out pink T-shirt with a faded logo on the front and gray bottoms that hugged her big thighs.

Stack saw her and smirked, easing his keys onto the counter.

"Ain't you too young to be dressed like somebody's auntie?" he said, voice low and teasing as he dropped his keys into the bowl near the door.

Janae didn't answer, nor look at him right away. Her eyes stayed on the TV screen, the sitcom laugh track filling the silence he left behind. She didn't even like the show. She just used the noises to keep her loneliness from humming too loud in the room.

"Better than smelling Prada with no dollars in my pocket," she finally muttered, still not turning her head.

"Oof." He laughed, walking past her toward the kitchen. "You got jokes tonight."

"I'm not joking."

He opened the fridge, grabbed a beer, and leaned against the counter, watching her from across the room.

"You good?" he asked, drinking before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Janae shrugged. "Mmm."

She turned, finally looking at him. Not long, not hard. Just a glance. But it was enough.

His curls were slightly damp at the edges like he'd sweated on the bar's dance floor. A smudge of red lipstick clung to the collar of his hoodie. He didn't notice. She didn't tell him.

"Did you have fun?" she asked, quiet.

"Yeah. It was chill."

She nodded, trying not to flinch at the simplicity of his answer.

Trying not to imagine the type of woman who had him sounding so casual.

"You meet somebody?" she asked. The question came out too lightly, like she wasn't holding her breath, waiting for him to say no.

He grinned "Kinda. We'll see."

Janae gave a small, polite smile and turned her face back toward the TV. The show had ended, the screen now offering her the next episode. She didn't press play.

Stack crossed the room again, pausing behind the couch like he might say something else. Instead, he reached down, rustled her bonnet gently like she was his little sister, and said, "Don't wait up for me next time, old lady."

Then he disappeared down the hallway.

Janae sat there, blinking at the — now — TV black screen, her chest tightening piece by piece.

The laughter from the sitcom she'd watched echoed faintly in her mind, canned, fake, and too bright for how hollow her heart felt right now.

She waited until his door shut, then stood up and dragged herself down the hall to her own bedroom.

Morning light slipped through the cracked blinds, cutting soft stripes across Janae's room. She struggled to wake up, the clock displaying 10:04.

Her heart dropped to her stomach. Fuck, she was late again!

She pushed herself up, muscles stiff, eyes red from yesterday's tears. She stormed to the bathroom, wearing the same loose, faded pink T-shirt and big, large cotton drawers, worn and stretched from too many washes. She loved her grandma-style panties! Sure, they weren't flattering or sexy, but they were very comfortable. And, let's be honest, she had nobody to please and no one to look at what she hid under those, so what was the problem?

She moved fast, mind already racing from the assignments she hadn't finished, the notes she hadn't copied, to the professor who already looked at her like she didn't belong in the room.

Janae's fingers barely touched the bathroom door before it swung inward. She stepped inside and ran face-first into Stack.

He was shirtless, his strong abs laying like a river on his honeyed skin, towel low on his waist drawing a sharp line of his V, barely hiding his crotch. Janae shifted her gaze up, urgent, to the toothbrush hanging from his mouth.

Time stopped for a second.

Stack looked up. His eyes flicked over her—from bare thighs to the hem of her worn, stretched panties, to the startled twist of her mouth.

"SHIT, Stack!" she snapped, slapping the door shut.

She leaned hard against it, breath shallow, palms sweaty.

He had seen her. Not even dressed up, covered. No—Stack had seen her half-naked.

Bare: her big, flabby thighs, her huge soft tits hanging under the pink T-shirt, those damn granny underwear damp from sweat.

That fuckboy had seen the body she only knew how to hide and never how to offer.

He had seen her big stomach, the stretch marks branding her dark-skinned thighs. Thankfully, he didn't have the time to analyze it. To glance at her round ass that curved just so wrongly.

"Damn, my bad," Stack's voice came through the door, amused. "Didn't know you was up. Or... out here assed out like that."

Janae closed her eyes.

Of course he joked. Of course he found something to say. He always did—smooth and careless, like it didn't mean anything. On God, she already knew that seeing her like this could never stir any aroused reaction from him. There was no better way to rub the truth raw on her already wounded pride than this.

The truth hurt, but Janae had learned to swallow it.

"Get the fuck outta this bathroom. I'm already late!" she shouted, less energetic than before.

She tugged her shirt lower. It didn't help. Couldn't hide anything.

For a second, she thought about not going to class. Curling back into bed, letting the day pass without her.

Stack finally headed out—teeth clean, playful face, ready to tease Janae more.

But before the words could pass his mouth, she'd already hurried into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

Tag list

Hello, I took this tag list from my fanfic Hush. If you want to be removed, just tell me I will do it !

@thelifeoflagab @juniooox @tadjoa @shamansha @brownskincheyenne @freelandgoddess @Ib-xci @blaqgirlmagicyallcantstandit @iammyownlover @stormynovashambler @summrsovrinterlude @prettygirl2800 @puffmamaa @harleycativy @jasssdee1 @itstayleigh @queenofklonnie22 @bigjh @tadjoa @Isc72 @forzaferrariii , @blxckberrie @avidreader73 @partylikemajima @lolalikesgames @ultralspblr @post-woke @jasssdee1 @lizbehave @rkiiives @underated345-blog @thefutureemmywinner @lestatthelioncourt

#sinners #elias stack moore #modern au #stack x oc #angst fanfic #angst with a happy ending #love triangle #stack x mary #stack sinners #sinners film #sinners fanfiction

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honeydippedfiction · 2 months ago

Note

Would love something with maybe Nico hischier with the prompt “you do what you got to do I’ll make sure no one disturbs you” maybe the reader is finishing up her masters in biology and has a huge paper she has to work on. Stem maybe literature dissertation really anything of your choosing, but she has a hard time telling people no and has overbooked herself and ran herself down, so Nico takes control and makes sure she relaxes and has time to work on her paper, and takes care of everything for her!!!

Love your work!

1k & Birthday Bash nav | main navigation | reqs | table of contents

“you do what you got to do I’ll make sure no one disturbs you”

Nico Hischier x black!femreader

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

The late afternoon light spilled through the apartment window in long, golden streaks that cut across stacks of notes, half-drunk mugs of tea, and a biology textbook left open on the coffee table. Y/N sat curled at the edge of the couch, her fingers hovering just above the keys of her laptop, her posture rigid. The screen in front of her blinked expectantly, waiting for her to resume her paragraph on calcium signaling in echinoderms.

But her mind was fraying at the edges.

She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms, then glanced at the to-do list scribbled on a sticky note beside her. It had grown overnight like an invasive weed—names of students she’d promised to tutor, email drafts to professors she still hadn’t sent, tasks she kept saying yes to when she should have been saying no.

A gentle knock at the doorframe pulled her out of her thoughts.

“You still working?” Nico’s voice was soft, careful, as if he already knew the answer but wanted to give her the dignity of saying it herself.

Y/N looked up, offering a weary smile. “Just taking a quick break before I jump on Zoom with Dr. Karimi. Then I need to help Alicia with her formatting, and after that—”

Nico crossed the room before she could finish. He didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he sat on the edge of the coffee table, facing her, and took in the picture in front of him: her eyes heavy with exhaustion, her natural curls pulled into a high puff that had clearly been done in haste, and her sweatshirt—his old Devils hoodie—slipping off one shoulder.

“You’ve been running on fumes for a week,” he said quietly.

“I’m fine,” she replied too quickly, eyes darting away.

He reached out and gently closed her laptop. “You’re not. And it’s okay to not be.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he beat her to it, his tone firm now—but still soft enough not to startle her.

“Y/N,” he said. “You do what you got to do. I’ll make sure no one disturbs you.”

His words stopped her cold. They sank into her chest, heavy but comforting. She blinked, and for a second, she looked as if she might cry—not from sadness, but from the quiet relief of being seen, of someone else finally saying I’ve got you.

“Nico, I can’t just bail on people,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “Alicia’s been struggling with her thesis, and I promised her. And I still have to respond to my advisor. I don’t want to be that person who—”

“—forgets how to take care of herself?” he finished gently.

She lowered her head. “Yeah.”

He stood and held out his hand. “Come on.”

Y/N hesitated, then took it, letting him lead her to the couch. He wrapped a soft blanket around her shoulders and settled her back into the cushions like she was made of glass and silk. Then he handed her the laptop again—not to work on everyone else’s problems, but to finally focus on her own.

“I’ll text Alicia,” he said. “She’ll understand. And your advisor can wait another day to hear from you. You don’t owe anyone an explanation right now.”

Y/N glanced at him, torn between gratitude and guilt. “You really don’t have to do all that.”

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I want to. I need to. You’ve been trying to be everything for everyone, and I see how that’s eating at you. Just focus on your paper. That’s all you need to do today.”

So she did.

For the first time in weeks, she put her headphones in, turned on her favorite study playlist—ambient ocean sounds and soft piano—and let herself slip into the rhythm of research and writing. The fog in her brain began to lift. Paragraphs that had once felt like mountains suddenly unfolded into clear, coherent thoughts. Her arguments found their structure; her citations aligned themselves; her voice—so often drowned out by helping everyone else—finally came through.

Meanwhile, Nico became the quiet conductor of calm behind the scenes.

He replied to Alicia’s texts with grace, even slipping in a quick apology that sounded so natural Y/N couldn’t believe he hadn’t known her for years. He reheated her lunch, brought her snacks—apple slices and almond butter, her go-to when she was writing—and even lit the lavender candle she only ever used when she was deep in study mode.

When the neighbor knocked to ask about building maintenance, Nico answered the door and quietly deflected the conversation before it could stretch beyond a polite minute.

The apartment transformed. Not physically—it was still the same tiny, cluttered space full of textbooks and hockey gear and shared routines—but energetically. It became a haven. A retreat. A place where Y/N’s mind could roam without the pressure of being constantly needed.

Hours passed.

Outside, the sun dipped behind the skyline. Inside, Y/N sat unmoving, wrapped in a cocoon of productivity and peace. When she finally hit the “save” button on the final draft of her dissertation, her shoulders slumped, not with defeat, but with release.

She closed the laptop slowly, like she was afraid it might disappear.

Nico was in the kitchen, plating dinner—some roasted chicken and vegetables they’d meal-prepped two days ago. She padded over, barefoot and quiet, and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, resting her cheek against his back.

“I finished,” she whispered.

He turned, smiling. His eyes were soft but proud. “Of course you did. I never doubted it.”

She didn’t pull away. Instead, she looked up at him with a look she rarely gave anyone—unshielded, vulnerable, grateful.

“Thank you for today. Really.”

He kissed her forehead again, brushing her curls back with his fingers. “You don’t always have to hold the whole world together,” he murmured. “You’ve got me.”

Y/N nodded slowly, her chest warm in a way that had nothing to do with the blanket or the tea or the dinner waiting behind them.

And as they sat down together to eat, nothing left on her list but peace, she realized something quietly profound:

Love wasn’t always in the grand gestures. Sometimes, it was in the smallest thing—like someone saying, “You do what you got to do. I’ll make sure no one disturbs you”—and meaning every word.

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seouljazzbar · 1 year ago

Text

selfish (m.)

𓃹𓂃𓂃𓃹𓂃𓂃𓃹𓂃𓂃𓃹𓂃𓂃𓃹𓂃𓂃𓃹

about— wonbin’s a musical prodigy, having worked alongside critically acclaimed producers, and now he’s your guest lecturer for the semester. correction, your hot lecturer for the semester (producer!wonbin x f.reader)

author’s note— this is a little rough but i still like the way it turned out! title is from this song if anyone's curious hehe i think it's wonbin coded lowkey

warning— language, teacher-student dynamic, me blatantly lying about new york/nyu, alcohol use, (soft?) dirty talk, fingering (f. receiving), whiny wonbin, oral (m. receiving), teasing, penetrative sex (with a condom!!) 18+ MDNI!!!

word count— 5.3k

Thursdays and Fridays from four to six, those were his office hours. It was difficult to have office hours that fit everyone’s schedule and that was the best he could do given he was only a guest lecturer. Even worse, he wasn’t given an office for said hours due to the deconstructed nature of the city. Going to university in New York was already far from traditional, and the conditions were no exception. But Wonbin didn’t mind, reserving a nice table on the second floor of Gregory's coffee on Broadway. It wasn't much but it was enough for the four or five students who took advantage of the time.

You were one of them. You knew all too well the struggle of falling behind in a class by thinking you had a handle on the material, only to be drowning in confusion come midterms. The class, The Sociology of Pop Music, interested you too much for you to risk completely flopping just because you failed to utilize your resources. But it wasn’t just your grade that you cared about. It helped that the guest lecturer in question was unbelievably sexy, an absolute dreamboat wunderkind who was just barely older than the students he was in charge of.

Park Wonbin, musician to the stars. He’d worked with countless acclaimed producers, written for most of the Billboard Hot 100 artists, and even put out his own flawless body of work that gifted him one Grammy and several nominations. He was an absolute icon at the ripe age of twenty-two and you were dying to sink your claws into him. Soft and athletic, inky black waves, a bashful smile and a voice that the heavens surely blessed him with. His presence was more distracting than conducive for your precious six-figure education, your thighs clenching together every Tuesday and Thursday that he took his place at the professor’s podium.

But you weren't the only one. Nearly everyone in the class was crushing on him, eyes batting as they asked elementary questions and giggles erupting at even his worst attempts at jokes. You felt like a dime a dozen lusting after him, gnawing your lower lip at the way his back muscles flexed when he turned to write something on the board. Get a grip, you’d think to yourself. You’re fighting for a slot on a list of many.

So you amused yourself with your self-labeled delusion, daydreaming about him outside of class and showing up to his office hours to clear up even the smallest of questions about the week’s lectures. He was careful with every word, taking his time to cultivate thorough responses to any and all questions you thought up for him, even ones that stemmed outside of the class's margins.

You still remember the first time you saw him, your jaw nearly dropping to the floor as he entered the lecture hall like any other student. Except he headed straight for the front of the room, placing his bag down at a table near the podium where the staff chaperone was setting up. He picked up the small expo marker that sat on the table, taking off the cap to write wonbin on the white board in messy penmanship before he followed it up with a squiggly smiley face. You knew who he was, his name notorious in the music wing of your school considering what he’d accomplished at such a young age. His looks definitely didn’t hurt, either.

He smiled at you, sitting in the second row waiting for class to start. Most people opted to sit as far back as possible, in the seats that were easier to slip out of the classroom unnoticed. But you sat proudly in the second row, alongside a few other eager students who’d heard good things about the class. His smile felt so personal, the glint of his teeth nearly causing heart palpitations as you smiled back. He didn’t know your name just yet, and suddenly that was your life’s mission; to make this man say your name.

It almost made you think he was giving you special attention with the way he paid close attention to you, his eyes lighting up whenever you came around the coffee shop steps with your notes in tow. He’d even stay past six o’clock if there were too many people before you who needed help, always offering to buy you a cup of coffee or a pastry after having waited for so long. He was so attentive, leaning into your space to look over the notes you took and making sure you were following along correctly. It was hard not to drool over him, especially when you were two of the last people left on the second floor, looking like a couple to the onlooking world.

“I’m serious! I think I’m gonna ask him out.”

Winter rolled her eyes, closing the magazine that she was never really reading in the first place. "So, what? You'll fuck his brains out in his office and then walk into class like nothing happened?"

"Actually, he doesn't have an office." The thought made you blush, sneaking around with Wonbin while your classmates and professors were none the wiser. The taboo was too hot for you to let go of.

Another roll of her eyes, this time meant for you to see. "___, get a grip. You're just slobbering all over him because he's famous. At the end of the semester, you'll go back to eyeing that one saxophonist."

Winter was numb to the novelty surrounding celebrity and the likes of it. She was a not so struggling artist whose parents funded her entire lifestyle, and it had been that way her whole life. She'd had her fair share of moments in Page Six, and the lavish New York socialite life had grown old for her. Her friends were still in the scene, but she had long since retired. Winter's idea of a fun Friday night these days included watching The White Lotus while experimenting with cookie recipes (with hopes of making it into the NYT Christmas Cookie lineup, of course).

You didn’t tell any of your college friends, though. Sure, the whole university knew that he was guest-teaching a music-related course and that he was unbelievably attractive, but you never mentioned to your friends that you felt something between the two of you. As much as you trusted your small circle of friends, you knew that student-teacher relationships were absolutely prohibited, no exceptions. Knowing this did nothing to quell the insatiable thirst you had for him, or the flutter of your heart every time he locked eyes with you. You were willing to throw caution to the wind for him, knowing you officially had it bad for him the moment you started doodling his name in your notebook. It got to the point where you were ready to make your move, ready to invite him to an apartment party one of your friends was throwing.

It was a Thursday evening, another night of attending his office hours despite your ninety-five percent in the class. You were the last student left in the final minutes of his office hours, just the two of you at the moderately sized table of the café. Your hands were mere centimeters from touching where they were laid out on the table, his warmth radiating onto you as he penciled in some helpful reminders in the margins of your notes. Just as you parted your lips to speak, he interjected. “I think it would be best if you stopped coming to office hours.”

That was not what you were expecting him to say. “Oh, um. Alright. Can I ask why?”

“You’ve clearly got an amazing grip on the material, and if anything you’re wasting your time showing up so frequently. It would be better if I had the full two hours for the students who are really struggling.” He refused to look you directly in the eyes as he spoke, opting to stare at your notes instead.

“Oh. Okay.” You gathered up all of your notes and pencils as quickly as you could, shoving them into your backpack without caring if the edges curled. The chair skidded back as you stood from it, not bothering with a goodbye as you saw yourself out. It was humiliating, almost, for him to have given you such a backhanded compliment. You started ruffling through your attendance record in the class and decided that you could afford to miss Tuesday, too embarrassed to be seen by him so soon after.

You really dodged a bullet there, then. Just seconds away from making a move on him when he told you that you should stop showing up to the only semi-private time you had together. It made you feel more delusional than ever before, allowing yourself to think he might actually feel something for you, too. You ignored the tears of frustration teasing the corners of your eyes, running off to the subway station that would deliver you back to your lousy campus housing safely.

What you didn’t see, however, was Wonbin nervously pulling at the ends of his hair. He was always such a bad liar but he knew he needed to put on the performance of a lifetime in order to get you to leave him alone. Considering it was quite the opposite of what he wanted you to do. There was something so intoxicating about you, your voice, your lips, your scent, that had him thoroughly fucked for you. Legally, he didn’t feel bad about it. But the professor he was working under, as well as the university, had already told him that under no circumstances was he to have dalliances with any of the students. So there he was, stuck thinking about you and not being able to do anything about it.

He had everything under control, at first. A few stolen glances during class but nothing to raise suspicion, just long enough for it to seem casual. Then it was finding you on social media, careful not to like any posts or to actually follow you, which made him feel like he was in full creeper mode. That was where he decided to draw the line until you started showing up to his office hours consistently, just as gorgeous as ever as you plopped down next to him in full concentration. He let himself indulge for a while, showering you with just a bit of special treatment until he realized he was crossing into dangerous territory. So he drew the line without a second thought.

You felt like you were back in high school, throwing a fit over being rejected by your longtime crush. All he’d done was politely ask you not to attend office hours anymore, but it felt like he’d told you off. You tried to convince yourself that it was because of your education, that you didn’t appreciate him taking away a resource that was proving itself helpful for you. But the real reason, the one you didn’t want to admit, was that you knew he felt it too. The storybook surge of electricity when his shoulder brushed yours and the way he never offered to get any of the other students coffee and pastries. The way he’d sometimes call you by a nickname when you were together or the way he spoke so highly of you in your exam notes. It was more than a one-sided schoolgirl crush and he was denying it just the same as you, and you couldn’t ignore how much it stung.

Saturday night was your chance to forget all about it. A friend of Winter's had convinced her to open up her ridiculously large penthouse for a laidback party, and she reluctantly agreed. You went to the party having skipped Wonbin’s office hours the evening before, successfully resisting the urge to 'drop by' the coffee shop casually; that would've been worse than just going to office hours. You were ready to let loose, your body a bit tense after the marathon overthinking session you had when Wonbin all but rejected you. All done up in one of your favorite ‘going out’ getups, you set yourself at a three drink maximum before starting the trek there.

You arrived considerably late, the party in full swing by the time you stepped off the elevator and onto the floor. There were so many people, sweaty bodies and intoxicated breaths, so much so that you almost missed him. He was leaning up against one of the kitchen countertops, nursing a drink of his own as he chatted with your friends. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the sight, almost annoyed that you ran in the same circles. But you pushed it aside to go talk to them, knowing they’d have a drink in your hand faster than you could make one. “___! You made it!” Wonbin’s eyes shot up to you making your way over to them, a raspy ‘fuck’ making its way off of his tongue. He suddenly felt trapped, nowhere to run as his student joined his little conversation circle. “Have you met Wonbin?”

“Yeah, we know each other. From around.” You avoided his gaze at all costs. “I need a drink.”

Wonbin quirked an eyebrow at you, “You drink?”

“Yeah, is that a problem?”

He cleared his throat awkwardly, shifting his weight to the other foot as he avoided eye contact with you. “I just, you know… Are you old enough for that?”

“Ew, don’t be gross. I’m a uni student, I’m not in daycare. I’m twenty-one, promise.”

You were baiting him, and he knew it. Your anger was directed at him and only him, your bubbly demeanor intact for your friends as you caught each other up on the last month or so of your lives. You had no intention of making this night, or his life, easy. You knocked back the drink your friend Sohee gave you easily, sending Wonbin a sarcastic wink as he stared at you.

Even though your mind was begging you to run, you refused to let him ruin your night. They were your friends, too, and things were only awkward because he made them so. You stood your ground, pretending like he wasn’t even there as the conversation ebbed and flowed naturally, the party music seeming to follow suit. Everything was fine until someone who’d had too many came barreling into the kitchen, spilling their sticky spiked punch all over your legs. You let out a curse as it spilled into your shoes, the sensation far too uncomfortable to ignore.

“Here, go clean up in my bathroom.” Winter handed you the key, sending you off with a gentle shove in the direction of her bedroom.

You didn’t bother locking the door back behind you, knowing you’d be in and out before anyone could miss you. You took the time to freshen yourself up as well, poking around in Winter’s cabinets to see if she had anything exciting or ridiculously expensive. Perfumes, hand creams, serums. Sometimes you forget how rich New Yorkers could be. You turned the light off in the bathroom, turning to leave when you nearly jumped out of your skin at the pair of eyes watching you. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

“You didn’t lock the door back.”

Wonbin crossed further into the room, hands in his pockets as he watched you. Even when you were irritated with him, his charm was able to cut through your faux harsh exterior. “I'm sorry, is this allowed? Or does this count as office hours, too? Should I see myself out so that other partygoers can take advantage of your precious time?”

“___, stop. I was just trying to make a decision based on what I thought was best.”

You scoffed at that, trying to ignore just how close he’d gotten to you. “Yeah, right. There’s only like five people who bother showing up anymore, so I don’t know why me showing up is such a big deal? Like you must think awfully highly of yourself if you th—”

He cut you off with a swift kiss, lips finding yours in the pale lighting of the bedroom as you froze. Time seemed to slow; just barely noticeable, but you could feel it. Like one minute felt like two with his hands cupping your cheeks and his hips pressed against yours. You relaxed into his touch, daring to kiss back as the party outside seemed to disappear. All your senses could focus on was him and the way he seemed to consume you.

He walked you backwards, stopping as you stumbled into a wall. The once innocent kiss grew in desperation, your hands everywhere at once as your tongues clashed over and over again. It could’ve easily been a dream with how much you’d both had to drink, the taste of tequila fresh on his lips as you begged for more. Your leg hooked around his waist to draw him closer, a gasp slipping from your lips as you felt how hard he was through his jeans. And then he just stopped.

“Fuck, I shouldn’t have done that.” He was breathless, his words not matching his desire as he slowly backed away from you. “This is exactly what I was trying so hard to avoid. I'm your superior, ___, I'd get fired for this.”

Your mind was blank, not a single thought worthy of being voiced in response to him. You knew it was wrong, knew his position could be terminated, but you didn’t care. Not when his touch was so addictive and your name sounded so sweet on his lips.

“This… this never happened, okay? And it can never happen again.”

He stalked off to rejoin the party, leaving you breathless and unsure of if any of that was real. The only evidence was the faint waft of his cologne that stayed behind, taunting you with the memory of his kiss. His soft, heated, spine-tingling kiss that had your head spinning from the feeling of it. Your lips were puffy from it, fingers reaching up to touch them delicately as if you could scare away the feeling somehow.

Your thoughts were interrupted by him coming back in, locking the door behind him as you fixed your hunched over posture. “Fuck it, fuck this job, I don’t need to be a guest lecturer.” His hands found your hips as he pulled you in once again, kissing you with much different intent behind it. “This is all I've been able to think about this semester.”

You let out a whimper, clawing at his shirt as his teeth pulled at your lower lip. His hands smoothed their way up your body, cupping your breasts through the material of your shirt as you moaned into his mouth. This felt real, no doubt in your mind as you melted like putty in his hands. “Do something.”

His lips migrated to your ear, licking along the shell of it as your head tipped back. “Do you want my fingers?” You nodded sheepishly, cheeks flooding with heat in a sudden wave of shyness. “Then spread your legs for me, baby.” Your body obeyed him without question, legs spreading for him to slip his hand between. He could feel how wet you were through the pants you were wearing, your underwear no match for the arousal he was responsible for. Your fingers fumbled with the button of them, popping it open and dragging the zipper down.

You knew this was a bad idea. Whether you cared or not, having his hand slip past your panties was wrong on so many levels, no matter how good it felt. His reputation and your academic career were on the line, but you couldn’t will yourself to stop him. Not when your body was yearning for more, thighs clenching at the circles he was rubbing against your clit. Not with his lips scaling your neck with kisses that only made your knees weaker than they already were.

Your resolve finally melted when he slipped a finger into your warm heat, the stretch easily out-rivaling anything your own fingers provided. The relief sent you into a spiral of high pitched sighs and moans as he added another, curling them near perfectly against your g-spot.

“Sound so pretty for me, baby. Wanna put your moans in a song.” The thought alone made your stomach twist, visions of riding him in his studio while he held his microphone up to your lips. He could see the shift in your expression at the suggestion, teeth practically destroying your lower lip. “Is that what you want, baby? Wanna be my muse?”

All you could do was nod as the heel of his palm pressed against your clit, your orgasm crashing over you much sooner than you expected. He kissed you through the waves of pleasure, swallowing the pleas of his name and the whimpers from the slight overstimulation of your clit. The cherry on top, though, was when he licked his fingers clean of your arousal without once breaking eye contact. It made you shudder.

Neither one of you knew where to go from that moment on, the heat of it all long gone as you faced reality head on. You zipped your pants back up to break the silence, fluffing your hands through your hair to alleviate any signs of sexual activity before rejoining the party. Not a word to Wonbin before going back like nothing happened, even though the uncomfortable dampness of your panties said otherwise.

unsaved number, 3:25am

↳ it’s Wonbin, i got your number from sohee. we should meet soon

you, 9:08am

↳ yeah? where?

wonbin, 9:09am

↳ 150 east 14th st, @ 11

you, 9:12am

↳ smh making me get my day started on a sunday morning

His apartment was as well kept as him, minimalistic in all its glory but decorated with his achievements wherever he saw fit. Awards, records, framed lyrics, any and everything he felt deeply proud of. You knew that you shouldn’t be there, no matter what occurred the night before. Wonbin was irresistible, and giving into his invitation was practically asking for trouble.

“I got coffee and bagels, if you’re hungry.”

Not just any coffee, though. Coffee from Gregory's. Of course he’d do something like this, you thought. He's trying to prey on my sentimentality to get me in bed. Kinda smart. “Why am I here, Wonbin?”

“Well as of three o’clock this morning, I’m no longer your teacher.”

You nearly choked on nothing as he smiled at you, pulling up the email correspondence from the Dean. “I'm sorry, what?”

“I never needed that teaching job, anyway. I took it because it felt good helping students, but it was getting to be too much, cutting into my own work time. And then when we crossed that line last night… I knew quitting was just the right thing to do.” He walked gingerly toward you, assessing your reaction carefully as he closed the gap between you.

You looked at him incredulously, brows furrowed as if he’d grown a second head. “Y-you’re not my teacher anymore?”

“I'm not your teacher anymore.” He backed you up against the wall of his foyer, the position eerily similar to where you were mere hours before. Heat rose to your face as he gazed at you, his smirk painfully malicious as his hand cupped your jaw. “Lemme take you out on a proper date. Dinner… the Angelika… dessert.”

Your gulp seemed to echo the walls of his apartment, giving up any and all fronts you were trying to put up. You could feel his lips hovering over yours more than you could see them, the soft hum that reverberated as he asked you if you’d like that. “I'm… not sure we’ll make it to dessert.”

“I thought I taught you last night to always leave room for dessert.” He popped open the first button of your blouse, getting a peak at the lavender bra beneath it. You’d dressed up for him, knowing very well where things could lead and not wanting him to see you in your far less alluring Sunday attire. Your breath hitched at his touch, your mind shouting for you to just wait for the date before crossing any more lines. But there he was, just as sexy as ever, sliding the sleeves of your top down your arms with his forehead pressed against yours. Youd didn’t stand a chance.

Your back was hitting his mattress before you could gather the strength to hold off, more of your clothes in a tangled web on his floor than on your actual bodies. Your skin was saccharine, a sweetener he’d been searching for ever since he could identify its name and he couldn’t get enough of it. Marks of his lips were blooming on every inch he could reach, your body signed with his name in a way you never knew you needed. His name rolled off your tongue like it was the only word you knew, the two syllables your new favorite combination in the entire world.

His hands guided your slip skirt down your legs, discarding it carefully with the rest of your clothes as you tugged impatiently at his boxers. He was hard, dangerously so, and it was killing you not to see him in all of his naked glory. “Canisuckyouoff?” You didn’t even think about it, the words flying out of your mouth before you could even try to stop them.

“Seriously?” You were already flipping the two of you over, inching your way down his legs until your face was leveled with his hips.

“Yes, please. I wanna make you feel good.”

Nothing could’ve prepared you properly for his length springing out of his black balenciaga underwear. It would’ve been a shame if he wasn’t as well-endowed as you wanted, but you were mature enough to know that it wasn’t all about size. Wonbin, however, was all about size. He was probably just barely above average in length but he was thick with veins in all the right places that had you close to drooling all over him.

You licked at his tip in a graze, not enough to satisfy him but enough to get him squirming. Small, agonizing licks here and there that had him fisting at his hair in sheer frustration. You pitied him with a bold lick up the underside, but went right back to the teasing that had him close to tears. “___, fuck, I can’t take anymore of this. I thought you said you wanted to make me feel good.”

“I will, baby, you just have to be patient.”

He whined out, not sure how the rest of the afternoon was going to play out if you kept teasing him so mercilessly. He was just about to beg again for you to touch him when your lips wrapped around his tip, his back arching involuntarily and sending him further into your mouth. A guttural groan accompanied the pleasure pumping through his veins as you bobbed her head along his cock, swirling your tongue around him every so often. You had a primal need for more of him, more of the way he tasted and the precum that was oozing out of him. More of the way his groans switched to melodious moans as his climax neared him, more of the way his face was contorted in pleasure as your hands rubbed at his thighs.

His orgasm was building up in the pit of his stomach, the twine of tension pulling further and further until he was sure it was going to snap. Your mouth abandoning his cock in favor of his balls almost did the trick, your hand wrapping around him to jerk as you sucked one at a time. He pulled you off of him reluctantly, wanting so desperately to cum in your mouth but knowing he’d regret passing up the opportunity to fuck you. “I have condoms in the drawer.” His breath was ragged as he pointed the drawer out to you, his hair sticking to his forehead as his body heat was skyrocketing. You handed one to him before shuffling back to the bed, letting him climb over you clumsily with his arms supporting his weight.

He tapped his tip against your clit, running it between your folds as you bucked your hips toward his. “That's not fair.”

He slipped inside of you, barely an inch before pulling back out. He repeated the movement over and over until you were gripping at his hips in an attempt to force more out of him. “Isn’t it, though? You had your fun…” You were so wet that it was making it hard for him to keep up, your soaked walls pulling him in with every shallow thrust. “Have you learned your lesson yet, baby?”

You nodded your head furiously, feeling almost embarrassed by how much you needed him. He refused to give up so easily, though, continuing his perfectly angled thrusts that grazed your g-spot just enough to make your hips buck. "Wonbin, please."

His first full thrust had you clenching around him so tightly that he almost came on the spot, the warmth of you wrapped around him so overwhelming that he had to screw his eyes shut. Your eyes fluttered in satisfaction as he filled you to the brim, the stretch burning deliciously. All you could think about was the next time, and the time after that, and how he could stretch you out whenever he wanted to now. He was yours now.

His lips wrapped around your nipple as he slowly dragged himself in and out of you, savoring how tightly you were squeezing him. It was all the anticipation finally materializing into something he couldn’t get enough of. Your moans, your faces of pleasure, your scent, your taste. He wanted as much of it as you’d let him have, for however long you’d let him have it. "Is this what you were thinking of while I was trying to teach you? Hm? Thought about me stuffing you full of my cock?"

The only noise you could manage was a raspy moan, mind completely numbed by the sensation of his skin pressed against yours. You could feel your lips move, saying something along the lines of wanteditsobadbinnie, but the feeling of his nose dragging up the side of your neck distracted you.

Your bodies seemed to mold together as he picked up speed, drilling into you relentlessly as your nails dug into his hips, asking for more. The slap of your skin against each other was his kryptonite as he wrapped your legs around his waist, wanting to hear it again and again until it played in his mind on a loop. He could feel the knot in his stomach warning him to slow down, to relish in the feeling a bit longer, but he didn’t care. Not when your lips were pressed right to his ear begging him not to stop. “Are you gonna cum for me?”

He tried to respond with a ‘yes’, but the absentminded clench of your walls sent him over the edge in a flash. He emptied himself into the condom, trying his hardest to focus all of his efforts on pushing you towards your own orgasm. His fingers found your clit between your sweaty bodies, the rough pad of his thumb orbiting your clit until you joined him in your own throes of euphoria. Your nails clawed down the expanse of his back as your vision blurred, ecstasy replacing every cell in your body as he kissed along your jaw.

The room smelled of sex and the remnants of his body wash, both of you fighting for air as you wrapped yourselves in his sheets. Your fingertips danced across his chest as he watched you wordlessly, face flushed with the evidence of your Sunday afternoon in. “What are you thinking about?” He caught your hand in his, eyes still trained on your face.

“Honestly? Trying to remember if there are any hidden corners in the Angelika where we can have sex.” You looked up at him as he laughed, a smile of your own creeping onto your lips. “What? Too honest?”

“You’re kinda perfect, you know that?”

His lips pressed chastely against your temple. “Yeah, actually, I do.”

#wonbin x reader #wonbin imagines #wonbin smut #riize smut #riize hard hours #wonbin hard hours #riize scenarios #riize x reader #riize imagines #riie x reader smut #park wonbin smut #seouljazzbar

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kazumist · 2 years ago

Text

YOU + ME = LOVE .ᐟ ( a diluc x fem!reader smau )

synopsis: in dire need of a passing grade, the faculty had taken it upon themselves to get you a tutor asap. insert diluc, a grade 12 STEM student who was asked to stick with you, a raging grade 11 STEM student who's struggling in her academics.

started on: 1/10/24 | ended on: 3/10/24

genres: opposites attract trope (kinda), senior high school au, crack (one of my many attempts at comedy), fluff, angst of course, profanities + kys jokes, other ships are mostly implied, socmeds with narrations !!

note: will not dwelve too much into how shs works LOL but (🖋️) means the episode has narrations.

taglist: closed! thank you for being in every step this smau took :)

playlist: hehehe

PRESENTING: unit 143 / power rangers

✿ EPISODE 1: goodluck soldier

✿ EPISODE 2: more on my plate

✿ EPISODE 3: i think he hates me

✿ EPISODE 4: is it really hard?

✿ EPISODE 5: center of attention (🖋️)

✿ EPISODE 6: maybe she isn't so bad

✿ EPISODE 7: meet me at 5?

✿ EPISODE 8: a new side

✿ EPISODE 9: over the line

✿ EPISODE 10: logging off

✿ EPISODE 11: out of reach

✿ EPISODE 12: i got you (🖋️)

✿ EPISODE 13: little by little (🖋️)

✿ EPISODE 14: so what?

✿ EPISODE 15: revelations (🖋️)

✿ EPISODE 16: welcome to the club

✿ EPISODE 17: endearing (🖋️)

✿ EPISODE 18: proud of you

✿ EPISODE 19: block and ignore

✿ EPISODE 20: you didn't know?

✿ EPISODE 21: we need to talk (🖋️)

✿ EPISODE 22: it can't happen (🖋️)

✿ EPISODE 23: girls night!

✿ EPISODE 24: until then

✿ EPISODE 25: always adoring you

✿ EPISODE 26: i think deserved

✿ EPISODE 27: there's no way (🖋️)

✿ EPISODE 28: why wouldn't i miss you? (🖋️)

✿ EPISODE 29: about time

✿ EPISODE 30: feels real to me

#( writings )#( smau — you + me = love ! )#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin imagines #diluc ragnivindr x reader #diluc x reader #diluc #genshin smau #x reader

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athanza · 3 months ago

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A Time For Us - part 1

Shouta Aizawa/fem!past-love hero OC (not self-insert)

Plot: Trying to cheer up her teacher, Eri manages to resurrect his long-lost love who died seven years prior while protecting him from a villain.

Tags: Hurt/comfort, angst, age difference (both adult), crying, fluff, referenced character death, not canon, romance, alternate universe, if I've missed any let me know! ♡

Warnings: Angst, crying, referenced character death, may tug at your heartstrings, sorry lol. Again, if I've missed anything let me know, I'm still relatively new to fic writing and tags etc.

This is a non-canon, stand-alone fic but the idea came to me and I had to write it. I hope you enjoy! ♡

Part 2 | Part 3

Part 1

The last remnants of winter chill hung in the air as the season began to change; the leaves left over from autumn beginning to show underneath the melting snow.

Eri played quietly with her new doll in the passenger seat of Aizawa's car as they drove through the streets of Musutafu city.

"Is it ok if we make a stop somewhere for a moment before we get back to UA?" He asked, his eyes on the road.

"Where are we going?" She replied, hugging her doll.

"Just have to see an old friend. It won't take long, don't worry."

They drove for ten more minutes before stopping at a cemetary. It wasn't like a regular cemetery full of the usual gravestones and incense, it was smaller and she realised all of the surnames were the same.

"Wait here, ok? I'll just be a minute."

She nodded, curious as to what was going on.

Aizawa closed the door after him and Eri watched as he walked up to a specific grave that sat under a tree, overlooking the city. She unbuckled her seatbelt and crawled into the driver's seat to see better.

There it was again, that tight feeling in his chest that happened every time he came here, that tight, heavy feeling. His footsteps were muffled by the damp grass, the water coating the toes of his shoes; they stopped as he reached the grave and he took a breath, the first one since he left the car.

Pulling a yellow rose from his scarf, he placed it in the small vase in the base of the headstone, replacing the dead one from last year that was now only a stem.

"I'm sorry I'm a late." He said, lighting some insence and placing it beside the rose. "Things have been tough this year. We've all been pushed to our limits, my students most of all. I'm doing my best but..." he sighed. "I know, I can almost hear you telling me to be kinder to myself...I'll try...for you."

The tightness in his chest began to choke him and he swallowed back his tears.

"Mr. Aizawa?" Came Eri's sweet voice, breaking the heaviness that hung over him in this place.

"E-Eri, I told you to wait in the car."

"I wanted to meet your friend."

She had the sweetest expression on her face. Her kindness never ceased to make him smile. His expression softened, not that he was angry, he just didn't want her to see him like this.

He smiled softly and held out his hand. "Come here."

She smiled and took his hand, walking up next to him.

"Eri, this is Saiyu. She was a very good friend of mine. We were classmates at UA a long time ago. Saiyu, this is Eri, my newest student."

"It's nice to meet you, Miss Saiyu!" Eri beamed, and the tightness returned to his chest, but it wasn't heavy this time.

He smiled.

"Let's go," He said, not knowing how long he could hold the tears back.

"Don't you want to spend more time with your friend?"

He was struggling now. "Midoriya and the others are waiting for us, remember?"

"Deku!" She beamed and ran back to the car giggling.

He was glad she was still so young and easily distracted. He couldn't be here any longer, he'd reached his limit.

...

When they arrived at UA, Midoriya, Mirio, and the others were eagerly waiting for Eri's visit. Her visits always cheered them up, and Eri desperately needed that positive connection. He was glad she had them, after everything she had been through, she was finally experiencing love for very first time. The students needed her too, she brought a light back to UA that had started to dim after the most recent events. She brought them hope.

"Deku! Mirio!" She giggled as she ran up to them. "Hiiiii!"

"Hey there Eri!" Deku smiled.

He supervised her as she played with the class, proud at how far she'd come since she was found.

Suddenly, All Might burst through the door with all the enthusiasm of his past selves, before immediately coughing up blood.

"HellO! I am here!" He boomed triumphantly.

"Uncle All Might!" Said Eri, her eyes lighting up.

All Might chuckled "Hey there little one!". He picked her up and she laughed, giving him a ping of warmth that he greatly needed that morning.

"I was just showing Deku and the others my new doll!"

"Wow!" He smiled warmly.

"Do you need me?" Said Aizawa, knowing All Might should be at the police station right now.

"Yeah. Just for a moment. Tsukauchi has some more intel for us."

"Don't worry about Eri Mr. Aizawa. She'll be ok with us for a few minutes." Yaoyurozu chimed in.

Aizawa and All Might stepped out of the room and the girls immediately swept Eri up and started braiding her hair. Eri loved it when they did her hair, her eyes went all sparkly and she felt so happy. But then she remembered earlier that morning.

Aizawa was trying to hide it, but she could tell he was upset. She couldn't understand why he was trying so hard not to cry, it's normal to be sad when someone isn't there anymore.

"Who's Saiyu?" She asked.

The others caught the change in her tone and suddenly looked worried.

"Saiyu? I don't recognise that name. Is she a student here?" Ochaco tried to think but she had no idea.

"No," Eri replied, "She's Mr. Aizawa's friend. She's at the cemetary."

That immediately changed the vibe of the room from happy to suddenly a little bleak. The others were taken off guard, they didn't know who Saiyu was or why Aizawa had been at the cemetary to see her.

"Mr. Aizawa was really sad. He didn't cry, but I could tell. I don't want Mr. Aizawa to be sad."

"Wait." Said Deku. "She must be talking about Saiyu Yamada, the illusion hero.

Her hero name was Mirage. She was one of the most powerful illusion heroes of our time. She could make an entire city see anything she wanted them to.

I heard she worked closely with Mr. Aizawa when they graduated UA. She wasn't a hero for very long though, she was killed fighting a villain in Jaku city only 2 years after their graduation from UA. That was seven years ago now."

"That's awful." Said Mina.

Kirishima looked saddened. "Yeah...to become a hero only to be killed so soon afterwards. If they were friends, it makes sense that Mr. Aizawa would visit her grave."

"He must have cared about her a lot."

"Let's change the subject." Said Ochaco, "I don't think Mr. Aizawa would appreciate us gossiping like this."

"You're right." Came Aizawa's voice from the doorway. "I don't."

The students froze and panicked.

"Mr. Aizawa! We're so sorry! We didn't mean to pry!"

"I'm sorry Mr. Aizawa. I didn't mean to tell." Sniffed Eri, her horn starting to spark as her eyes watered. "I just didn't want you to be sad."

"It's alright." He replied, placing a hand in her head, knowing she didn't mean anything by it, and knowing he didn't need to use his quirk on her this time. But he couldn't deny he wished she hadn't told his class about...her.

"Uhh anyway!" Said Mirio nervously. "How about we go make snow men before all the snow is gone?"

Eri immediately perked up and she smiled, a drop of snot still hanging from her nose. "Yeah."

"Is that ok Mr. Aizawa?" Asked Deku.

He nodded. "Just make sure she wears her coat."

"I will!" Eri had already ran out the door as she said that and the others ran hurriedly after her, grabbing their coats on the way out.

When they were gone, the room became quiet, almost too quiet, even for him.

"Yesterday was the anniversary, wasn't it?" Said All Might.

"Yeah..."

"I had no idea, we've all been so busy lately. I should visit her myself."

"I'm...still waiting for it to get easier..."

All Might placed a comforting hand on his shoulder as Aizawa stared sorrowfully at the floor. "I know. Me too."

A tear fell from his eye, and he immediately wiped it away. He didn't notice Eri hiding behind the door, having come back for her coat.

...

The students were having a great time making small snowmen with whatever remnants of snow they could find, Kirishima instigating a snowball fight and setting Bakugou off on an unnecessarily competitive battle.

It wasn't long though until Deku realised he couldn't see Eri anywhere.

"Hey, Yaoyurozu?" He asked. "Where's Eri?"

She panicked a little, realising she also couldn't see her. "I don't know. She said she was just running back to get her coat. She's been gone a little long though..."

"I'll go and check on her." Said Deku, hurrying off back to the dorm.

When he got there, he found Aizawa and All Might, but Eri was nowhere to be seen.

"Have either of you seen Eri?" Deku asked, starting to panic a little bit himself now.

"Huh? No. I thought she was with you."

"She said she was running back for her coat but she's been gone a while and we can't find her."

A different type of tightness hit Aizawa's chest this time.

"Damn!" He said. "Get the others and spread out. If she's upset she could activate her quirk."

Deku nodded and sped off.

They looked for her for 30 minutes before they realised she was no longer on campus.

"Where would she have run off to!?" Said Ochaco.

"Damn it!" Said Aizawa. Then it hit him. "Wait. The cemetary! All Might!"

All might was already in his car, waiting for Aizawa. "I've got it. Get in!"

"Do you need us?" Said Kirishima.

"No, it's too dangerous! Stay here, I can deactivate her quirk once I get her in eyeshot!"

They sped off campus as fast as the car could carry them and the others were left standing there wanting to do something but not being sure what. Aizawa was right, being near Eri when her quirk activates was dangerous. But it was Eri they were talking about, they cared about her.

The panic swelling in Aizawa's chest was sharp and his heart was beating so hard he could hear it.

"If she tries to do what I think she is...I..." Aizawa thought. Was it even possible? ....should he let her...?

The car sped through the streets at rocket speed until they finally pulled up at the cemetary. The car had barely stopped before he leaped out.

"Eri!!!" He yelled. "Eri, don't!!"

The sparkly yellow glow filled the cemetary and blinded him, making him unable to see her and therefore, making him unable to use his quirk. He grunted in pain from the brightness before it suddenly went away as quickly as it appeared.

He kept running, reaching her just in time to see someone burst out of the ground and he froze....it was her....she was alive.

Saiyu broke free from the earth and gasped her first breath of air in seven years before collapsing, but not before Aizawa could catch her.

She still had some of her injuries from the battle years ago, but not the worst one, one the one that killed her. She was weak, and barely concious.

"Sh-shouta?" She said weakly. "Did I do it? D-did I...get here...in time?"

At that, she passed out. Aizawa sat there for just a moment, frozen, for the first time in years.

He looked worriedly over at Eri who was passed out, but ok. He was in complete disbelief, holding Saiyu in his arms when he thought he never would again. Listening to her breathing, seeing her chest rise and fall with her breaths. He couldn't believe it.

"Sh-shouta." Said All Might, as equally in shock as Aizawa was. "Is she...?"

"We need to get them to recovery girl. Now! She-" he paused, never thinking he would ever say these words. "-she's alive."

...

Part 2

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heliads · 2 years ago

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angel boy charles leclerc with a workplace romance?? maybe r’s new on the ferrari pr team or an engineer who he keeps flirting with but she’s kinda shy so she doesn’t rly flirt back and doesn’t know why he’d want her over everyone, but then he defends her against some shitty reporters who keep making jokes abt her and she realizes oh he actually does like me and SHE asks HIM out?? obvs it’s cool if you don’t wanna write this but either way i think you’re really cool and i hope you’re day’s goin great!

'here's what i know' - charles leclerc

masterlist

It’s time for the one part of the week that Formula One teams across the grid detest most of all. No, it’s not qualifying, and not even the threat of a bad race day that can crush championship dreams for good. Today is Thursday, media day, which means that twenty drivers and many more members of staff are about to be hounded for hours until they break down and spill something they shouldn’t.

Since you’re not a driver, you had always hoped that you’d be able to get out of these sorts of things without too much difficulty. No one pays much attention to the engineers anyway– outside of Adrian Newey and the like, the guys behind the scenes tend to be ignored in favor of the ones in the cars, although you don’t know many engineers or strategists that have a problem with that.

No, the baying mass of reporters known affectionately to the paddock as Sky Sports and their affiliates are more of a difficulty than a blessing. Each and every race week, drivers and team principals alike are briefed by their PR officers on how to dodge bad questions and only stick to their strengths. For one of the first years in your career, though, you now have to deal with the same thing, and that is due to your recent promotion.

You’ve been a race engineer for a couple of years now, and you’ve loved every minute of it. Every STEM-inclined student with a hankering for racing dreams of working for Formula One, but you actually managed to turn those fantasies into a reality when you signed your first contract with the Scuderia Ferrari racing team. It wasn’t a showy job, of course, closer to tightening screws and redoing paint jobs than anything specific, but over time, you’ve managed to show your worth and quickly rise through the ranks.

As of this season, though, you’ll be out on the pitwall as Ferrari’s chief strategists instead of tucked away somewhere in the garage. It was a risky move when you decided to throw your hat into the strategy ring instead of sticking with the more technical aspects of race engineering, but you’ve had a knack for it ever since you first turned up in the paddock, and the higher-ups at Ferrari have noticed that. This promotion has been a long time coming, so they say.

Regardless, it’s still a bit stressful to be the face of Ferrari’s strategy decisions, especially given the fact that the Scuderia has struggled a bit in that department over the past few seasons. The Tifosi were definitely hesitant to show their support of the change in leadership, but after your critical advice led to some excellent showings in the first few rounds, you won them over in a landslide. No more terrible back-to-back stops, no more team orders mixups, you’ve proven your effectiveness in the strategy seat and everyone is glad to see it.

Well, almost everyone. The reporters are still as fixated as ever on getting a good story, and for some reason a couple have decided that the best headlines are centered around creating drama regarding your new job assignment. It feels like every week they’re running stories about how the Ferrari team principal wishes you weren’t there, or how Charles and Carlos are shaking their heads over each and every one of your bad calls.

This, of course, isn’t the case. Ferrari couldn’t be happier with your decisions since they’ve propelled the team up in the championship standings, and you get along quite well with the drivers. Charles especially has taken it upon himself to reassure you countless times that the rumors couldn’t be less true. Some of the reporters have a way of twisting their words from compliments into insults, but he wants to ensure that you never believe them.

Charles has been one of the greatest parts of your climb to head of strategy at Ferrari, actually. You met him when you were the lowliest of engineers, and for some reason, he’s stayed a friend of yours ever since that very first day. Truthfully, you hadn’t expected him to so much as remember your name– there are infinitely many engineers and strategists and PR workers at Ferrari, after all, and Charles is introduced to dozens of new celebrities at every race– but the very next time he saw you, he’d smiled and greeted you by name as if you were an old friend.

It had made your day. Same with the next time he’d done it. Although you may not entirely understand it, Charles Leclerc is committed to liking you, and he doesn’t seem inclined to stop any time soon. Nor are you inclined to stop him yourself– Charles is a fantastic person to be around. He’s never let his fame get to his head, and if you were to talk to him, you’d swear he was just a friend from uni or a next door neighbor or something, certainly not a world class driver. Charles doesn’t talk to you like he’s a Formula One driver and you’re a strategist. He speaks with you like he’s Charles and you’re Y/N and he couldn’t want anything more than to hear you laugh when he tells a joke.

Armed with this knowledge, you feel that you could take on any reporter, their tendency to warp simple statements into crazy arguments be damned. What’s more, you have an excellent friend in Hannah Schmitz, Principal Strategy Engineer over at Red Bull Racing. Although the two of you may technically be on rival teams, that hasn’t stopped you from becoming close friends. Hannah is one of the only people in the world capable of understanding exactly how you feel regarding work, as she’s in almost the same position as you, albeit on Red Bull instead of Ferrari. She’s older than you by a good couple of years, but that hasn’t stopped you two from quickly growing close.

For Thursday’s media frenzy, Hannah meets up with you close to the gate so you can walk in together. The Ferrari and Red Bull motorhomes are close by, and it’s nice to have a friend while you brave the storm of reporters waiting for you just inside the paddock.

The first round of them draws near. Hannah grins at your obviously forced smile. “Stay alert. They’re coming.”

“I’ll do my best,” you whisper back, and she hides a laugh.

You don’t have much time for inside jokes after that; a dozen phones and recording devices are flung in front of you, and you’re immediately greeted with several overlapping questions. You answer in quick syllables, all the while careful to keep your tone light so no one accuses you of being unnecessarily terse. You feel confident that you didn’t say anything to dull your team’s image, but you still can’t help a sigh of relief when you bid Hannah goodbye at the door of the Ferrari motorhome.

Upon entering the Ferrari center, you immediately spy Charles at one of the tables near the door. He glances up when he sees you enter, and flashes you a kind smile. “You look stressed. Don’t tell me Sky Sports has gotten to you already?”

You laugh. “They were waiting for me when I arrived. Man, I miss when they had no idea who I was.”

Charles chuckles. “I don’t. You’re more interesting to see on my screen than some of the other drivers.”

You scoff. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

Charles’ eyes widen meaningfully. “It’s true! You actually have things to say. The rest of us can only talk about how we plan on winning. Everyone says that.”

You walk over to his table, leaning your hands against the open chair. “If you paid attention during strategy meetings, you’d have something to say to them, too.”

Charles rolls his eyes, but grins sheepishly nonetheless. “How about you fill me in now, then? Come on, have a seat. I’m sure my PR officer would appreciate it if I didn’t go out there sounding like a total idiot.”

You shake your head on instinct. “You’re relaxing. I don’t want to take up your time.”

“I mean it,” Charles insists. “Sit down. I even have extra coffee.”

“That’s certainly a nice coincidence,” you say with a raised brow, but take the seat he offers you.

Charles smiles satisfiedly when you join him. “Yes,” he murmurs, “A coincidence.”

You end up passing more time than you expect at Charles’ table, just the two of you and the coffees cooling in your mugs. At first, you do talk about strategy, but over time Charles starts coaxing more details out of you, like what you’ve done since the past week and if you’ve got any plans for the upcoming weekend. He sounds genuinely interested in what you have to say, and it’s easy to forget that he isn’t just your coworker but a real, true friend.

You glance down at the table when the intensity of his earnest stare becomes a little too much for you. You know how the other strategists talk and tease you about your friendship with Charles, even if it is just that, a friendship. Yes, he may bring you coffee all the time, and eagerly stay back after strategy meetings so he can walk you out to your car, but he’s just doing that to be nice. It doesn’t mean anything. You cannot allow yourself the hope of thinking that it might mean anything.

After all, despite the denials you’ll give the other strategists and even Hannah when she has the occasion to join in the teasing, you wouldn’t mind it if Charles ever acted on his flirtations. The only problem is that you have made a career out of being realistic and reasonable, and you know that this is one perfect victory that just won’t be yours. Charles is gorgeous. He goes after gorgeous girls, stunning supermodels, and amazing actresses. You are lovely in your own right, but you aren’t the kind of person that a Formula One driver would ever date. It is important to keep your heart from being crushed, even if denying this hurts you more than Charles’ rejection ever could.

That little coffee chat ends soon enough, much like every other quick lunch and early morning talk you’ve shared with him. Charles goes off to his garage, and you head out to your office to prepare some talking points for meetings later that day. The drivers will be escorted to media day press conferences, and you probably won’t run into Charles again until later into the afternoon.

You realize about halfway through the day’s work that you haven’t gotten up once since you arrived. In need of a brain break and a chance to stretch your legs, you decide to go for a quick circuit around the paddock before coming back inside again to carry on. The sun is warm on your face when you dare to duck outside, and it feels good to walk around for a little while.

Unconsciously, your legs carry you towards the building where the press conferences are being held. Not wanting to intrude, you decide to head back towards the center of the paddock. While you’re in the middle of making this decision, though, you notice Charles emerging from the building. You switch directions to aim towards him instead; you can joke about the nightmare that is a Formula One press conference, and you know Charles will be glad to let off some steam by complaining.

As you’re walking over, you notice a few reporters coming out of the building as well and groan internally. These couple of men in particular have been nothing but thorns in your side since you accepted your promotion. When the news first broke, they wrote a couple of articles apiece about how you were going to run Ferrari into the ground. When that proved false, they switched tactics and decided to use their journalism skills to disparage you whenever they got the chance. Numerous drivers and reporters alike have called them out for targeting you, but they haven’t stopped yet, which is frustrating.

Charles notices the reporters at the same time as you, you can see his head turn as he tracks their progress. You’re close enough now that you can hear what they’re saying, but it isn’t good. They never get tired of repeating the same bullshit about how you can’t make a smart call to save your life. One of them laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. That’s what you get for putting a girl in charge.

Hot anger boils through your stomach, but you force it down. They haven’t seen you yet, and you’d like to keep it that way. Challenging them on this will only provide them with more ammunition.

Charles, however, doesn’t seem to see it that way. He stops directly in front of the two reporters, arms folded coldly across his chest. “What did you say about Y/N?”

The reporter who’d just spoken eyes him confusedly. “Nothing, man. Don’t worry about it.”

“I will if you’re insulting her,” Charles fires back. “Don’t talk about her like that. Y/N is a welcome part of Ferrari and her strategy decisions have won us races, as you well know. I don’t know what you get out of taking her down but it’s stupid of you to carry on like that.”

The reporter blanches, leaning back as if Charles has struck him. “Calm down, man. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Charles’ glare doesn’t lighten for a second. “Then stop talking badly about her. It just makes you look like an asshole who doesn’t know what he’s talking about. That’s what you are, of course, but maybe you want your reputation to be better.”

You clap a hand to your mouth to stop from letting out a surprised laugh. He’s totally caught them off guard, and it’s fantastic to see. More fantastic than that, you realize slowly, is that Charles is doing this purely to defend your honor. There are no cameras around. No one is recording him. Charles could have just ignored it, but he chose to go out of his way to defend you because that matters the most to him. Because he would never be able to live with himself if he didn’t spend his every waking hour making sure you got the respect you were owed.

Charles doesn’t have to do this, but he wants to. There is a reason for this, a reason that, at last, you know. You’ve been denying it to yourself for the longest time, but the proof of his affections is right before your eyes.

You spin away before he can notice your presence, giddy with the knowledge that, of all the people in the world, Charles Leclerc wants you. You. Y/N L/N. His chief strategist.

You nearly run into Hannah when you pass by the Red Bull motorhome. She’s just emerging, and looks at you confusedly. “Is everything alright?”

“Hannah,” you say, grasping vaguely at your friend’s arm to steady yourself. “Hannah, I’m having an epiphany.”

She eyes you dubiously. “What now? You want to change your tire strategy for Sunday?”

“No,” you say, voice weak, “I realized– I think Charles likes me, Hannah. I think he likes me a lot.”

She stares at you. “Are you just now coming to this conclusion?”

You turn to her in surprise. “You knew?”

Hannah throws her hands in the air. “Y/N, we all knew. It was extremely obvious.”

You feel heat rise to your cheeks. “Oh. I didn’t know.”

“That was also obvious,” Hannah comments. “Now, come on. You’re one of the most action-oriented people I know. What are you going to do about this?”

You turn towards the Ferrari motorhome. “I’m going to talk to him.”

“Great start,” Hannah says, clapping you on the shoulder. “Tell me how it goes. Tell me everything.”

You grin at her before you leave. “I won’t leave out a single moment.”

Charles has just made it back to the Ferrari center when you arrive. He beams up at you when you walk through the door, as if he hasn’t just heard some assholes insulting you and decided that every moment not spent defending you is a moment wasted.

“Charles,” you breathe. “Can I talk to you?”

He arches a brow, still wearing that same lopsided smile. “We’re talking now, aren’t we?”

“Yeah,” you laugh him off. “What if we talked later, too? Like, over dinner or something?”

His eyes go wide. “What? Do you– what do you mean?”

“Charles,” you repeat. He goes silent, like just the sound of his name from your lips is enough to compel him to you forever. “I’m asking you on a date. Will you say yes?”

“Yes,” he tells you. “Yes. What– I didn’t know you felt like that– do you really? This isn’t a joke, is it? We’re not going just as friends?”

“I think I should be asking you that,” you laugh. “No, Charles. I want to go on a date with you.”

“Well,” he says, smiling, “I think I can arrange that. Only if you promise there will be more than just one.”

“I promise,” you tell him.

How could you not? Charles is the one you want, the one you have been wanting since you first fell for the spark in his dark eyes and the light of his laughter. He is the one you will continue to want months and years from now, after countless dates and many gifted flowers and a lot of moments spent together, always together. It starts now.

f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy, @juphey

all tags list: @wordsarelife

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destiny-smasher · 8 months ago

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What do you like about Nemona

Gahhh, fuck me, that's a bit hard to summarize.

But I have been meaning to do a write up to explain it to people in my personal life. Maybe this is a good excuse to get around to doing so. I'll try to cover the important stuff while not getting as deep into specifics as I honestly could. It'll still be an informal short essay, though, lol

In Pokemon SV, the player enrolls in a fancy Academy on a remote island nation of sorts (inspired by Spain). They meet Nemona after choosing their starter Pokemon, and Nemona offers to the school's director to adopt a starter herself to 'coach/mentor' the player character. You see, unlike any other 'rival trainer' before her, Nemona is already a Champion. Before your character sets foot in the Paldea region, Nemona has already gone through the entire song and dance of Gym Battles and all that, and attained the highest rank a trainer can in the region. She's completely obsessed with Pokemon battling and has become bored of being 'the best' because no one wants to battle her, for various reasons. So she views you, a newcomer, as an opportunity to test herself as a 'mentor/senpai/big sis' figure as well as essentially 'New Game+-ing' herself for sheer love of the game that is Pokemon battling.

People consistently call her 'the girl Goku', but I ain't seen Dragonball Z, so I can't comment on that much. But she is a very enthusiastic, cheerful, determined, battle hungry person who is very into self-growth and self-improvement. At the end of the day, she wants a true rival, someone she doesn't need to hold back with, and who she can look to as a consistent figure in her life. She is very eager and hyperactive about connecting with people through battling.

A lot of people who play the game get offput by her, and she gets branded as a 'yandere' archetype (ie obsessed with the player character to a horror-inducing degree). She gets meme'd as being 'creepy' and 'obsessed' and all that, depicting her eagerness as mental illness and a bad thing.

(gif from a fan animation)

When her behavior stems from positive emotions and a desire for mutual growth and connection, not specifically ownership or possession -- to Nemona, a person who just obeyed whatever she would want of them would defeat the point. That's not what a rival does -- they push back, after all. Within the context of the SV plotline, she is bored of being Champion all by herself, and wants to train someone else to reach her same level, which is why she is so invested in you, the player character, following you around everywhere and being that 'big sis' archetype. There's some selfishness in there, for sure -- she wants a proper rival for herself, someone she never has to hold back with -- but given her social obligations and reputation within the Academy/region, she also I think wants to prove she is capable of handling herself as a mentor figure, prove to herself that she didn't become a Champion by luck or accident (if she can help someone else do what she did, then it wasn't just a fluke, she really does know what she's doing, etc.), and also help prove to her fellow students that she's really not as intimidating as they think she is.

And yet, people both in AND out of the game are quick to write this intense, protective behavior off as 'insane' and 'creepy' -- and as someone who very regularly got called a 'creep' through to the end of college for literally just trying to make friends,' I almost take it personally when I see people label Nemona as a 'yandere' type. It has its comical use and all but I still find it kind of hurtful in a way.

(Art by MagDraws)

Because that's the thing -- if you pay attention to what little story there is in SV (it's not exactly a complex narrative), Nemona's character is essentially a metaphor for neurodivergent/queer people who have hearts bursting with affection and passion for their hobbies yet who struggle with loneliness and isolation as they put off most people from keeping them around.

But at the end of the day, Nemona is just neurodivergent, her special interest is Pokemon battling, and she is simply desperate for human connection -- and battles are just the way she feels most comfortable doing that.

And the world would be a better place if people like me or Nemona were able to become self aware at a young enough age to start managing our behavior, (which she is shown to be learning to do!) while ALSO having a general population that is more open-minded and understanding to the idea that 'oh huh that person's brain is electrically overcharged and they love people and hobbies maybe way way more than I do but that's FINE as long as they're not hurting anyone'

As a youth, I just... kinda got great grades, made honor roll, etc. And it felt like I wasn't really trying? So adults around me thought I was 'gifted', or 'naturally talented'. But in reality, I think I was just neurodivergent, and since I struggled to make friends, and physically wasn't able to see them outside of school due to various factors, I just... ended up focusing on my schoolwork instead. So that's one way I relate with her retroactively -- she is a model student, yet ironically has a bad reputation amongst many.

(HOWEVER, Nemona comes from a RICH family and I came from a poor one, there was some big racial tension dynamics at play in my early gradeschool years, familial breakup shit, soooo there's some very different dynamics at play there)

Another thing I adore about her and connect with in a way no one else in my life does -- she loves one-on-one competitions with others through battles. I don't love physically fighting people, I'm a super non-violent person in reality. But I love fighting games, it's my favorite genre. And there's specific philosophical elements to enjoying fighting games that I think most people don't click with that she and I do.

She is here to GROW, to learn, to improve, to have fun regardless of winning or losing, because the act of spending time engaged with another person, figuring each other out, testing yourselves mutually, is enjoyable and edifying regardless.

That 'warrior's path' of self improvement and enjoyment and growth regardless of the outcome of battle is something I very much connect with and it's great to see a character who feels likewise while also having elements of interpersonal struggles in spite of or even because of the way she functions differently than other people. Again, I don't know much about Goku, but I get the impression he is good at making and keeping friends, while Nemona is bad at it.

On top of this, Nemona has extra wrinkles to her character -- she's physically disabled. The game is vague about it, as Pokemon always is. But she wears an arm brace because she throws a LOT of pokeballs with all the battling she does, and she seems to have some kind of issue there, physically. Also, despite how GOOD she is at battling, she is terrible at catching Pokemon, and seemingly at doing the exploration aspects of being a trainer. She canonically has poor stamina and wears herself out easily -- which, given how high-energy she is as a person, probably happens constantly. So it's also strongly suggested that she spends time not just training all of her Pokemon (she juggles multiple teams, yet another fighting-game esque thing I relate with, as I tend to juggle many characters and not stick to a single main or team), but she also trains herself, physically, to try and keep up with her 'mons, but also as a means of self-growth/improvement in general.

I won't post the examples but trust me, there are many subtle but intentional nods alluding to her being physically disabled, and being BAD at core elements of what we expect a Pokemon trainer to be -- exploring the wilderness, catching Pokemon, etc. But she's so passionate about it, she doesn't let her limitations stop her,

So it creates an interesting internal tension imo because she is not only very queer coded, very neurodiverse coded, but ALSO disabled coded. But she hides her internal struggles by essentially avoiding having to confront them, generally speaking (which itself is ripe for narrative development). Sadly, the game never brings this to a head in way (it's Pokemon, so of course it doesn't). But the ingredients are all there, especially when you add characters like Penny, Arven, and Scarlet into account -- as well as implied expectations from her rich family, or from the leader of Paldea, Geeta, who implies she wants Nemona to be her protege. And I haven't even mentioned that Nemona is Class President, meaning she's actively taking on social responsibility for her peers even though she gets shit talked behind her back for being so obsessed with battling and getting in people's faces with her over-eager desire to bond with/battle them.

This right here -- this is the specific core element of her character I personally connect with that, somehow, no fictional character I've met so far has put into the exact right words with enough context for me to believe them.

From my youth to even now as a full grown adult, I have experienced this feeling my entire life, whether with family, at school, at the workplace, even in most online spaces -- an 'invisible wall' between me and everyone else, and for a VERY LONG TIME I had convinced myself it was because something about me was 'broken' and 'not right'. But now, in part thanks to characters like Nemona, and the discussions around/about said characters, I can see that my brain just functions differently from other people, and a I grow and self-teach myself how to manage my own behaviors/expectations, I can better appreciate all kinds of relationships in life without needing to let go of or sacrifice that internal flame that used to threaten to consume most people I cared about -- that fear of being 'too much' or 'too intense' in my own ways (ways better expressed through text interaction than in person, to be fair, but again, MOST of my social life has been online my entire life, so yeah).

Like Nemona, I found people in my life who accept me for who I am, and blablabla all that cliche shit. But in Nemona, as I do with a rare few other characters in media (Vi from Arcane, Luz from The Owl House), I see a specific element of myself I don't elsewhere, and sadly did not see often growing up. A balance between ferocity and determination paired with unending affection and love. A desire to never give up on people, no matter what, and to be open to change both internal and in others. In Nemona's case, specifically, that element of neurodiverse passion matched with sheer loneliness -- that 'invisible wall'.

No matter what, she never gives up, in battles or socially.

I could go on into specific examples but I've said enough here to get the ideas across, I'm sure.

Oh, and as a sidenote, I think she has a great character design -- it's SIMPLE but recognizeable. The combo of color-coded gear (red/white/black, my favorite outfit color scheme), a arm brace, and accented hair. Her design feels like a plausible human being, but with a bit of 'anime bangs' syndrome.

I should probably mention -- I don't like Pokemon SV as a video game! I am like 160k words of fanfiction into telling a Pokemon story and I think the game itself is stinky garbage barely holding itself together with duct tape and a corporate prayer.

But unlike any other generation of the franchise, Pokemon SV presents a cast of characters with defined personality strengths, weaknesses, and varied backstories, who start the game as strangers, and by the end begin to dip their toes into 'found family' territory. For the first time in the entire franchise, I actually give a shit about the characters, about seeing them grow and connect with each other, because the overarching theme of SV's story, what little it has, is about isolation, outcasts, loneliness, and how found families form.

And Nemona's kind of the heart of all of that, the endlessly hopeful, energetic, eager one that will never give up on you, that irrationally throws affection at you, seemingly for no 'good reason' -- because just being a person who tolerates her and her 'too much'-ness is itself reason to be grateful for your presence in a world where she feels isolated from most everyone else simply by being herself.

Maybe this answers your question!

#nemona #pokemon nemona #nemona pokemon #pokemon sv #pokemon scarlet and violet #pokemon scarvi #pokemon #personal

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daydreamingoveracupofcoffee · 3 months ago

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The reaction of the U.A. Students, Class 1-A to their soulmate is a villainess:

Izuku Midoriya:

Izuku would be stunned to learn his soulmate is a villainess. His idealistic view of soulmates—nurtured by his hopeful, All Might-inspired worldview—would make him question how someone destined for him could be on the wrong side. He’d likely mutter to himself, analyzing every detail of the soulmate bond.

Izuku’s core trait is his empathy. He’d dive into understanding why she’s a villain, researching her backstory, motivations, and any injustices that led her down this path. He’d see parallels with others villains and believe she’s not inherently evil. For example, if her villainy stems from pain or betrayal, he’d feel a personal responsibility to reach her.

Izuku would struggle with the conflict between his hero duties and his soulmate bond. He’d confide in All Might or Uraraka, seeking advice on whether he can save her without compromising his principles. Ultimately, he’d resolve to confront her, not to fight, but to offer her a chance at redemption.

“I know there’s good in you. I can feel it because we’re connected.”

Izuku would approach her with kindness, dodging her attacks while pleading for her to open up. He’d risk his safety to prove his faith in her potential, possibly even taking a hit to show he won’t give up. His goal would be to bring her to the hero side, even if it takes years.

Katsuki Bakugo:

Bakugo would be furious upon discovering his soulmate is a villainess. He’d see it as a personal insult to his ambition to be the top hero.

“A villain?! No way in hell my soulmate’s some lowlife!”

He’d initially deny the bond, assuming it’s a mistake or a trick. He might even lash out at anyone who brings it up, like Kirishima.

Beneath his rage, Bakugo would grapple with the soulmate bond’s pull. His pride would clash with an instinctive need to understand her. He’d stalk her battles or interrogate others about her, pretending it’s for hero work but secretly trying to figure out why she was chosen for him. Her strength or defiance might begrudgingly impress him, especially if she matches his intensity.

Bakugo would track her down, ready for a fight. His approach would be aggressive.

“You think you can drag me down with you? I’m gonna win this!”

However, if she taunts him or shows a spark of vulnerability, he’d hesitate. Her ability to stand up to him might earn his respect, planting seeds of doubt about her “villain” label.

Bakugo wouldn’t admit he cares, but he’d become obsessed with defeating her and proving she’s not just a villain. He’d see her as a challenge to his strength and ideals. Over time, he might grudgingly acknowledge her skills or reasons, but he’d never go soft—his goal would be to drag her to the hero side through sheer force of will.

“You’re mine, so you better shape up!”

Shoto Todoroki:

Shoto would react with calm but deep unease when he learns his soulmate is a villainess. His stoic nature would mask his turmoil, but the revelation would hit hard, especially given his complicated family history with villains (Dabi). He’d stare at the soulmate mark or feel the bond’s pull, wondering if fate is mocking him.

Shoto would reflect on what this means for his identity as a hero and his past. He’d draw parallels to his father’s rigid views or his brother’s fall, questioning whether his soulmate is truly irredeemable. He’d approach the situation logically, seeking her out to learn her story rather than jumping to conclusions. When confronting her, Shoto would be reserved but direct.

“Why are you doing this? What made you this way?”

His calm demeanor might unsettle her, especially if she expects hostility. If she reveals a tragic past or a cause she believes in, Shoto would sympathize, seeing echoes of his own struggles with Endeavor’s legacy.

Shoto would aim to understand her without immediately trying to “fix” her. He’d believe in the possibility of change, influenced by his own journey and his mother’s recovery. However, he’d set firm boundaries—if she endangers others, he’d fight her as a hero, but he’d always leave room for dialogue. His long-term hope would be to guide her toward redemption, even if it means facing her as an opponent first.

Eijiro Kirishima:

Kirishima would be shocked but not disheartened to learn his soulmate is a villainess. His "manly" ethos, inspired by Crimson Riot, emphasizes heart and courage, so he’d see this as a challenge to his ideals.

“A villain? That’s rough, but I bet she’s got a good heart deep down!”

He might feel the soulmate bond and take it as a sign to act. Kirishima’s all about understanding people’s struggles, as seen with his support for Bakugo and his own past insecurities. He’d try to learn about her—why she’s a villain, what drives her. If her villainy stems from hardship or feeling outcast, he’d relate, recalling his own doubts about being a hero. He’d likely talk to Mina or Tetsutetsu, hyping himself up to “save her.”

Kirishima would approach her with enthusiasm and sincerity, hardening his body to block her attacks while grinning.

“Hey, we’re soulmates! Let’s talk this out!”

He’d try to appeal to her better nature, emphasizing that she doesn’t have to be alone. If she mocks his optimism, he’d double down, refusing to give up on her.

Kirishima would see her as someone worth fighting for, not against. He’d work tirelessly to show her a “manly” path to redemption, even if it means taking hits or looking uncool. His unwavering belief in her potential could wear down her defenses, especially if she’s drawn to his genuine heart.

Denki Kaminari:

“A villainess?! No way, I’m supposed to get a cute hero girlfriend!”

Denki would freak out when he realizes his soulmate is a villainess, probably short-circuiting from stress. He’d joke about it to hide his nerves, maybe whining to Sero or Jiro about how unfair it is. The soulmate bond would make him jittery but curious.

Denki’s not the most serious guy, but he’s got a good heart. He’d be torn between fear of her villain status and intrigue about who she is. He’d probably stalk her on social media (if she has any) or ask Kirishima for advice on being “cool” about it. If she’s charismatic or flirty, he’d be flustered, thinking:

“Okay, she’s kinda hot, but villain!”

Denki’s approach would be awkward but earnest. He’d try to play it cool, tossing out cheesy lines like, “So, uh, soulmate, huh? Wanna ditch the villain gig and grab ramen?” If she attacks, he’d zap back defensively, yelping, “I’m not good at this!” Her reaction—whether she teases him or shows a softer side—would determine how bold he gets.

Denki would struggle with the hero-villain divide but lean on his friends for support. He’d try to charm her into switching sides, using humor and kindness to break through her walls. If she shows any hint of goodness, he’d latch onto it. His laid-back vibe might unexpectedly disarm her over time.

“See? I knew you weren’t all bad!”

Hanta Sero:

Sero would be surprised but take it in stride, keeping his cool.

“A villainess? That’s… unexpected, but I’ll figure it out.”

He’s level-headed and adaptable, so he’d accept the soulmate bond as something to work with. He’d probably joke with Kaminari about their “bad luck” but stay focused.

Sero’s not as intense as Bakugo or as emotional as Midoriya, so he’d approach the situation practically. He’d gather intel on her—her quirks, motives, and crimes—while reflecting on what the soulmate bond means. If her villainy is driven by circumstance (poverty or betrayal), he’d sympathize.

“Life’s not black-and-white.”

Sero would engage her with a mix of caution and charm, using his tape quirk to swing around and keep distance.

“So, you’re my soulmate? Gotta say, you’re making my job complicated.”

He’d try to reason with her, appealing to her logic or any shared connection from the bond. If she’s defiant, he’d stay calm, dodging attacks and looking for an opening to connect.

Sero would play the long game, believing he can sway her through persistence and understanding. He’d show her he’s reliable, not judgmental, hoping to build trust. If she’s redeemable, he’d work to bring her to the hero side; if not, he’d reluctantly accept they’re enemies but still feel the bond’s pull, making it bittersweet.

Ochaco Uraraka:

Uraraka would be deeply shaken to learn her soulmate is a villainess. Her warm, optimistic view of soulmates—likely tied to her dreams of a brighter future—would make this feel like a betrayal of her hopes. She’d clutch the soulmate mark and tear up.

“How could my soulmate be someone who hurts others?”

She’d confide in Midoriya or Iida for support. Uraraka’s drive to help others, rooted in her desire to ease her parents’ burdens, would push her to understand the villainess’s reasons. If the villainess’s actions stem from poverty or desperation, Uraraka would relate strongly, thinking: “I could’ve ended up like her if things were different.” She’d see this as a chance to “save” her soulmate, much like she admires Midoriya’s heroism.

Uraraka would approach the villainess with determination but kindness, using her quirk to evade attacks while pleading:

“You don’t have to do this! We’re connected for a reason!”

If the villainess mocks her optimism, Uraraka would stand firm, showing her resolve. Her earnestness might catch the villainess off guard, especially if Uraraka shares her own struggles to connect.

Uraraka would hold onto hope, believing the soulmate bond means the villainess has good in her. She’d work tirelessly to show her a better path, even risking herself to protect her from other heroes. Her goal would be redemption, driven by the belief that “no one’s too far gone,” especially her soulmate.

Tsuyu Asui:

Tsuyu would be surprised but maintain her composure upon discovering her soulmate is a villainess. Her straightforward, level-headed nature would keep her from panicking.

“This is complicated, kero, but I’ll deal with it.”

She’d process her feelings privately, maybe discussing it with Tokoyami or Midoriya. Tsuyu’s pragmatic mindset would lead her to investigate the villainess’s motives and backstory. She’d consider whether the villainess is driven by ideology, trauma, or necessity, drawing on her own experience of staying grounded despite challenges. Tsuyu’s empathy, seen in her care for her siblings and classmates, would make her open to understanding rather than judging.

Tsuyu would approach the villainess calmly, using her frog-like agility to dodge attacks while keeping the conversation focused.

“You’re my soulmate, kero. I want to know why you’re doing this.”

Her blunt honesty might disarm the villainess, and Tsuyu would look for any sign of remorse or doubt to build on. If the villainess is hostile, Tsuyu would prioritize protecting others but leave the door open for dialogue.

Tsuyu would take a steady, patient approach, believing the soulmate bond suggests a chance for change. She’d try to build trust through small, consistent acts of kindness, like protecting the villainess from harm during battles. If redemption isn’t possible, Tsuyu would accept it with quiet sadness but never fully sever the emotional tie.

Mina Ashido:

“No way, my soulmate’s a villainess?! That’s so not cool!”

Her vibrant, upbeat personality would make her see the soulmate bond as a wild twist. She’d rant to Kirishima, half-joking about how her “epic love story” got so messy, but her excitement would mask genuine concern.

Mina’s outgoing nature and belief in second chances (seen in her support for her friends) would drive her to learn about the villainess. She’d be intrigued if the villainess has a bold or charismatic edge.

“Okay, she’s kinda awesome, even if she’s bad!”

If the villainess’s actions come from feeling outcast or misunderstood, Mina would relate, given her own quirky appearance and past insecurities. Mina would dive into the encounter with energy, using her acid quirk to slide around and keep things light.

“Yo, soulmate! Wanna ditch the evil vibe and dance with me instead?”

If the villainess is aggressive, Mina would match her intensity but keep trying to connect, throwing in humor to break the tension. Her infectious positivity might throw the villainess off balance.

Mina would treat the villainess like a friend she hasn’t won over yet, refusing to give up. She’d invite her to see the fun, heroic side of life, believing her soulmate just needs the right push. If the villainess shows any spark of goodness, Mina would amplify it. Even if redemption takes time, Mina’s relentless cheer would keep the hope alive.

“See? You’re totally hero material!”

#bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #reaction #izuku midoriya #bakugou katsuki #shoto todoroki #kirishima eijirou #denki kaminari #sero hanta #ochako uraraka #mina ashido #tsuyu asui #x reader #soulmates

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 1 year ago

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Hi!! I sorta get the vibe that maybe Rook has some deep rooted trauma from his childhood?? Just because of how secretive he is; i know hes eccentric but i feel like it’s more than that. A lot of ppl are upset at Vil for “changing” Rook somehow but i feel like rook changed his appearance to match with Vil, moved to pomefiore, etc. because HE wanted to be more like Vil, i feel like him meeting Vil was a rly big turning point for him. And with how upset he was at having to hurt dream Vil and Neige (and his fanboy bedroom😭😭) i feel like he’s really dependent on both of them for his happiness and he’s avoiding dealing with some traumatic experience, but this could be a stretch. I was wondering what your thoughts were. Sorry this was so long, have a nice night!!🫶

Mmm, maybe? There's certainly nothing to disprove the idea, although there also isn't much to support it. Rook doesn't strike me as someone who is scared or put off by most things. He was very much able to keep his calm and composure even in demanding, high-stress situations like the STYX base raid in book 6 and the rescue operation in Endless Halloween Night. If he has experienced something dangerous and/or dark, he gives me the impression that he could handle himself just fine. (This isn't to downplay trauma; I'm just saying that Rook could very well be the type of person that reacts and copes well with it.) As for him being secretive, it could be for other reasons such as his family's line of work (which is implied to be pretty important, since they have warp pads and villas all over Twisted Wonderland). This would be reasoning similar to why Jade and Floyd's father's occupation is kept dubious. Rook's secretive nature could also be an intentional diversion (ie purposefully playing "the fool") so it's easier for his targets to lower their guards around him or not take him seriously. Really, there's many reasons for his enigmatic and eccentric attitude. I'm also of the opinion that you don't necessarily need to have a deep-rooted trauma to get deep into fandom or stan culture. Sometimes you just get really into something and want to dedicate your entire being to that which holds your attention! For Rook, that's Neige and Vil--and it hurts him on a deep level to have to harm those who have brought him so much joy. I liken it to like... how TWST fans have merch shrines dedicated to their favorite boys. Non-Twsties may not understand our love and dedication to these characters, nor why we may get upset if those merch shrines are destroyed or damaged.

I think a lot of Rook's emotional attachment to Neige and Vil doesn't come from "relying" on them to fill in some void within himself. Rather, the behavior stems from him literally viewing them as pinnacles of beauty, combined with his own reverence for beauty itself and how they've helped his own character development. We know that, as a child, Rook struggled to express himself and was first introduced to the magic of the arts when he watched a play that starred Neige. The performance and show must have deeply resonated with Rook. Later on, we see that he, as a first year Savanaclaw student, acts much closer to the Rook we know of today. Invasive, bright, speaking his mind in a verbose way, etc. This makes me think that it was through stanning Neige that Rook was motivated to express himself in a more open manner. Then, when Rook meets Vil, he's inspired and encouraged to beautify himself so as to be like the works of art he already admires. As you've said, Vil isn't the one forcing change on Rook; instead, Vil gives the suggestion and Rook becomes enraptured with the idea--to the point where he changes dorms against Vil's advice. This is another huge turning point in Rook's life. He changes dorms, becomes Vil's right-hand man, and drastically changes his appearance too. This is all so he can be closer to the "beauty" he wishes to see, so he can fully dedicate himself to that chase. Neige was the impetus that started it all, and Vil is the one who motivated Rook to go "above and beyond" in his pursuit of beauty. So thinking about it, Rook has gone on his own journey of personal growth, and Neige and Vil are both closely tied to that. It's like how some of us TWST fans have been with the game for a few years now. We've grown and changed, and TWST has been with us every step of the way. I bet you're a totally different person today than you were when you first came across your current hyperfixations. That's bound to deepen the emotional connection we already have with the object of our affections--be it TWST for us, or Neige and Vil for Rook, no trauma necessary. From all of that, I get the impression that Rook cherishes Neige and Vil because he has "grown up" with them and they're so pivotal to who he is and has become as a person. When he has to turn his arrow on them, it may hurt him in the sense that he's destroying his passions or the very figures who have inspired him to come as far as he has. That's how I interpret it!

I still think it's fine to headcanon whatever you want for Rook's past though! There's no harm in filling in the gaps with whatever you think suits the character or the story.

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lozchi · 1 year ago

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I saw your last one shot with Taehoon and it's really cool, i like it a lot. could you write something with seong taehoon x fem reader, something soft where he is in middle school and he is in love with reader but they are not dating maybe before he met Do Woon or during their friendship(

Nothing.

A/N: saw the word "soft", couldn't reject Pairing: Taehoon Seong x F!Reader Themes: A lot more dialogue than usual, a little less language as well. :)

Sunny skies, chirping birds, the fresh air, the indistinct chattering of the students fill the hallways - You happily skid your way past classrooms, feeling like everything is aligning perfectly.

That is until, Taehoon steps in front of you with a scowl. You might be wondering what’s exactly got him so riled up. Though you know he's unlikely to spill if you ask, it doesn't hurt to try, especially when it's you.

”What’s gotten you in such a pissy mood?” You inquire, noting the tension in his expression on his oh-so-handsome face.

Gosh, how long you could stare at his kissable lips, ruffle with his hair and—

”I’m not in a pissy mood.” He retorts, followed by a faint “hmph”.

Yup. He’s definitely pissed.

Without warning, he grabs your arm and drags you to the library.

”Ugh! What’s with you today?”

You try to shove him away, but Taehoon is immovable as ever.

”Nothing.”

It’s definitely not nothing, particularly when he's unusually clingy, like a child seeking protection from his mother. Sure, he’s probably got mommy issues, but it isn’t this bad to the point he’s looking for a substitute.

Anyway, you aren’t a mind reader. So you’re not gonna stop being an inquisitive bitch until you get an answer. But before you can even voice your thoughts, Taehoon starts muttering.

”Remember the guy you helped when some twerps were bothering him?” He asks, avoiding your gaze.

You take a moment to recall the incident he's referring to, realizing soon enough who he means.

”Uh-huh. That guy from class E, I think? What about him?”

A heavy silence fills the air. Taehoon struggles to find the right words to express what's bothering him. You raise a brow, awaiting an explanation while he still struggles to speak. For about 15 seconds, he keeps his grip on your arm, though it gradually loosens when he finally speaks up again.

”He wants to ask you out.”

He finally mutters, seeming to realize that his own feelings aren't really relevant to the situation.

You take a moment to absorb his words before playfully smacking him on the cheek, causing him to flinch at your unexpected action.

Are you… teasing him?

"Is that why you looked so pissed today?” You ask with a chuckle.

“Are you jeal-”

”No.”

He bluntly replies, but his flushed face says so otherwise.

”Ugh, then why are you so troubled with the fact that he wants to ask me out?”

”I’m just, well…”

It's not like Taehoon has any right to be angry. After all, he spends most of his time with you, whether it's training in the dojang, playing Tekken at the arcade, or even the occasional sleepovers you both have. There's hardly a moment when you're apart, which might just stem from his internalized fear of being separated from you.

He's worried.

So worried, in fact, that the thought of having to let go of you terrifies him, consuming his thoughts entirely, that it’s probably inevitable that detatching himself from you is his only option.

”Forget it, just let me know when you’re going.” He finally concedes, his tone resigned.

Knowing Taehoon, it's either A.) he'll "casually" follow you during your date to "ensure your safety," or B.) the date won't happen at all. He won't fucking allow it. He won’t let it. No, not ever.

He releases your arm with a weary sigh, about to turn and leave, when you burst into laughter uncontrollably.

”Pfffft!\~ You’re so pathetic sometimes, y’know? How hard is it to admit that you’re jealous?”

”I am not!”

”You are\~”

You tease, a grin spreading across your face.

”Tch, whatever.”

He grumbles, unable to hide the slight flush creeping up his neck.

——

When you return to your classroom, a note sits on your desk, undoubtedly from the guy Taehoon mentioned. It reads, "Please meet me at the school gym after break.” the penmanship even better than yours and Taehoon’s combined.

”You’re not planning on going out with him, are ya?”

Taehoon asks, slyly slinging his arm around your shoulder.

”What do you think my answer will be?”

You reply smugly, pulling him closer.

”Das for you to tell me. What will it be?”

”Hmm, I dunno—”

”Oh, come on.”

Taehoon rolls his eyes in half-disbelief.

Soon enough, you make your way to the gym with Taehoon by your side. There's a bit of bickering and some comments from him about how it's a waste of time to go out with a schoolmate you barely speak to, suggesting it would be better to train with him instead.

As you spot the guy, Taehoon follows closely behind. You turn to face him, silently mouthing a "what" as he stays glued to your side.

”Dude, we need a moment.”

You whisper-shout, but he only rolls his eyes.

”Okay, fine. But if he does something wrong, just signal me and I won’t hesitate to jump him, kick his ass, ruin his life, fuck him up so bad- no, I don’t mean fuck fuck, but like ruin his life to the—”

And with that, you leave Taehoon behind, sighing hopelessly as he wonders if he'll ever muster the same courage as the boy confessing to you now. But for now, it seems like an impossible feat.

He watches from a distance, his expression stoic as he observes the bashful interaction between you and the boy.

”Fuck, maybe I am jealous.”

Taehoon grumbles, his lips pressing together tightly as his thoughts consume him.

What if he isn’t enough for you? What if his personality is a bit too much to handle? What if you really went out with someone else who isn’t- Taehoon? What if deep down, you know his feelings for you but you only decide to ignore because you’re not exactly sure how to reject him?

”What if—?”

"Taehoon, let's go."

You interject with a smile, breaking his train of thought. He stares back blankly as you inquire;

"You alright?”

A part of him—no, every fiber of his being wishes you had rejected the boy. He doesn't want you with anyone else. It's selfish, he knows, but he's unwilling to let you slip away, unwilling to waste a moment he can't spend with you. Fucking cringy as it may sound, it's the truth.

”What did you tell him?” Taehoon asks nonchalantly, trying to mask his inner turmoil.

"I told him if you couldn't come, I wasn't interested. Then he mentioned it was supposed to be a date, and you could come as the third wheel.” ”And then?” "I couldn't picture you agreeing to just being a third wheel, so I said no.”

You reply with a shrug.

Taehoon cartwheels internally, trying his hardest not to smile with the information you just gave him. He silently celebrates the fact that you prioritized HIM over a potential date. Deep down, he wants to shout with joy, scream “FUCK YEAH, TAKE THAT, PUSSY!” But of course, he suppresses all his emotions.

”Then, are you free after school tomorrow?” ”Uh-huh.” ”What about the day after tomorrow?” ”Yup!” ”And the day after that?” ”I have cram school but I’ll make some time for you.” ”What about the day after…”

As the two of you stroll outside the campus, engaged in a lighthearted, nonsensical conversation, Taehoon discreetly pulls out pieces of paper out of his pockets.

"What are those?" You inquire, your curiosity piqued by his secretive actions.

"Nothing."

He replies casually, though there's a mischievous glint in his eye as he swiftly empties his pockets, throwing a collection of love letters from other students (that have been sent your way, perhaps out of protectiveness or simply to spare you the hassle of dealing with them yourself)into a nearby bin.

He clings onto your arm once more; ”Nothing important at all.”

#ptj universe #viral hit #how to fight taehoon #seong taehoon #taehoon bb #viral hit taehoon #doyouhave500won #taehoon x reader #how to fight imagines #i wish there was only one way to spell his name i'm struggling #seong taehoon x reader #taehoon seong x reader #nghhhhhh

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