#thank you for the question! I loved answering them!

[g0r3wh0rre]

ROMANTICISM HANDLED WITH DISCIPLINE ── 박성훈

your professor catches you reading a not-so-safe-for-school book in the middle of his class. in an effort to make things better, you fear that you may have just made them worse.

⧼ 📜 ⧽ 一 pairing༚ ⸝⸝⸝ professor!park sunghoon ✗ student!fem!reader includes ༚ ༚ ༚ jungwon, jay and jake of enhypen, giselle and karina of aespa

genre ༚ ༚ ༚ smut, fluff, porn with plot

warnings༚ ⸝⸝⸝ teacher/student, age gaps, power play, light dom/sub dynamics, dom!sunghoon, masturbation (f. rec), erotic literature, explicit language and sexual content, spanking, dirty talk, pet names, praise kink, name calling (slut), wet dreams, impact play, oral (m. rec), cumming in pants, facefucking, deepthroat, big dick sunghoon, doggy style, sex on furniture, unprotected sex, creampies, talk of contraception (reader is on birth control), alcohol mentions, drinking and partying, hair pulling, size kink word count༚ 12 . 2 k | ⧼ 🗝️ ⧽ 一 to library༚

[notes.] a rewrite of a rewrite of one of the first ever fics i've ever written! this fic was originally written for soobin of txt, but i took that one down when i decided to discontinue writing for that group. but thanks to my lovely mutuals, they asked (demanded) that i rewrite it for hoon <3 this is a romanticization of student/teacher relationships where both parties are consenting adults, but it is important to note that these relationships can be problematic in real life due to one parties authority over another's and unstable power dynamics. banner done by my beloved mootie @heechwe! reblogs and feedback are very appreciated <3 i hope you enjoy!

YOUR FRENCH LITERATURE professor embodies everything you find detestable in a teacher. His classes are a monotonous drone of information, devoid of anything exciting or engaging, though that might not be entirely his fault with how painfully, mind numbingly boring the subject he teaches is. He rarely ever deviates from his tight-lipped script, and he absolutely refuses to entertain any questions or foster any interesting discussion. He never accepted late assignments or gave any extensions, his tests are ridiculously hard, and he’ll dock points off your assignments for the tiniest, stupidest reasons. Sure, it’s a difficult course, and it’s important to your major, but you swear he seems to take some kind of pleasure in making his students miserable. Each class feels like an eternity, and often you find yourself counting down the minutes until you can escape the insufferable, suffocating atmosphere of his classroom.

Yet, for some strange, inexplicable reason, you find yourself absolutely obsessed with him.

Maybe it was because you spent your time in his class focusing more on him than any of the words that came out of his mouth. His irritatingly handsome, angular face and his pouty, kissable lips, the moles on his cheeks framing his tall nose. The way his thick brow furrows and his lip curls when one of your classmates asks a question that he deems too stupid to grace with an answer. His big veiny hands and how they look shuffling papers and twirling pens, filling your head with thoughts of how they would look caressing your body. His tall, fit frame and how he towers over you whenever you come up to him, the way he has to lower his head to look you in the eye, a soldering heat bubbling in your belly from the way he makes you feel so small. You can’t stand to be his student, but you dream at night about being something else to him entirely— it’s a paradox that drives you to detrimental distraction. How can you be so obsessed with someone you loathe? His perplexing combination of qualities was like some kind of mystery you felt compelled to unravel, at the very least to put your own mind at ease.

That was when you found the novel. It was hidden in the romance section of your favorite used bookstore, squished between two old technicolor cover harlequin novels, it’s dark and simple spine juxtaposing against all the bright colors and ornate fonts. It intrigued you enough to pull it from the shelf and look it over, your cheeks heating up as you take in its cover. A headless, well-dressed man sat in a chair with his legs spread invitingly, the smart suit he was wearing disheveled and his undone belt held tightly in his hand, the leather strap resting against his inner thigh. The title Lessons in Attraction was printed where his head would be, vague but provocative enough to make your stomach flip. The man immediately reminded you of Professor Park, from the way he was dressed to the prominent veins in his hands, and when you flip the book over to read the synopsis you understand the connection. It outlines the story of a steamy romance between a strict economics professor and his teaching assistant, an innocent, young virgin who wants nothing more than to please. It was as if the author had plucked your deepest fantasies straight from your head and printed them out on paper, then planted the book in the perfect spot for you specifically to discover. You knew just from skimming through the pages that reading it would only do you more harm than good, but you just couldn’t put it down, drawn to the story like an addict needing a fix. You hid it in your stack of textbooks, and you refused to look the cashier in the eye as they checked you out.

At first, you had intended to keep it hidden in your bedroom, only to be read late at night when your roommates were either out or asleep. But as your obsession with your professor continued to deepen, so did your obsession with the novel; soon you found yourself taking it with you everywhere you went, reading snippets whenever you had the chance and quickly shoving back into your bag anytime someone would walk by or glance over at you. Your dreams devolved into graphic, vivid replays of your favorite dirty scenes, with Professor Park in the place of the professor from the story. You wake up hot and bothered every morning, and his class becomes even more difficult with your head now full of illicit, naughty fantasies. Everything he does makes your belly swirl with need, even something as simple as running a hand through his hair or adjusting his glasses— you can’t even bare to look at him, and instead try your hardest to focus on whatever boring tangent he was rambling on about… until you caught yourself fantasizing about how his deep voice would sound whispering dirty words in your ear.

You couldn’t take it anymore. Professor Park's lectures were beginning to feel more like sick torture— you needed something to keep you distracted before you went insane.

So, against your better judgement, you started to bring the novel to read in class. You sat far enough in the back that you were certain he wouldn’t notice, and your poor classmates were too bored out of their minds to look your way. It was easy to keep it hidden away tucked in your lap, so you could pretend to be writing in your notebook while you read. Something about it excited you, reading about fucking your professor with your real professor standing there in front of you, none the wiser. Being able to admire him as you indulged in your secret desires. If he caught you, you would be humiliated, but you would be lying if you said that the thought didn’t excite you…

"Miss L/N, what are you doing?”

You nearly shoot straight out of your chair, your professor’s sudden call of your name shocking you out of your reverie. You had gotten so absorbed into your novel that you had forgotten to check to see if he was looking your way. “H-huh?”

“You keep looking at your lap.” Professor Park remarks, peering up at you from his spot at the podium with an unamused frown. His thick-rimmed glasses made his pretty brown eyes appear even larger than they already were, blinking up at you like he was studying you through a magnifying glass. “You’re not on your phone, are you? You know I have a no-tolerance policy when it comes to electronics.”

“Oh! No, sir, I’m just…” your startled gaze bounces back to the book in your lap, and you swallow nervously. “Reading.”

“Reading?” Professor Park echoes, raising his brow. “What are you reading? I assume it’s not the textbook, from the look on your face.”

You blanche, trying your hardest to appear nonchalant as you snap the book shut and shove it down into the recesses of your school bag. “It’s nothing!” You reply far too quickly, sounding guiltier than sin.

Professor Park's lips pull into a thin line, his magnified eyes raking over your sweating face before trailing down to your bag, clasped protectively over your lap.

“Give it to me.” he orders curtly, stretching out his hand.

Your heart drops to the pit of your stomach. “What?! W-why?!”

“Reading anything that isn’t the course material is against my class rules— I have it printed clearly on the syllabus, though with how you can never seem to pay attention I wouldn’t be surprised if you missed it when I went over it at the beginning of the semester. I would recommend looking over it again to see if there’s anything else you’ve forgotten. Now, get up and hand me that book.”

The entire class has turned to look at you now too, dozens of pairs of eyes fixated on your every move. The silence is absolutely deafening. Your heart races and your hands tremble as you squirm in your seat, trying desperately to come up with some sort of escape as if you were in a horror movie; you might as well be, because out of all the ghouls and monsters you can think of, this has to be your worst nightmare.

You consider refusing. Technically, Professor Park couldn’t force you to do anything you didn’t want to— hell, you could walk right out of the classroom right then and there if you really wanted to, with both your book and your dignity intact. After all, you were a grown adult paying to further your education out of your own pocket. Trying to confiscate your belongings as if you were a child was borderline insulting.

But you can’t risk your grade over something like this, as embarrassing as it was, and you wouldn’t put it past him to penalize you in some way for defying your orders. You were already struggling as it was, partly because of how difficult the coursework was and mostly because of how you could never concentrate whenever Professor Park was around. To make matters even worse, passing was a requirement for your degree. Getting even more on his bad side than you already were simply not an option.

It takes every ounce of energy you have to force yourself to stand up out of your seat and trudge down to Professor Park's podium, clutching your novel against your chest like you were clutching pearls. He has to pry it out of your hand with a considerable amount of force, because you can’t seem to loosen your fingers around the cover.

You scamper back to your seat, but not before turning back to see Professor Park eye the cover with a startled expression. It would have been comical if you didn’t feel like you were seconds away from throwing up all over your desk.

He places it gingerly face-down on his desk like he was handling a dead fish, and you’re both grateful and horrified that he noticeably avoids making eye contact with you when he steps back up on his podium. “You can come by my office later to get it back, Miss L/N. I have a free period at six.”

“Yes, sir.” You answer glumly, staring at your shoes.

Luckily for you, he dismisses the class only a few minutes later, muttering about something to do with grading papers. You’ve never ran out of that lecture hall so fast in your life.

“Whoa, what’s up with you?” your friend Jungwon asks when you walk by him in the hall, looking up from his phone and tugging out his earbuds to cock his head in your direction. “You look live you’ve seen a ghost or something.”

You stop just long enough to realize that you were still running, even though you had made it nearly halfway across the building. “I’m so fucked.” You state simply.

“What? What happened? Did you do something to piss off Professor Park again?”

“Yes. No. Kind of?” you cringe inwardly. There’s absolutely no way you’re telling Jungwon about any of what happened; he’d laugh at you to the point you fear you might actually start crying. “I don’t want to talk about it. I gotta go.”

You shuffle away before he can respond, and while you feel bad ignoring him as he calls out to you in confusion, you’re focused solely on finding somewhere quiet and empty to hide out until your next class. And maybe grabbing an iced coffee or something. Just to drown out the tears as you wallow in your own misery.

Against all odds, you manage to make it through the rest of your classes. The wait was almost worse than getting caught, barely able to sit still in your seat as you panic inwardly for hours on end. If it was Professor Park's intention to psychologically torture you, he wildly succeeded.

And you’re absolutely sure it was, because the first thing you see once you step into his office is your professor lounging back in his chair reading your book.

“Professor!” you yelp.

He glances up from your book, a mischievous glint shining in his eyes as he sends you a tight-lipped smile. “Oh, Miss Y/N! You’re just in time. I was just flipping through your book here, it seems awfully… interesting.”

You gulp, your trembling hands clutching the strap of your bag in a vain attempt to ground yourself. “Um, sir!” you squeak, rushing to his side to glance over his shoulder at what page he was on, praying to whatever god that will listen that he hasn’t read anything raunchy. “I think it would be best if you, um, didn’t read that…”

“Oh?” He flips the page and quirks his brow, not even sparing you a second glance as he adjusts his glasses, “What do you mean?”

You rack your brain desperately for a good enough excuse, but you can’t think of anything other than just how mortified you were, watching helplessly as your professor’s keen eyes scan over the pages. “Can I have it back now?” you say instead, your voice small and shaking.

“Surely you can wait just a little longer— now I’m dying to know why you don’t want me to read this.” Professor Park's crooked smirk infuriates you.

Was there any possible way that you could talk your way out of this without telling him upfront that what he was holding in his hands was an erotica, one about a teacher and a student no less? You shuffle nervously, stumbling over your words as you try to stutter out something, anything, “You, um… you wouldn’t like it.”

He turns his head to look up at you again, the look in his eye sharply changing when he takes in your frightened state, into something you don’t recognize and aren’t sure you like. “How can you be sure I wouldn’t enjoy it? I’m a fan of many different genres of literature, though I’ve never read anything quite like this before. Is it some sort of romance novel? If it is, you don’t have to be ashamed, Miss Y/N. I’m sure many young women such as yourself read these sorts of novels, though I strongly discourage reading them while I’m in the middle of a lecture. It’s simply disrespectful. Now, where was I?”

He trails his finger down the page as if he was looking for his place, and you bristle. “Sir, seriously, don’t—!”

“I followed my professor to his office, watching with bated breath as he rounded his big wooden desk.”  Professor Park begins to read aloud. You barely stop yourself from screaming, instead letting out a sort of pained choking sound. “He stopped to stand behind me, looking down my shoulder as if he were looking over my essay just as I was. I had made three errors in my writing, each one circled in bright red ink. He seemed more upset about it than usual.”

“Professor, please.”

“’Put that essay on my desk.’ he said, so I did.” Professor Park continues, ignoring you. He had gave the professor character a stupid, high pitched voice when he spoke, which would have been funny if you weren’t so humiliated. “’Now bend over with your elbows on my desk, so that you are looking directly at the essay. Keep your face very close.’”

“Stop it! Just let me have it!” You hated to talk to him this way, but if he continued reading any further… it took everything you had to keep yourself from running out of his office and crawling into the nearest ditch to die in.

“That’s not how you should speak to me, Miss Y/N. Now you certainly aren’t getting it back.” Professor Park retorted, his evil little smirk growing even wider. You wanted to hit him, or kick or scream, but you couldn’t do anything except stand there and try your hardest not to cry. “I was puzzled, but I followed his instructions, bending over the top of his desk so that my chest, belly and arms were pressed against the hardwood. My nose was merely a centimeter or two away from the letter, which made it difficult to read. My skirt was starting to… to slide up the backs of my thighs, but I was sure that if I moved to tug it back down, I would just get into even more trouble.”

You grimace when Professor Park's voice broke, his smile slowly starting to slide off his face and twisting into something unreadable. But he did not stop reading. “’Now read the letter to yourself. Read it over and over again.’ My professor said. I read: “In today’s rapidly evolving global landscape, the integration of technology in…” and at the word “integration”, which I had misspelled, he— he… um… Oh.”

You began to feel less like wanting to die and more like you were actually dying. Professor Park stares hard at the pages for a painfully long moment, his ears turning bright cherry red, but to your surprise and absolute mortification, he began to read aloud again. His voice had dropped that cheerful quality, however, sounding winded as if he had been hit upside the head. “At the word “integration”, which I had misspelled, he reeled his arm back and spanked me hard. I stopped reading with a loud gasp, shocked— the sting reverberated through my core, fiery hot, and despite my embarrassment I began to soak through my panties. At my silence, I was spanked again, even harder. ‘I said read it.’ My professor reminded me. ‘Be a good girl and follow instructions.’”

Professor Park shuts the book closed abruptly and looks up at you with a very red face and wide eyes. The tears that had been pooling in your lashes threaten to spill down your cheeks, so overcome with fear and embarrassment that your stomach turns like you're going to be sick. That was just what you needed to top off this already life-ruining experience, wasn’t it; vomiting all over your professor after he uncovers your darkest, dirtiest secret.

“This is extremely inappropriate material to bring on campus.” Professor Park finally says, his voice wavering.

“Yes, sir.”

“And that relationship, it’s… wrong. It’s against the university’s code of conduct. I— he could get fired for that.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You shouldn’t be reading this. It’ll put... thoughts in your head that don’t need to be there.”

“…Yes, sir.” Part of you wants to argue with him, remind him that you’re an adult and can read whatever it is that you would like, but you don’t have the strength to.

He sighs heavily, like something important is weighing on his mind, and he hands you back your book before turning back to pour over the scattered, forgotten papers on his desk. “Go home, Miss L/N. And get rid of that book.”

You turn tail and scamper out into the hall, but you can’t help but glance back into Professor Park's office as you leave. He’s hunched over his desk with his elbows resting on the wood, his fingers tangled in his dark hair as he rests his head in his hands. It seems like something is bothering him, something bigger than grading papers or your stupid, silly book.

You don’t stick around to find out what it is.

The next morning, you receive a rather hastily written email from Professor Park telling you that he’s cancelling classes for the rest of the week. He’s come down with a cold, he claims— you and the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach know better than to believe that.

You don’t see him until that next Monday, but even then he might as well not have shown up at all. He struggles to get through his lesson plan even more than usual, and he wouldn’t look away from his papers or the projector, even when one of your classmates raised their hand to ask a question. You spent the entire period gathering up the courage to go up to him after his lecture, but when you do he brushes you off with a lame, half-baked excuse about having papers to grade and no time to talk, grabbing his things in a rush and scampering out of the lecture hall before you can call out for him to come back.

The pit in your stomach opens up into a black hole, swallowing up everything except for overwhelming, gnawing anxiety. It’s eating you up inside, manifesting itself in how you’ve chewed your lips until they bled, and then bit your nails down to the quicks— anyone with eyes could see that something was weighing on you, and you became increasingly tired of all your friends asking if anything was wrong, so once you were finished with your classes you took to hiding out in your dorm room curled up on the couch, your favorite fluffy blanket wrapped around you as you sullenly binge-watched a k-drama you’ve seen a thousand times.

While you were more of a homebody, your two roommates were much the opposite. Karina and Giselle loved to go out and party. Tonight was no different, the two of them flittering around the dorm as they got ready to go out to some club, and while they had given up on trying to get you to join them a while ago, something about the way you moped about seemed to reinvigorate Karina’s desire to get you off of your ass and out on the town. She knew you better than anybody, and immediately she could sniff out that something was off.

“Why don’t you come with us? You can borrow one of my dresses.” She offers, rummaging through her collection of high heels. “It’s a Friday night, everyone’s out! We can dance, we can find some boys to take home; it’ll be fun. You look like you need some.”

“I don’t need to have fun. I need to study.” You reply solemnly, scowling, but you make no moves to get up off the couch. It was a shitty excuse even to your own ears; it was obvious you didn’t have any plans to do anything tonight except feel sorry for yourself.

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” She huffs. You don’t even have to look at her to know that she’s rolling her eyes. “Something’s bothering you and you won’t even tell me or Gigi what’s wrong. Don’t you think a drink or two would be good for you? You can vent to us all night, too. I promise we’ll listen.”

“I don’t know if I even want to tell you about it.”

“Why not? We’re your best friends, Y/Nie. You can tell us anything, even if it’s stupid or embarrassing. If it’s bothering you this badly, it’s clearly something serious.”

You peer out from under the blanket to look over at Karina— the worry in her eyes makes your heart sink. Under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t even consider taking her or Giselle up on their offers, but the way you were stuck running circles inside your head was far from normal. “You promise not to laugh at me?” She smiles warmly. “Nope. But I promise I’ll hear you out regardless.”

The loud, thumping bass reverberating throughout the club did very little to help ease your pounding headache. Your temples throbbed with every beat, the pressure so severe it felt as if your skull was just moments away from splitting in two. You don’t think you’ve ever been this uncomfortable in your life; the dress that Karina gave to you was a size or two too small, the shiny fabric so tight around your chest that you gasp for air. It would be difficult for you to breathe even in properly fitting clothes, the air hot and heavy from the throngs of sweaty bodies that surrounded you. You felt claustrophobic, the crowd closing in on you and threatening to swallow you whole— the only place to escape was to the bar, but even there you’re bombarded with flashing lights, deafening music, and the overlapping voices of everyone around you. You have to strain your ears to make out what Giselle was saying, and she was just on the barstool right next to yours.

“Aren’t you glad you came?” She giggles, sipping on a brightly colored cocktail. She had ordered a round of them for all three of you, and the amount of alcohol mixed in them felt like a sucker punch to the face, even with all the sickeningly sweet grenadine the bartender had used to try and mask the flavor. You watch in abject horror as both she and Karina downed them one by one like they were water.

“No.”  you reply honestly.

“You will once you tell us what’s going on with you!” Karina interjects from your other side. “I meant it when I said I wanted you to vent to us, let it all out and give us the tea! Aeri’s dying to know.”

“It’s really embarrassing…” you admit, staring forlornly down at your own drink. “I’d rather just forget all about it.”

“It can’t be that bad. You didn’t drop your pants in front of everyone or anything, did you?”

You cringe. “God, no. It’s not like that.”

“Then it’s nothing you can’t tell us about.” Giselle shoots you a smile over the rim of her glass.

“It’s… it’s about Professor Park.”

“You and Gigi's lit professor?” Karina asks, cocking her head. “Isn’t he the one you have a massive crush on?”

Your cheeks flush, your drink becoming even more interesting as you avoid looking at either of them in the eye. “Maybe.”

“Ugh, your taste in men is the worst.” Giselle snickers. “I don’t understand why you like him so much. He’s such a dick.”

You fight down the urge to defend him— for some odd reason, you feel a surge of protectiveness over Professor Park, even when you completely agree with what Giselle is saying about him. “Yes, I like him, but that’s not the point. The point is that I totally fucked up and now I think he hates me.”

“What did you do?! Please tell me you cursed him out, he fucking deserves it.”

“No, Gigi, oh my God.” Even the mere thought of doing something like that sends shivers down your spine. “He caught me reading during class.”

“…That’s it? You’re freaking out over that?” Giselle blinks.

“It’s what I was reading that’s the problem.” you lament miserably, gathering your courage with a sip of your disgusting cocktail. “I have this book; it’s about a teacher and a student… getting together, if you know what I mean. It’s really dirty… and he caught me reading it in class. He took it, and then he read it himself right in front of me! He thinks I’m a freak. It’s been two days and he won’t even look at me.”

Karina and Giselle stare at you.

“Why the hell were you reading a smut book in class?!” Karina gasps, her dark glittery makeup making her wide eyes look even wider. “And one about a professor, too— were you trying to get caught? There’s better ways to go about telling him that you want to fuck him.”

“I don’t know— I was bored and stupid, okay?!” You had been asking yourself the same question for days, mentally beating yourself to a pulp every time it crossed your mind. “I thought he wouldn’t notice me since I sat in the back… now he’s going to tell the dean, and I’m going to get expelled, and—”

“Woah, woah, woah!” Giselle stops you in your downwards spiral, grabbing your shoulder to ground you. “You’re thinking too hard about this. He’s probably just a prude. If he was going to do something like that, he would have probably done it by now. Plus, I don’t think that’s really something you can be expelled over.”

You lean into her touch, resting your head on her shoulder as she pats your back comfortingly. “He’s mad at me…” you whine petulantly. “I was trying to get that TA position, too… fuck, I’m so screwed.”

“What would he be mad at you for? Being horny?” Karina laughs, “It’s really his own fault for snooping in your stuff.”

“I think you’ll still get it.” Giselle supplies helpfully. “You’ve really got nothing to worry about. Sure, your grade sucks, but I’ve seen the two of you talking in the hallway before— the way he looks at you is insane. And the way he looks at your ass when you leave is even crazier. You just showed him that you feel the same way about him that he does about you.”

“Don’t say that.” You groan. “You think that about every guy I talk to. There’s no way in hell that Professor Park feels anything for me except hatred.”

“If you’re really that worried about it, you can always just apologize.” Karina says, drumming her long nails against her glass. “It might not do anything, but it’ll make you feel better.”

That was the first bit of real advice either her or Giselle had given you in a while, even if it left a bad taste in your mouth. “I don’t know. I feel like that would just make things worse. I need to go to the bathroom.”

You scramble off the barstool in a rush, teetering on your heels— you weren’t even that tipsy, but every step made you feel like a newborn deer. Karina and Giselle watch you hobble away in pity.

You stumble through the crowd in search of a bathroom sign, quickly getting lost in the sea of bodies. There’s little room to move around, everyone pressed up against each other dancing, too intoxicated to notice you trying to politely squeeze by. They jostle and knock you around, and you nearly trip over your own wobbly feet multiple times. Your headache grows nearly unbearable, your desperation to find an escape leading you to start pushing people out of the way so you can continue to move forward. One particularly drunk woman nearly knocks you to the ground, and she shoots you a dirty look over her shoulder when you shoulder past her roughly. You hate to be rude, but you’re teetering dangerously close to your breaking point. You need to find some peace and quiet, and fast.

But all of that goes out the window when among the countless bobbing and weaving heads, you spot a frighteningly familiar pair of broad shoulders.

“Professor Park?!” you call out in shock, shoving your way towards him. “What are you doing here?!”

Without his suits and big clunky glasses on, you almost don’t recognize him. He was leaning back against the wall with two men who you vaguely recognize as other professors at the university, talking and laughing amongst themselves with beers in their hands. You admire the profile of his strong, angular nose, the way his pronounced collarbones peeked out from the loose linen shirt he wore, the first few buttons undone to show a delicious strip of tan skin. His dark hair, usually gelled back to show his forehead, was left fluffy and untamed, framing his dark, intoxicating eyes. He jumps a little at your voice, turning away from the men to look at you.

His eyes widen sharply, moving slowly from your face down to your chest. They linger there for a moment, blinking owlishly, before he tears them away from you completely, the tips of his ears turning bright red.

“Oh, um. Hello, Miss L/N.” he covers up his stutter with a weak cough, suddenly very interested in the state of his shoes. You make a quick mental note to thank Karina later for convincing you to squeeze yourself into this stupid dress.

“Oh, this is Y/N?” One of the two other men slurs gleefully, a grin stretching across his handsome face. There was a certain hunger in the way he undresses you with his eyes, scanning you head to toe like a predator. You could tell from his flushed pink cheeks that he was very drunk. “I’ve heard all about you! It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.”

Something odd flashes in Professor Park's eyes and he jerks his head to shoot his friend a deathly glare. He was far too tipsy to notice.

“You’ve… heard about me?” you cringe, your heart sinking. Out of whatever Professor Park had to say about you, none of it could be anything good.

“Oh, not much, just that you’re one of the brightest students that he’s ever taught.” The other man cuts in, chuckling. He tips his head back and takes a swig of his beer, flashing you his sharp jawline. “One of his favorites to have in class, he says.”

“Such a smart head on those little shoulders! You should consider taking my econ course next year, it’d be a gift to see your pretty face in my class.” The first man adds, his crooked smirk widening.

“Jake, Jay, please.” Professor Park grits out through gritted teeth, anxiously running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, what did you say, Miss L/N?”

You splutter as your lips refuse to form words. You?! The brightest student he’s ever had?! That was just a complete and utter lie; if it wasn’t for Giselle helping you with an extra credit assignment you had practically begged him on your knees for, you would be failing his class spectacularly. You couldn’t fathom why Professor Park would say something like that to these two men, when nearly every class he was scolding you for being late, distracted, forgetting your deadlines, a combination of all three and more. Not only that, but with what had transpired the other day still fresh and stinging… they had to be saving face or making some kind of sick joke. As you collect your thoughts, you half expect them to start pointing and laughing.

“What are you doing here?” you repeat, peering up at Professor Park's blushing face. He avoids meeting your eyes, just like how he did in class.

“Am I not allowed to enjoy the start of my weekend?” he retorts, fiddling with the pull tab on his beer. “Clearly, you’re doing the same.”

He spits out the words like they left a bad taste in his mouth. It stung like an insult. “I thought you said you were busy.” you assert, biting your lip to keep from scoffing. The liquor giving you a little too much courage; he was still Professor Park, even if now standing in front of you he looked like just any other guy.

“I… was.” He mumbles, “And now I’m not anymore. It’s really not any of your business.”

It takes everything you have to keep from blurting out that your book really wasn’t any of his business either, but you manage to hold your tongue.

“I’m sorry, I just— Sir, I need to talk to you.”

 “There’s nothing to talk about.” He says matter-of-factly. It’s far from what you were expecting him to say.

“What do you mean?” you challenge, your annoyance starting to turn sour. “It’s about the other day.”

Professor Park continues to play dumb, though he keeps throwing sidelong glances to his coworkers. “What about it?”

“I want to apologize.” You bite hard on your lower lip. For doing nothing wrong.

Professor Park's eyes snap up to meet yours, inky dark irises wide in shock. “Y/N—”

“Apologize?” Professor Park's friend— Jake, you think— butts in, raising an eyebrow. “What happened?”

All the color leaves Professor Park's face, even the blush that was slowly trailing from his cheeks down his neck. He awkwardly clears his throat and averts his gaze, putting on a show of cupping his ear and pretending to be confused. “Sorry, I can’t hear you over all of this noise! If you have a question, I’ll be in my office tomorrow afternoon. Go on and have a good night.”

“Wait, Professor—!”

“Have a good night!”

It takes you a long time to find your way back to the bar, drunk, defeated, and stewing in your own thoughts. You’re pleasantly surprised to see that Giselle and Karina have been sat waiting for you all this time, but you don’t have it in you to feel happy or grateful as you plop yourself back onto your empty barstool. Their irritation quickly shifts to confusion and worry, both shooting you odd glances as Karina tentatively hands you another cocktail.

“Are you okay?”

“Did you get lost or something?”

You take a long sip, the disgusting sweetness and the bitter liquor overpowering your senses enough to calm your racing thoughts. “I think I’m going to go and talk to Professor Park tomorrow.” is all you say.

“If you fuck him, please put in a good word for me.” Giselle slurs drunkenly in reply. “I need to pass that fucking class.”

“You’ve been a bad girl, haven’t you, Miss L/N?” Professor Park whispers in your ear, his deep voice dripping with honeyed venom. The fabric of his dress shirt ghosts over your back, his body so close that you can feel the heat radiating off his skin. He has you trapped against his big wooden desk, bent over it obscenely with your ass in the air as you whimper and squirm. Your skirt and panties pool at your ankles, leaving your most intimate areas exposed for him to view. Your leaking pussy quivered from the icy cold air, your hole clenching desperately around nothing and aching to be filled.

“I’m sorry!” You mewl, voice wavering.

“You didn’t answer my question. What are you sorry for?” he presses, so deliciously condescending in the way he feigns ignorance, “Apologize to me properly and tell me what it was that you did.”

“I’ve been bad, sir. I was reading during your lecture, and I’m sorry—”

“Oh, you weren’t just reading.” Professor Park scoffs, straightening himself up and off your back. He rounds the desk to circle you like prey, his slow methodical steps echoing throughout the quiet of his office. They echo in your ears and strike a dizzying mix of fear and anticipation in your heart.

“I-I was reading smut and…” your face burns hotter than the sun, and you close your eyes and take a deep breath to will yourself to have the courage to admit what it was you were caught doing. “…And I was touching myself.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that.” He stops to stand at your side, his mere presence hovering above you enough to make you shudder. “Tell me exactly how you were touching that slutty little pussy.”

His words go straight to your core, making you squeeze your thighs together in need. Just a little friction was all you needed, and the edge of his desk granted a great opportunity… but as much as you wanted to, you couldn’t let yourself give in to desperation and grind yourself against Professor Park's desk like a dog in heat. He would notice immediately, and it would only worsen your punishment.

“I was… I was rubbing my clit through my panties.” you admit ashamedly, “Grinding against my fingers. I was going to put one inside but you… you stopped me.”

“I could see your hand up your skirt all the way from the back of the class.” Professor Park spits, his carefully controlled demeanor cracking and his wild, untamed anger boiling to the surface. “It’s like you’re trying to get the two of us caught. You’re lucky no one else was looking… or was that what you wanted? Did you want everyone to see what a slut you are?”

“N-no!” you gasp, but the idea gets you even wetter; you wanted nothing more than for everyone to know that he was much more than just your professor, that he was yours and in turn you were his. “I’m a slut j-just for you, no one else!”

“Fuck, that’s right.” he groans lowly, his voice dripping sex. He picks up a long wooden ruler off his desk, right by your head, and points the tip at the nape of your neck. It ran slowly down the curve of your spine, a ghostly barely-there touch that left a trail of fire erupt across your skin. He stops at the plush swell of your ass, gently caressing your flesh with the cold wood. “You’re all mine. My favorite little student. You just need some discipline to put you back in your place, hm? Show me what a good girl you can be and count for me.”

He rears his arm back, poised and ready to strike. You can hear the ruler whooshing through the air, sharp and fast as he swings his arm forwards—

Your eyes snap open with a gasp. Suddenly, you’re back in your bedroom, curled up safe and sound in your bed, groggy and disoriented as you slowly come back down to reality. While you dreamt about Professor Park often, never had one felt this vivid, this real. You can still feel the echoes of his touch, the phantom pain of his ruler against your asscheek haunting you like a ghost. Your panties are soaked through completely, sticky arousal pooling in the fabric and dripping down your thighs, creating a wet spot on your sheets. You toss and turn to try and go back to sleep, but it’s no use; you’re so horny you can’t think straight, can’t ignore the dull throbbing in your core.

As your hand slides under the waistband of your panties, you decide that enough is enough.

You were at your breaking point. Your life had spiraled completely out of control in the span of just two days, all because your stupid puppy-love crush of a professor had to be nosy about your reading material. He just had to find a way to humiliate you even more than he already did, didn’t he? He could’ve just given you your book back and the two of you could have gone on with your lives. He shouldn’t have even taken your book in the first place! You could have continued fantasizing about him from the back of the class, not a worry in the world, instead of losing precious hours of sleep and mentally beating yourself up.

And after your interaction at the bar, you feel even more ridiculous. If Professor Park truly had the intention of telling someone about what he had caught you reading, wouldn’t he have told the other professors that he was with? And lying to them about you being his smartest student…  you couldn’t wrap your head around it.

It was clear that he didn’t want to talk about it. But even if he wants to pretend like none of this ever happened, you just couldn’t.

There was simply no other way for you to get over all of this other than finally confronting him. You needed to make the endless spiral stop, tell him exactly what was on your mind and finally put this to bed. The longer you stew over everything that has transpired, the more your fear and anxiety boils over into anger. This was all Professor Park's fault! You needed to give him a piece of your mind, or you don’t think you’ll ever be able to move on.

Professor Park doesn’t answer until after the fifth knock, his face immediately dropping once he swings open his office door to see you standing there in front of him. His hair is a mess and his clothes are disheveled, his tie half undone and his shirt sleeves rolled up past his elbows. Anxiously he adjusts his glasses, the wide brown eyes behind them looking like a cornered deer’s. “You actually came over to apologize?” He blurts out before you can even open your mouth, genuine surprise taking over his features. “I didn’t think you—"

“Actually, no, I’m not here to apologize!” you declare, the words spilling out before you gave yourself the time to second guess yourself. You had lied awake until the sun came up thinking about what to say, and you weren’t going to let those wasted hours go to waste. “I’m here to tell you, sir, that going through my book was an invasion of my privacy! And that it’s none of your business what I read! I’m an adult, not a child, and I can do whatever I damn well please!”

Professor Park blinks owlishly, staring at you in stunned silence for so long that your newfound confidence falters and you begin to shuffle nervously.

“Oh. Um… alright.” He finally says.

“Alright?!” you echo incredulously, your irritation coming back in full swing. “You’ve been avoiding me for days and all you have to say for yourself is alright?!”

Professor Park's eyes flicker around anxiously, and it suddenly hits you that you were yelling at him in a public hallway. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“Yes you do!” you shriek. This really wasn’t how you were planning on any of this going, but it was far too late to turn back. You open your mouth to continue your rant, face burning hot with unbridled rage, but Professor Park quickly grabs your wrist and roughly pulls you into his office. The sudden act shocked you into silence, your eyes wide and mouth agape as he drags you all the way back to his desk. 

“Listen.” He growls, his voice octaves deeper than you’ve ever heard it before. “You’re acting way out of line right now. Don’t you dare ever talk to me like that, you understand me? I’m still your professor, even when we’re not in class. You’re to treat me with respect—”

“Then you treat me with respect first!” you retort, though you do manage to calm yourself down enough to lower your voice. “Playing dumb and refusing to talk to me after humiliating me in front of everyone! What was even the point of doing that? Was it just for your own sick pleasure?!”

“Y/N.” Professor Park sighs, the second time you’ve ever heard him call you by your first name— the first was at the club, but you were far too distracted to dwell on it. “I know you have some sort of feelings for me. You’re not very good at hiding it.”

Your entire world comes crashing around you, though you suppose that you shouldn’t be too surprised. You had just let yourself hope beyond reason that he would never pay you any attention.

“What I’m trying to say is… Y/N, you need to stop it. Get rid of the book. I can’t be with you, it’ll never work, okay? I’m your teacher, and ten years your senior. There’s plenty of college boys around campus for you to ogle over instead.”

“You say you can’t but… do you want to?” you ask quietly, barely above a whisper.

Professor Park doesn’t meet your eyes. “I could get in a lot of trouble, Y/N. You could too.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” You challenge, a hopeful spark igniting in your chest. He didn’t say no… and you may be looking too into things, or just clinging onto hope, but that was more than enough proof to you that your professor was hiding some feelings of his own.

“We can’t do this.” He mumbles, his voice growing wilder, more defiant.

“Sure we can! I’m an adult, you’re an adult… did I scare you away with my book or something? Look, it’s okay if it wasn’t up your alley. There’s nothing wrong with being vanilla, Professor. You don’t have to, like, spank me or anything—”

“But I do!” he interjects suddenly, his head shooting up to look at you with wild eyes. His entire face was bright crimson red.

“You… wait, what?” you must have misheard him. That was the only explanation, surely; There was no way he actually—

“I can’t stop thinking about it! I thought there was no way you’d be into anything like that, that I needed to stop thinking about you and move on like a professional, but then you go and pull this, and now I can’t go a single second without thinking about putting you over my knee! It’s driving me insane! I can’t even look at you!” 

“Professor—”

“Sunghoon. God, just call me Sunghoon. I can’t handle you calling me that right now.”

You open and close your mouth a couple of times, surely looking like a fish out of water— This was the absolute last thing you expected to come out of your professor’s— Sunghoon's—mouth. Your eyes bulge out of your head, your face burns hotter than the sun… your pussy clenches pathetically. It felt like you were in a dream, almost, which might have been why you suddenly felt so brazen— if you wanted him, and he wanted you, who were you to deny him?

“Then do it.” you say, voice barely above a whisper. He looks just as shocked at your proclamation as you were. “If you want to do it that bad, do it.”

He moves in a flash, giving you no time to prepare— within seconds has you thrown over his lap on his office swivel chair, your hair hanging in your face as you blink wildly at the floor. Sunghoon brushes one of his big hands against you skirt-clad ass, barely a brush of his fingers, but you still gasp all the same.

“Do you really want this?” He breathes, voice low, his breathing hard—the outline of his cock presses hard against your stomach through his slacks, making it considerably hard to focus on the words that came out of his mouth.

It takes you a moment, but you manage to choke out a whiny “Yes, sir, please.”

Sunghoon stutters out an uneven breath, his fingers inching down to the hem of your skirt, teasing the tops of your thighs for just a moment before pulling the fabric up to expose your ass, a noticeable wet spot present on your panties.

“So pretty…” He coos. You can feel his cock twitch against your stomach, those long knobby fingers trailing along the edge of your lacy thong. “Is it okay if I take your panties off, bunny?”

You whimper and nod your head— Sunghoon lands a gentle love-tap to the junction of your thighs with an airy chuckle. “Use your words like a good girl.”

This couldn’t be happening. You had to be dreaming, or hallucinating, or something, anything except truly living through this fantasy come to life— Boring, bland Professor Park, the biggest prude you thought you knew, was just way too good at this, at making your legs shake and your pussy throb all the while barely touching you. In just an afternoon your reality had shifted from thinking that he had to be the world’s biggest loser virgin to thinking that he was even sexier than the professor in your book.

You weren’t sure how to feel about it, but your cunt did. 

You must have stayed silent for too long, because without much warning Sunghoon lands a much harsher spank to the top of your asscheek. “Bad girl!” he admonishes, and you can hear the teasing, rotten grin in his voice “C’mon baby, use your big girl words. Tell me how much you want it.” His hot breath fans over your ear— you couldn’t hold in your moan even if you tried, the broken whine sounding weak and pathetic even to your own ears. 

“P-Please, sir… please take my panties off. Please spank me.” you whimper, your face beet red and your pussy drooling— his deft fingers stroke slowly up and down your folds, feeling the wetness seep through the cotton fabric of your panties. You bite your lip to keep from screaming.

“That’s my good girl.” You could hear your panties rip as he tears them off of you in one solid motion, the biting cold air meeting your hot soaking cunt and making both you and Sunghoon hiss. He admires the slick leaking down your thighs for a brief silent moment, deep breathy voice cooing at the way you arch into him and his touch, before he straightens back up and lands a stinging, eye watering spank deliciously close to your core. You yelp at the sting.

“That’s for being a fucking tease,” he states, soothing your reddening flesh with a soft caress of his palm. “Being so fucking sexy all the time and driving me crazy because I thought I could never have you.”

You hadn’t realized that this was confessional. Shooting him an evil smile over your shoulder, you giggle, “You could’ve just asked.”

Another spank, this time with even more force. Your hips buck with a shrill cry spilling from your open, panting mouth, your eyes watering— you had no idea Professor Park was this strong. He refuses to give you any time to prepare, never warning you when the next hit to your ass will come. “I didn’t say you could talk back to me.” He growls.

You’re on the verge of tears from the red-hot stinging in your ass, but you still giggle at his words. “You’re kinky.”

He just rolls his eyes, spanking you again, albeit a little softer. “And this one’s for being a brat. How about you start counting for me, little girl? That’s one.”

“One?! You’ve hit me four times!” Maybe you were pushing it too far, but it just came naturally to you to fight back, make him work for your submission and obedience. You relished pushing him as far as he would go; you relished losing.

Sunghoon grabs a handful of your hair and yanks hard, making you gasp loudly and your empty pussy flutter. Leaning down close to your ear, he lets out a warning growl; “I said fucking count.”

You don’t think you’ve ever been this wet in your life. Torn between bucking your hips into Professor Park's bulge and pushing back into the touch of his hand, you give a quiet, watery whimper of “One…”

The hand holding your hair lets go, your head falling limply over his knee. “That’s my girl.” He coos lowly, stroking your head.

It distracts you enough that the next harsh slap to your ass feels even more intense than any of the others before it. “T-two…”

“That’s for being so fucking disrespectful. And in front of my colleagues too, no less. It’s like you were asking for me to ruin you.” he tsks. “You need to learn to watch your mouth.”

The urge to say something smart tugs at you again, even if just to prove his point, but another spank rains down on your sore, bruising asscheeks before you can seize the opportunity.

“T-three!”

“And that’s… that’s for pushing me to put you over my lap in the first place. You couldn’t just leave it alone, could you? And now look at you, making me risk my job to teach you a lesson.” Sunghoon's voice wavers, filling with an emotion you couldn’t quite place— it was extremely difficult to focus on his words when his fingers began to trail down the curve of your ass to your sticky, quivering folds, rubbings the tip of his thumb right over your clothed core. You moan unabashedly, shifting your hips and opening your legs to give him better access to what was peeking out between your thighs.

The fifth spank never comes. He tugs your panties to the side and pushes two long, thick fingers between your folds, stuttering out a low moan like he was the one being touched. He starts a rough, dizzying pace almost immediately, his fingertips searching for that spongy spot inside of you. You grind your hips back against Sunghoon's fingers, a drooling mess against his slacks.

“Pr-Professor…” you whine high in your throat — you want more, want him to speed up, slow down… his touches were driving you wild. You hadn’t been touched like this ever before.

“I told you not to call me that.” He hisses, curling his fingers against your sweet spot and making you keen. “Please, call me by my name.”

“Sunghoon!” you cry out, writhing against him. You felt a passion rising within you like the hottest fire, clouding your brain. You couldn’t think of anything except of the pleasure that he gave you, couldn’t utter out anything other than his name.

“Such a slut, falling apart just on my fingers…” he chucks huskily, enamored with the filthy wet sounds your cunt made and how they echoed through the quiet office. “I’ve thought about doing this for forever, God… you’re just as beautiful as I thought you’d be.”

His thumb, wet from your arousal, comes down to rub tight, delicious circles against your sensitive, engorged clit, your strangled wail no doubt loud enough to be heard from the hallway. The building ecstasy distracts you enough for him to push in a third finger into your tight hole. The stretch burns but you love it, your hips kicking and moans growing louder and louder as he effortlessly takes you apart. 

“...Too much…!” you manage to choke out, digging your teeth into the fabric of Sunghoon's slacks to keep yourself from screaming out in bliss. You felt full to the brim, pushed closer and closer to the edge with every rough flick of your clit and thrust of his perfect talented fingers. He teases a fourth finger around your leaking, stretched out rim, the threat of it alone enough to make your eyes roll back in your head.

“Oh baby, if this is too much there’s no way you’ll be able to take my cock…” 

The tears that had been brimming in your eyes start to stream freely down your burning cheeks, choked hiccups and sobs wracking your body, but it was the most pleasurable agony you had ever been in. Your hips move with a mind of their own, bucking against Sunghoon's cock, thick and hard as a rock, only seeming to grow bigger and bigger every time you rub against it. You relish the sharp intakes of breath he takes every time you move against him. He was starting to fall apart too, you could tell, his voice sounding a lot less dominating and a lot more whiny and pathetic with each roll of his hips up into your tummy.

“I’m gonna… gonna make you cum on my fingers,” he whines low in his throat, his hand completely soaked in your arousal up to the wrist. “You gonna make a mess for me?”

His fingers dig impossibly and wonderfully hard into your sweet spot, that white-hot band of desire in your stomach winding tighter and tighter with each perfectly aimed thrust. You wail and sob, your hand reaching back to grab a tight fistful of his shirt sleeve. “I-I-m— ‘m gonna cum!”

Sunghoon's other hand, the one that had been stroking your hair, then comfortingly up and down your back, rises up to smack your ass, the sudden burst of stinging pain making you scream, and for real this time.

 “You gotta ask first, bad girl! Gotta ask for permission b-before you cum…” His voice starts to break, his hips stuttering helplessly— the feeling of his big fat cock grinding hard against you only added to the fire in your belly. 

“Can I cum? Please, sir, can I cum? I’ll be a good girl, I promise, just let me cum!” you had no control over your mouth, hardly any conscious at all— all you could focus on was the tightening in your belly, the way Sunghoon's fingers thrusted in and out of your pussy so good… you were his brainless whore, fucked dumb on his fingers. 

“Shit, go on honey, my good girl… cum all over me, make a mess!” with his permission you let yourself topple over the edge, moaning and whimpering like a whore as you soak your thighs, his hand, his shirt and slacks with your juices. You lay across his lap twitching for quite some time afterwards, your chest heaving like you had just run a marathon… you’d never come before like that in your life, not as hard or for as long. Sunghoon was with you the whole way as you come down from your high, sweet as can be as he coos praises into your hair and pats your back, kissing your head when you raised it to look over your shoulder at him.

Slowly, you realize that you no longer feel his bulge poking at your belly. You release your iron grip on his shirt to slide your hand down his chest and abdomen, all the way down to gently cup his very wet crotch. “Sir…?”

“F-fuck... sorry, baby… couldn’t help it…” he turns his head away from you to hide his glowing red face, but you can see how his blush spreads down his neck and up to the tips of his ears.

“Did you just… cum?” you ask in awe and disbelief, looking down to see a dark stain spreading across the fabric of his slacks. Sunghoon only mumbles in response, refusing to answer or turn back to look at you, his blush growing an even deeper shade of red. It was all the confirmation you needed.

Professor Park came in his pants like a virgin without you even needing to touch him. Something about that alights a blazing inferno in your core, your senses overtaken with need even though you had just had an orgasm yourself.

“I want to taste it.” You breathe out, your overwhelming desire eclipsing any rational thought and taking control of your words.

“Y-you… what?” his head snaps back to you in surprise, his eyes wide and clouded with lust as they gaze headily into yours.

“Your cum, wanna taste it, want it on my tongue…” you’ve never spoken like this to anyone, your voice not feeling like your own— the words spill out from between your lips mindlessly, desperate for more of his brain numbing pleasure as you rub him through his slacks. His cock twitches underneath your fingertips, beginning to harden again from the ministrations. “Can I please suck you off, sir?”

“Fuck.” Sunghoon moans, rough and deep in his chest, the sound shooting straight to your sensitive pussy. “Yeah you can, naughty girl, come on, get on your knees and suck my cock. Clean up my mess.”

Your entire body feels limp and weak, not wanting to cooperate with you as you slide off of his lap to the floor. It takes great effort to get yourself situated, kneeling on the floor with your unsteady hands grasping at his thick thighs. He widens his legs to give you more room to get comfortable, one of his big hands instinctively coming down to tangle in your hair as your own begin to slide up the insides of his thighs towards his straining belt buckle.

Ever so slowly and meticulously you unbuckle Sunghoon's belt, the jingling of the metal buckle as it’s casted aside like music to your ears. You pull his pants and boxers down together in one rough tug, Sunghoon canting his hips to help you guide them down his thighs. His cock springs free and slaps obscenely against his belly, smearing the light fabric of his dress shirt in his thick, viscous cum. You can’t help but stop and stare, enamored by the sheer size of it— nearly as thick as a can and twice the length of one, throbbing veins making your mouth water. Cum still leaks from his angry red tip, fat and bulbous, the entirety of his length wet and shiny down to his heavy, twitching balls and neatly trimmed pubes.

You kiss the tip with a delighted grin, the contact barely-there but enough to make him throw his head back and whimper in delight. Your tongue peeks out from between your lips to slide across his slit, earning a high-pitched needy hiss from the man above you, his long fingers tightening their grip on your hair as you lick down his dripping shaft. His thick, salty cum tastes like ambrosia on your tongue, the delicious bitterness quickly getting you drunk. You can’t stop until you lick him completely clean, and even then it’s impossible for you to pull away, the feeling of his weeping cockhead heavy on your tongue far too addicting. Greedily you suck him into your mouth, relishing in the way his girth stretches your lips before swallowing him deeper and deeper until his tip knocks against the back of your throat. You can hardly fit your hands around him, let alone your mouth, fisting what couldn’t fit down your throat as you start bobbing your head. More broken tears collect on your lashes and drip down your wet cheeks, looking utterly ruined and wanton as you gaze up from between Sunghoon's legs into his hazy, unfocused eyes.

The eye contact is too much for him— his eyes roll back in his head with a whimper and his cock twitches violently inside of your mouth, the grip he has on your hair shifting from guiding your head along his shaft to tugging you off him with a sudden and disorienting strength. He pulls you off him with a wet pop, a foamy string of saliva connecting from his shiny cockhead to your needy whimpering lips.

“I’m gonna cum again if you don’t stop,” he pants, gasping for breath, “I gotta fuck that pussy first, little girl, please. Need to feel that tight cunt squeezing around me.”

“D’you wanna cum inside?” you goad, a lustful, mischievous grin overtaking your features, “Don’t worry, Hoonie, I’m on the pill. You can fill me up if you want to.”

Your words make him visibly shake, the nickname making him whimper, what was left of his flimsy resolve crumbling right before your eyes, leaving nothing but primal hunger. “Get on the fucking desk.”

You obey immediately, hardly able to contain your excitement as you stumble to your feet and bend over Sunghoon's big oak desk, wiggling your ass in the air invitingly. Your skirt and panties were still pulled up and pushed aside, exposing your dripping puffy hole for his eyes to feast upon.

“So pretty…” he croons behind you, his hands caressing your hips and waist. They smooth over the exposed globes of your ass, his fingers fiddling with the gusset of your drenched panties. Sheer pink lace that compliments your flushed skin, looks so delectable running through his fingers as he grabs your asscheeks and spreads them wide. “You look so cute in pink.”

he hisses in appreciation at the sight of your dripping hole quivering, sliding a finger down between your pussy lips to circle at your engorged clit. “Holy fuck, you’re so wet,” he groans, accentuating his claim with a flick of his hand— your pussy squelches obscenely, the lewd, pornographic sound making your cheeks flush. “I can’t take it anymore, I have to be inside of you— you can take it, right bunny?”

“Please!” you beg, hardly able to string together a sentence, “Please, sir, put it in, I need it so bad, need your cock—”

You’re interrupted by the feeling of his cockhead slapping against your entrance, Sunghoon running the leaky tip up and down your slit a few times just to hear your little whimper before burying himself inside to the hilt in one smooth thrust. He rams into you with a force that knocks the air out of your lungs, his long fat shaft stretching out your hole much more than you could have ever been prepared for. The burn is indescribable, overwhelming every single one of your senses in the best way, your tight gummy walls gripping his cock like a vice as the both of you struggle to adjust.

He's so deep inside of you it feels as if he’s poked through your cervix and into your womb, his big fat mushroom head snug right beneath your belly button. You’re so deliciously full that it makes your head spin, already fucked completely brainless before he had even begun to properly move.

“Does it hurt?” he asks you softly, so gentle compared to how he carved out your insides. In any other circumstance you would find it sweet that he was this concerned, but you were certain that if he didn’t start moving inside of you right then and there, you were going to die.

“More.” you croak back in response. “Give it to me.”

With a winded groan, he relents. He pulls his cock out until just the head was inside of you, giving you not a single moment to prepare before slamming back in with a force that knocks you further up on the desk. The hardwood against your cheek does nothing to muffle your loud, unabashed shriek, so he improvises by shoving two of his thick fingers past your open lips, the musky tang of your own juices filling your mouth when you suck hungrily at the digits. He set up a punishing rhythm within seconds, his hips clapping loudly and wetly against your ass while he muffles your whines and wails. His heavy balls smack against your oversensitive clit with every rough thrust, sending shockwave after shockwave of pleasure straight to your core. The desk cuts into the skin of your hips painfully, but if anything, it only adds to the burning sweetness building steadily in the pit of your belly.

“F-fuck, I’m close already!” Sunghoon puffs against the shell of your ear, pressing himself up against your back— you’re suddenly thrown back into your dream from the night before, the way the sensations were eerily similar yet nowhere near as good as the real thing. “Gonna cum inside you, is that okay? Wanna see how pretty your pussy looks dripping my cum.”

You can only drool in response, your thoughts fragmented and scattered, babbling desperate nonsense and rolling your hips back to meet his thrusts with a dizzying force. Your body vibrates with liquid fire, heating your puffy cunt and quivering thighs— faster than ever before were you hurtling towards your climax, that familiar tightening in your core growing harder and harder to bear. You wanted nothing more than to yield to the tide, let it overtake you completely, and in turn pull Sunghoon down with you.

Your professor was going to cum inside of you. The fantasies that had haunted you for months truly became a tangible reality. What did you do to make you so lucky?

“This slutty pussy’s sucking me in so fucking tight,” he groans, his thrusts growing sloppier, “Tell me you want my cum, baby, come on. Who’s cum do you want inside of you? Tell me and I’ll give it to you!”

“Yours!” you shriek with the last remaining bits of your energy, your words nearly incomprehensible to how you sniffled and sobbed around Sunghoon's fingers. “Want your cum— my professor’s cum inside of me!”

You took a gamble, but it was just what he wanted to hear. With one last aggressive thrust, he bottoms out inside of your pulsating cunt, his bulbous cockhead kissing your battered cervix as he cums with a broken cry. The sensation of his sticky, hot seed splashing against your insides is just what you need to tip over the edge yourself, your walls clamping down on him and milking him for all he’s worth as you ride out your own climax with long, surrendering moans. He hisses from the overstimulation, but he makes no movements to pull out, letting himself soften inside of you as you both struggle to catch your breaths. Thick viscous globs of your mixed cum leak out from where you’re connected, dripping down your thighs and Sunghoon's balls to collect in a puddle on the floor.

You gaze over your shoulder to watch as he slowly and carefully pulls out, a creamy, foamy white ring formed around the base of his cock. His glasses were fogged up from his heavy breathing, his hair and clothes even more a mess than it was when he had first opened the door, his pink face so irritatingly kissable when he shoots you a nervous smile.

You cant help but giggle at him.

“You’re not going to… tell anyone about this, are you?” he asks you anxiously, opening one of the desk’s drawers to retrieve a packet of tissues.

“As long as you explain to me why you told those other professors that I was your best student.” You reply smartly, your grin widening when he scowls.

“It was the only way I could think of how to explain why I talk about you so much.” He admits, a little shy, wiping down the mess between your thighs with a fistful of cheap, scratchy tissues. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d rather if we continued that charade so it doesn’t look suspicious when I ask you to come to my office every once in a while.”

“Will you give me that TA position then?”

“You technically don’t qualify,” He laughs, “but I thought that was a given.”

“You won’t regret bending the rules a little, I promise.” You tell him with a wink and a smile. The love-stricken grin he shoots back at you in return makes your heart soar.

“I know I won’t.”

[artist-issues]

Thank you for asking me. This is going to be a lot. But I’d like you to direct anyone who ever tells you that The Little Mermaid is a queer fairy tale to this post, please.

First off, I’m going to say: it doesn’t really matter what you think the author or creators of the story wanted to say. What matters is what their story actually said. That means you have to have “in-text” support for whatever you think the story is about. The only reason to take the author’s “intended meaning” into consideration is the very-fine-line of “the word or element that the author used during their own time period may have changed during my time period. So to find out what they said, I have to translate.” It’s like media-literacy-semantic-range.

Once you figure out what the story said, you can decide if what was said lined up with reality or not.

Now.

You Can Argue Either Interpretation

Can you come up with in-text support for the idea that The Little Mermaid is about transgenderism, LGBTQ+ celebration, etc.?

Yes. You can. Because she changes her tail for legs, wants to be part of something she’s not, feels out of place in her own world, etc.

But. You can also find in-text arguments for the Christian (inherently anti-LGBTQ+-affirming) worldview in The Little Mermaid.

So then the question becomes: which one is the “correct” interpretation? They can’t both be correct, because they’re opposites.

This is a hard question to answer, but I think it becomes easier when you accept what’s true.

What’s true is, God created human beings to love Him and be loved by Him. They rejected that and fell out of the world they were intended for. Now they’re forever longing to love and be loved, to be back in that world of love, but they look for it in all the wrong ways.

Guess what? That reality-based longing unfortunately has a lot of parallels with the twisted-lie-version of longing that comes with identifying as LGBTQ+.

That’s kind of how Satan works. He perverts anything that might lead to truth.

So, the longing would be, “I don’t feel at home in this body; I feel like I’m meant for something else.” The true Christian answer would be: “That’s because you’re Fallen, and you need to be Reborn. Give up your Self for Love and with Love, your True Self will be given to you.” But the LGBTQ+-perversion answer would be: “That’s because you’re born in the wrong body/cultural norm, so everything outside should align with what you feel inside. Everything around you should give itself up to what you decide is your True Self.”

See how close, but not quite, they sound? They’re actually total opposites. One is about Self-Sacrifice, and submission to Love as something higher and better than what’s inside you. The other is all about making everything outside of you sacrifice to your Self. One’s self-focused, the other is self-sacrificing. But they can look very similar, because they stem from the same “something is out-of-place with me” longing. That longing only has one true answer, though.

Truth is, Disney’s The Little Mermaid was made by a large group of storytellers. Not just Howard Ashman (who did not write it.) Some of them were Christians. (Mark Henn, Glen Keane, and Jodi Benson, to name the few who made up Ariel as a character.) Some of them were decidedly not. (Howard Ashman, for one, who was an influential songwriter, not the writer. But the majority did not claim faith in Christ.)

So. In the storyteller, there are two competing answers to the Longing question that the premise of The Little Mermaid contains. A majority come from a worldview of Self-Focus. But a few come from a worldview of Self-Sacrifice. And in Hans Christian Andersen, who did feel homosexual longing as part of the Fallen Man Longing, and who also claimed Christ, the same two competing answers would’ve been duking it out. Is the Longing satisfied by Self-Focus? Or is it satisfied by Self-Sacrifice?

That’s the question.

Now let’s talk about which one the story (stories) actually support.

1. In Hans Christian Andersen’s “The Little Mermaid:”

Just going to try and do this one quickly.

The LM character longs for love, but that love is not forbidden by society or any religious allegory. It’s just assumed to be impossible, because the humans can’t love a species with tails. If this were an LGBTQ+ allegory, the human would love the tail-bearing mermaid back, and the mermaid would love him, but they’d each suppress that love because of what their societies tell them. Or, the mermaid would love the human, but his societally-normative predisposition against tails would be his direct reason for not loving her.

The prince does not love the LM back. It’s not because she’s a mermaid (which would be the allegory for the LGBTQ+ traits.) In fact, all the qualities she retains from being a mermaid (her grace, her blue-which-represents-the-sea eyes) are what he does like the most about her, and everyone in his society likes the most about her. (Which, in the LGBTQ+ allegory, they should despise.) He actually never finds out she even is a mermaid, and only fails to love her because she is incomplete. (In the LGBTQ+ allegory, it would make sense for him to fail to love her because of her mermaid traits, or love her but suppress that love. He does neither.)

The LM’s motives are not driven by a desire to be with the Prince, alone. Ever. (Romantic love and a desire to be romantically loved is definitely a motivation; it is never the only one, and it is not the chief one. This statement is supported by the fact that it is not gratification of a desire for romantic love which the heroine receives in the end.) Therefore, every sacrifice she makes is not made on the altar of Romantic Love or Personally-Chosen-Identity Fulfillment. (Which is what an LGBTQ+ allegory would lend itself to.) Instead, every sacrifice she makes is made on the altar of Self-Sacrifical Love (not necessarily romantic or requited) and more importantly, on the altar of Eternal Life. Let’s look at how in the below bulletpoints:

The LM always exhibits a desire to be a part of a world specifically above her own. So her Self, what she feels inside, her own experiences and inner world, are not her standard of beauty or truth. (They are for the LGBTQ+-affirming character.) She doesn’t sacrifice to them. Here’s how: a) The other sisters’ gardens are in the shapes of sea-life, parts of their own world, but hers, even before meeting the Prince, is in the shape of the Sun and around a statue of a human: a world outside and above her Self. b) she’s constantly thinking about and obsessing over it long after her sisters have seen it and stopped thinking about a world outside and above their Self. (She’s also specifically characterized as constantly reaching above.) c) She sacrifices for someone outside her Self when, specifically in spite of the fact that doing so could get her “smashed” by the shipwreck, she saves the Prince with no thought of preserving her Self. d) She specifically says that what she wants is to have a human soul and go above the stars like humans do, which is Eternal Life, (Christian) and from then on her motivation is never mentioned without that. e) She sacrifices her voice, her tail, and her comfort and feeling-good for the sake of Eternal Life and the Prince. f) She could attempt to do something to stop the wedding or vent her despair, but she won’t even fail to celebrate at the Prince’s wedding and her own impending death, completely regardless of Self. g) She is offered the ability to save her Self and avenge her Self on the Prince who owes his life to her, but instead she willingly throws her Self away and thereby gains what she’s been actually wanting: Eternal Life. h) She is transformed from a creature who’s life is spent obsessing over their one inherent natural realm to a creature who’s glorification is in sacrificing the Self for others.

The LM is not the only character who self-sacrifices and is rewarded for it, rather than a focus on her own Self (feelings.) Her sisters sacrifice their beautiful hair for a chance at saving her. The Prince’s first love, a girl from a monastery, sacrifices what could be a life as a Princess by remaining committed to the church. Speaking of commitment to the church, the Prince’s eventual Wife is preferred by the Prince because she completed being trained and raised in “truth and purity” in the Church. The children alluded to by the Daughters of the Air in the conclusion are able to determine the Daughters of the Air’s fate by whether or not they act “good” (obeying rules and delighting parents, which is Self-Sacrificial) or “naughty” (pleasing the Self alone.)

In conclusion: The Little Mermaid by Hans Christian Andersen answers the Longing Question with Self-Sacrifice. It is not about homosexuality or repressed sexual desire or longing to be accepted into society. It is about a longing for Eternal Life, and the Self-Sacrifice and rejection of Self it takes to get there. Never is the LM character given what she wants by asking everything around her to conform to her own perceived Identity, which is what an LGBTQ+ allegory would do.

Now for the big one.

2. In Disney’s “The Little Mermaid”

Ariel’s longing mirrors the longing of the original Little Mermaid in that she’s always reaching up-and-out for a world Above and Outside of her Self. Glen Keane, lead animator and character designer for Ariel, is a Christian and specifically likened her reaching for the sun to his experience, before converting to Christianity, “longing to be part of a world of light and love that I couldn’t reach on my own.”

Ariel gives up her legs and life with her family the wrong way. She thinks they will never understand her after her dad blows up her collection, so as a “last resort,” she’s taking matters into her own hands. If the world she’s in won’t conform to her idea of her Self, she’ll re-shape her body and circumstances to match that idea of Self. But that’s portrayed as the wrong way to do it. The right way is only achieved when she realizes that her Father the King does understand her and will give her her True Self—after the gauntlet of “giving your Self Up” and “Sacrificial Love” have been passed through.

Ariel’s way of trying to conform her circumstances and body to what her Self wants winds up nearly getting her killed, fairly, in a deal she made with what amounts to the Devil. But she’s saved from that by the Self-Sacrifice of her Father the King. Who literally writes his name in place of hers and takes her punishment for trying to make everything conform to her Self. Like Christ on the Cross.

Eric throws himself into danger repeatedly to save Ariel. Self-Sacrifice. And it is that Self-Sacrificial love that finally convinces Triton that what they have is real love, not a teenage delusion or obsession. And that’s what gives Ariel her legs the right way.

Ariel doesn’t want to be with Eric only because she’s attracted to him, or because he’s human (which is the “forbidden” and therefore LGBTQ+-allegory-aspect of his character.) She wants to be with him because he’s a dreamer like her. They parallel her introduction, looking out over the mast of a shipwreck at a ship, to his introduction, looking out over a ship’s edge at the ocean. They specifically have her berated by a father-figure for her dreams, which ends in tears and feeling misunderstood—and then specifically show her listening as he’s berated by a father figure (Grimsby) for his dreams, but instead of ending in tears he sticks to his dreams. Then it pans to show Ariel’s adoring face while she’s listening. She relates to him. She wants to be with him, not purely as an allegory for wanting something which is forbidden by society, but as an allegory for a love that understands and has something to gift to the other person. It is not Self-Satisfying or Self-Focused.

More to that point—Eric is looked on as a forbidden love because Triton thinks humans are barbarians. What are barbarians? They’re inherently selfish. They brutalize whatever they come into contact with for the pleasure of it. It’s not until he learns that Eric is Self-Sacrificing that he believes humans can love and be worth Ariel’s love. Eric is a forbidden love because he’s thought of as Obsessed with Self, and he’s accepted because he’s actually Self-Sacrificial. He is not Forbidden by society because of norms or religious policy or a culture-based loathing of the supposed True Nature, which would be the LGBTQ+-affirming idea of it.

All of this is combined to answer the Longing Question with Self-Sacrifice, not the pursuit of the Self.

The LGBTQ+, and especially transgender, worldview all demand that everything about reality bend itself to their idea of Self, which is inherently selfish. Selfishness has its opposite in self-sacrifice.

Therefore, it doesn’t matter if Howard Ashman was writing the songs. It doesn’t matter if Hans Christian Andersen experienced or even indulged in homosexual attraction. It doesn’t even matter that Ariel and the LM character experience longing and a feeling of being out-of-place. What matters is what the story answers that longing with. What matters is what it says.

It’s easy to get it twisted because in the Christian worldview and in the LGBTQ+-affirming worldview, there are elements of:

Feel out-of-place and long for satisfaction

Give up something about your “self” to become your “true self.”

Be transformed.

It’s just that in the Christian worldview, and in the Christian answer, the answer is not in your “self.” It’s in the God who designed you and loves you, and only because of Him, taking the punishment for selfishness in your place, and giving you the ability to abandon your old Self, that you can be transformed.

And in-text, the Christian worldview, the Christian answer, won out.

Those are my thoughts, thanks for asking, @scribblermerlin.

“Ariel sold her voice for legs just because of a guy“

Meanwhile Ariel with legs;

Ariel already loved the human world long before meeting Eric (you don’t get a collection like hers overnight) and when she finally got a chance to explore it, she took it.

Ursula made it more about Eric than Ariel ever did.

[pluckyredhead]

Do you think Dick has a favourite brother?

I LOVE THIS QUESTION. I'M GOING TO ANSWER IT AT UNNECESSARY LENGTH.

But for the tl;dr crowd: yes, 1000000%. It's Damian. Dick would not admit this under pain of death, even to himself, but it's Damian.

THE LONG VERSION:

So Dick and Jason are not close and never have been. I always sort of blink in bewilderment when people say they are, or were when Jason was Robin, because they are demonstrably not, and that's what's interesting and tragic about them.

The fact of the matter is that Dick simply wasn't around very much when Jason was Robin. The Doyleist reason for this is that he wasn't really being treated like a Bat character: he was a Titans character, appearing in Titans books, with only the occasional cameo in Batbooks. He and Jason get along very well in Jason's first origin story (when Jason was a circus acrobat and his parents were eaten by crocodiles); in fact, Dick tells Bruce he wants to adopt Jason and Bruce is like "Not if I adopt him first!" But after that, Dick simply...wasn't there very often.

If you need a Watsonian reason for this, it's pretty easy to extrapolate one. Dick and Bruce were not getting along well during this period, so of course Dick would avoid Bruce and Gotham. And yeah, I think it's fair to assume Dick felt some kind of complicated feelings about Bruce having a new Robin, especially post-Crisis when Bruce made Jason Robin without Dick having any say or even a warning that it was going to happen. I tend to headcanon that he resented Jason a little, but was mature enough to know that it wasn't actually Jason's fault, and partially decided to stay away so that he didn't take that out on Jason. But Jason, a smart and sensitive kid, interpreted this as Dick avoiding him because he didn't like him.

And then Jason died.

Dick took that hard, and I think it was less "my brother who I had a close relationship with died" and more "this child followed in my footsteps and it killed him and I wasn't even there for him when I had the chance." To me, that absolutely forms the subtext of the relationship he develops with Tim.

Not at the start. At the start, once "A Lonely Place of Dying" is over, he's as checked out with Tim as he was with Jason. The Doyleist reason is the same - Dick literally just wasn't supposed to be in Batbooks too much - but the way it plays out is sometimes really funny in an awful way. Like in and just after Knightfall, when Bruce gets his back broken by Bane and is like "I've known Jean-Paul Valley for two weeks and he barely has any training, most of it done by my extremely new 13-year-old Robin...I think I'll make him Batman." And then Tim's dad and Tim's dad's doctor, Shondra Kinsolving, get kidnapped, and since Bruce has been aggressively romantically pursuing Shondra to the point of it being uncomfortable and inappropriate, he's like "Okay going to rescue Shondra! I mean, your dad! I'm taking Alfred with me! Tim, you're in charge of Gotham and Jean-Paul byeeeeee!" And then JPV immediately gets unhinged and violent and tries to kill Tim and Tim keeps calling Alfred like "Um can you please come back and help" and Alfred's like "No" and Tim's like "Okay well did you at least rescue my dad?" and Alfred's like "Also no." Anyway Dick finally comes to Gotham and Tim is like "THANK GOD, HELP, BRUCE MADE AZRAEL BATMAN AND HE'S TRYING TO KILL EVERYONE, I NEED AN ADULT" and Dick is like "He made someone who isn't me Batman??? 😡😡😡" and then just...fucks off back to New York and leaves Tim to deal with it. Very out of character, VERY funny.

BUT ANYWAY. Then we get to around 1996 and 1. Dick is no longer on the Titans which has a whole new lineup and 2. there's an editorial shift emphasizing the Batfamily. This is where the line really expands: Robin (started in 1993, but still pretty new), Nightwing, Birds of Prey, Azrael, eventually Gotham Knights in 1999 and Batgirl in 2000. Dick moves to Bludhaven and spends way more time in Gotham.

This is when Dick looks at Tim, says "Is anyone gonna big brother that?" and doesn't wait for an answer. All of a sudden he's behaving in a way that suddenly feels in character for him (although the idea of Dick as a big brother/mentor...really wasn't a thing for him prior to this era, so it's more of a new development that feels correct in retrospect). He's training Tim, he's giving him advice, he's teasing him about girls, he's coming up with inside jokes, he's giving him noogies. It's like he watched a bunch of 80s sitcoms to learn how to be a big brother and applied his research accordingly.

And Tim? Tim absolutely blossoms under the attention. Tim, who has been adultified by every other adult in his life since he was, like, eight, is getting treated like a kid. Tim, whose parents are never around, and don't pay attention when they are around, has an adult he looks up to who wants to spend time with him, for fun. Tim, who has hero worshipped Dick Grayson since he was...well, according to the math, he was one (1) year old so let's ignore the math, but he was small, is now basking in the full force of Dick Grayson's off-the-charts charisma. This is the best thing that has ever happened to Tim. This is the dream.

I want to be clear here: I think Dick's extreme reversal here is a delayed reaction to Jason's death, but I don't want to imply that he doesn't care about Tim as an individual. He loves Tim as much as Tim loves him. Tim's good opinion is incredibly important to him. This relationship goes both ways.

Annnnd then both of their lives fall apart extremely rapidly, and Damian shows up, and Bruce dies. And Dick tries to get out of it, but ultimately it ends how it has to: with him accepting the mantle of Batman, and responsibility for Damian.

The relationship Dick has with Damian is nothing like the relationship Dick has with Tim. Tim is his little bro. Damian is his baby. He's fourteen years older than Damian and as much of a parent figure as a sibling figure. And Damian is difficult and exhausting but Dick slowly, slowly coaxes a degree of trust and affection out of him that even Bruce will never achieve. And he can only do that by making Damian Robin, which means Tim has to stop being Robin.

This is where Dick and Tim fall apart, because what they need in this very vulnerable moment is so diametrically opposed, and neither of them are wrong. To Dick, asking Tim to step down - or up, from Dick's perspective - from being Robin is a compliment. Dick fought to free himself from Bruce, to become his own man with his own name, and so asking Tim to do the same thing is a show of faith in Tim, in his skills and experience.

Whereas Tim's hero-worship has always been for Robin, not Batman, and every glimpse he has had of a future beyond Robin has always been a dystopia. But more importantly, Tim has just lost his father, his stepmother, his mentor, his girlfriend, and his two best friends. He desperately needs to be able to lean on Dick, the grown-up he admires the most, and instead, Dick is kicking him out of the nest.

In other words: Dick is saying, with all the love and trust in his heart, "I need you to help me by being a fellow adult." And Tim is saying, with all the love and trust in his heart, "But I need you to be my adult." And they both get a no.

This is water under the bridge now, and they've healed even though they've never really talked it through because Bats don't do that (although what I wouldn't give for a Nightwing/Red Robin miniseries where they do everything but talk about it). But I do think Tim looks at the closeness and affection between Dick and Damian and feels some kind of way about it to this day, because it's so clear to everyone that Damian is Dick's favorite...but Tim remembers when he was Dick's favorite. And what Tim doesn't see is that Dick values him as a genuine partner in a way he will never quite achieve with Damian, because to him, Damian will always be his baby, even more so than he is Bruce's. (Dick is Bruce's baby, actually, not Damian. In this essay I will...)

(I could see a really interesting dynamic developing between Jason and Tim here, as the ones on the outside of that mutual appreciation society, but sadly the comics have never gone there. Alas.)

Finally, I think the relationship between Dick and Duke is very much "I just work here." Like, Dick is grown, he's out of the house, he's largely matured past the Bat-drama. He likes Duke but he doesn't feel the compulsion to brother him the way he did with Tim, and Duke doesn't need the mother henning Damian did.

IN CONCLUSION, and hooboy, sorry anon, most of this wasn't at all the question you asked:

Duke and Dick get along fine but aren't particularly close.

Damian is Dick's precious baby and always will be, even when Damian is an adult and annoyed by this treatment (but privately kind of loves it because he is a princess at heart).

Tim is Dick's buddy, his pal, his equal. If Dick were ever going to talk something through with a sibling, it would be Tim. (But that would require Dick admitting that everything isn't perfect or asking for help, so it'll never happen.)

Jason and Dick can't be in a room together for five minutes without fighting and Dick finds him wildly frustrating, but they will throw down for each other. When they aren't punching each other.

(And to answer the corollary: Damian's favorite brother is Dick. Tim's favorite brother is also Dick. Duke's favorite brother is Tim by default, since he doesn't know Dick very well and Jason and Damian are both too annoying, but really he's closest with Cass. Jason's favorite brother is Ace and he has communicated that often and loudly (but really it's probably also Dick).)

[simpforrooster]

this is so much better.

jake 'hangman' seresin x f!simpsonreader

summary: jake and reader are trapped in an elevator, much to jake's excitement, and reader's demise. t/w: mentions of claustrophobia, on-page panic attack, some fluff. 18+ content mentioned.

“hold the door!!” a southern drawl calls out to you, his handsome face barely visible as the elevator doors start to close.

as you punch the close door button, his strong forearm stops the door, and he runs in.

jake “hangman” seresin feeds you an annoyingly beautiful smirk. you answer with one of your best eye rolls.

“thanks, sugar,” he drawls. his flight suit is unzipped to his waist, showcasing the tight black shirt stretched across his chest.

“in a hurry?” you ask, keeping your gaze straight ahead, watching the numbers countdown.

“i could ask you the same. coulda’ sworn i saw your finger reach for the close door button.” his blonde brow arches up.

god, he’s infuriatingly handsome. and your favorite verbal sparring partner.

“just trying to deliver these reports to, Dad. he left them on the counter and called me in a tizzy,” you reply. “you?”

“oh, i heard you were making an appearance on base and had to see you,” he winks. “couldn’t let the pretty simpson go without a little flirting.”

“don’t call me that,” you say. “hey does the elevator feel like it’s—“

before you can get the words out, the elevator lurches and throws you into jake, the papers you were holding scattered all along the floor. the lights dim out, replaced by a red emergency light.

his strong arms lock around your waist, holding you up. your gaze is locked on his chest where his shirt meets his collarbone. your breaths start to come in short spurts.

“is this a bad time to tell you this is my worst nightmare?” you murmur.

“is this a bad time to tell you i’ve never been happier with the way you’re clinging to me for dear life?” he whispers back, his breath soft on your ear.

for a moment, your fear is replaced with longing. you look up into his green eyes, and he gives you another smirk. you remove your hands from him and try to step back.

he matches your step, not unlocking his arms from your waist. one hand cups your neck.

“your pulse is racing,” he comments. "i didn't know you felt this way about me, simpson." his lip quips up in the corner.

the walls of the elevator feel like they're closing in. in a matter of seconds, you are going to be enveloped between the lacquered wood walls. the roof of the tiny box is joining the walls, ready to squish you into your eternal doom.

"please don't be a smart ass, jake," you managed to say in between your gasping breath.

jake pulls back to take in your features. his green eyes roam over your face. your hands are in fists against your own chest, rising up and down in time if your hyperventalations.

jake reaches for your hands, and you don't fight. he flattens out your fists, enveloping them between his own. realization falls over his beautiful face.

"you're having a panic attack." it's not a question.

in an instance, the jake you know and hate--err, love--is gone. in his place is lieutenant seresin, the aviator with three confirmed kills. the man who is going to rise in rank in no time.

"listen to me, simpson," he says your last name as if he's speaking to your dad, not trying to get into your pants like usual.

his green eyes lock and hold yours. you couldn't look away if you wanted to.

"the walls are closing in. we're going to be crushed," you admit your fears, feeling the tears you've been trying to keep away roll down your cheeks. saying the fear aloud helps you reason with the absurdity of it.

"they aren't," he murmurs, continuing to rub your palms in his. the sensation pulls your thoughts from the elevator, keeping your present with jake.

"the roof too," you whisper. jake shakes his head. there is no sign of the flirty pilot. no sign of raised brows questioning your sanity. lieutenant seresin believes you. he believes this illogical fear.

and he's helping you through it.

"we're stuck," you croak. this time, jake nods. you sink to the floor, and jake goes along with you. he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. reaching over your shoulder, he pushes the call button.

"power outage on base," the collected voice announces. "working as fast as they can. who is in the elevator?"

"lieutenant seresin and y/n simpson."

"noted. hang tight, you two. might be a little while."

a little while. the phrase has your pulse ramping back up. how long is a little while? thirty minutes? an hour? overnight?

as if he can read your mind, jake begins rubbing your palms. you meet his eyes and your breathing starts to steady.

"it's okay. you can be scared. i'm here," he whispers. "you are safe. your biggest enemy right now is your mind."

"i know," you admit. one of his hands lets go of yours to rest on your neck. he slides the hand up to your cheek. immediately, you lean into the touch. he calloused hand rough against your cheek helps to keep you from exploring all the ways this elevator could hurt you. his thumb brushes under your eye, removing a tear.

"i'm sorry," you say, embarrassment replacing some of your anxiety.

jake looks startled. "you have nothing to apologize for." jake looks around the elevator, and in a stage-whisper says, "i used to feel so claustrophobic in my jet."

the admission catches you off-guard. "you don't have to make me feel better, hangman."

he shakes his head. "i'm not. it was a huge thing. i thought i would never make it through the academy."

"but you did."

"i did."

"thank you, jake," you murmur. the serious mask of the lieutenant slips, and your jake is back feeding your soul with that insufferable smirk.

jake's hands are still on your body, and now that you're convinced the elevator is not alive and wanting to crush you, the weight of him fills you with longing.

a longing you have tried to ignore.

jake must sense this too, because he pulls you over to straddle his lap. both hands settle on your face, and yours holds onto his wrists.

"is this how you saw your 'flirting' playing out?" you whisper, leaning into him, stopping millimeters from his mouth.

"did i see the pretty simpson straddling my waist? i can't say i did. i'll admit, i did fantasize about kissing you against the wall." his hands fall to your outer thigh, running his hands slowly up and down them. "this is so much better."

"you fantasize about me?" you ask, your restraint waning.

jake rolls his eyes and slides his hands up to your waist. your body betrays you by shivering under his touch, which doesn't go unnoticed by him. his lips spread into a smile. a genuine smile.

"oh, baby, please." the pet name sends another thrill through you. he's called you baby before. but it's never had the want behind it like it does now. "i know for a second you don't believe i haven't."

his eyes roam your face again, this time, searching for consent. "are you feeling okay enough for me to kiss you?"

"i am dying for you to kiss me, jake," you say. jake's mouth collides with yours in a mixture of relief and wanting. the tension in your bones releases as you press yourself further into him. the groan at the back of his throat causes one of your own to meet it.

jakes hands move to your back, pressing you against him. you are in his lap and still feel like you can't get close enough. his erection presses against his flight suit, a deep flush filling your cheeks.

reading your emotions, he murmurs against your ear, "i can't even attempt to hide what you do to me, but i'm not doing anything you aren't comfortable with."

"i'm certainly not comfortable with the idea of my father pulling the camera footage of his daughter and one of his pilots," you laugh into jake's neck.

"hmmmm," he hums against your ear. "yeah, that'll do it." jake helps you off his lap, and you settle into the side of him. his arms envelope you, pulling you close. "join me at the hard deck tonight? you know, given we're rescued in time to join everyone?"

you answer him with a kiss on the cheek. another wide smile forms, and he pulls you in for a sweet kiss.

a/n: i hope you enjoyyyyeddddd.

[folkwhoreberry]

Can u make an Oscar x reader story where they’re childhood best friends and reader is like a famous singer or something and they’ve been hinting about their relationship but no one even knew they had a connection

This was super long 😭 sorry if u don’t understand

Steering Hearts

oscar piastri x reader

or... the one where you swear you’ll be moving on with his favourite athlete

word count : 1.7k

warning : reader wrote “good graces” by sabrina carpenter, english is not my first language!!!

on the radio : good graces by sabrina carpenter

🐨☘️

sweat dripped down your forehead, but you didn’t mind it, not even one bit.

with the microphone in your hand and the blinding flashes coming from the crowd, chanting your name and lyrics as you sang, how could you?

you stood in a line with your backup dancers, singing your hit song from your latest album, ‘good graces’.

“I’ll tell the world, you finish you chores prematurely,” you sang into the mic as you danced, “break my heart and I swear I’m moving on with your favourite athlete.” and that was the line that made the crowd scream. all because of a simple hand movement you did while singing - your free hand moving in circles imitating a steering wheel.

one simple hand movement - and the internet went crazy. because you wore an orange bodysuit while doing so. and lando norris and oscar piastri just so happened to be in the crowd.

an hour later the concert finally finished, you said your final thank yous to the crowd and crew before going backstage, where you were met with your manager and assistant, handing you a bottle of water and a towel to wipe of the sweat.

“you absolutely smashed it out there!” you manager praised you, a big smile on her lips as she patted your back.

you smiled and nodded and response, too out of breath to talk. you leaned against the nearest wall and kept drinking your water, until a familiar figure appeared in the corner of your eyes, along with another person trailing behind them.

“you did amazing, love!” oscar immediately said after coming close enough to you, his arms wrapping themselves around you without caring about the sweat covering you. “aw, thank you, osc.” you responded with a smile. “hey, it’s my nickname for him!” lando said from behind oscar, to which you rolled your eyes and clicked your tongue at.

“you’re tiring, aren’t you?” oscar whispered in your ear, making you hum in agreement. he chuckled, bringing one of his hands up to play with the ends of your hair. “so should we go back to the hotel?”

——————

the next morning was a mess on stan twitter. rumours of you dating the mclaren so-called ‘playboy’ lando norris were circulating all over the internet.

there were pictures of him and oscar going backstage after the show, videos of you smiling and waving to where the two boys were during the concert, sightings of the 25 year old filming you on his phone while you performed, and of course the orange outfit you wore that night, a colour that is often associated with mclaren, lando’s team.

——————

a week had passed since then, everyone somewhat calmed down from it, only sparking when lando was asked about it in interviews.

now, it was the morning of the australian grand prix - the first race of the 2025 season, and also oscar’s home race.

the paddock was full of excitement, reporters walking around with their cameramen and microphones, fans eager to meet their idols, and the drivers just trying to peacefully get from one place to another.

and there was you - walking through the paddock with you manager, just casually talking to her and occasionally turning to wave to a camera pointed at you pf take a picture with a fan.

“miss l/n, miss l/n! is it true that you’re dating lando norris?” one of the reporters asked you, pointing a microphone at you to hear your answer. you just smirked and snickered, ignoring g the question. “then why are you wearing a mclaren jacket?”

they weren’t wrong, you were wearing a mclaren branded jacket, white leather with their logo on the back, which you wore to support you boyfriend of course. you just kept on ignoring the cameras as you made your way to the mclaren garage, which luckily was the first one out of the rest of the teams. you walked inside, where you were met with oscar, who promised you he’ll meet you at the entrance.

“hey there, love. how was the drive here?” he asks you kindly, wrapping his arm around your waist and leading you further inside, to the front of the garage. “alright, not too much traffic.”

he hummed in response, leading you to the secluded spot he prepared for you in the back of the garage to watch the race.

“I gotta go get in the car now, darling. cheer for me, yeah?” oscar said with a smile, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head before he moved aside to take his gloves and helmet, walking to the front of the garage towards the track, where the national anthem will be played before the start of the race.

the race started just minutes later, and your heart was beating with each turn oscar took and each place he gained or lost.

after almost two hours the race ended, and you were happy that your boyfriend ended the race with no missing kind of any serious injuries, not even caring what place he finished in.

you watched oscar’s car roll into the pit lane and saw him climb out. you were glad he was safe, your heart finally settling after nearly two hours of tense turns and overtakes. the mclaren garage erupted in applause, but you stayed in your secluded spot, waiting for oscar to come over.

a few minutes later, you saw him approaching, wiping sweat off his forehead with a towel. his smile brightened the moment he spotted you, and you grinned back, leaning against the wall of the garage.

“how was that?” he asked, his voice still a little breathless from the race.

“you were incredible,” you said, stepping closer to him. “I swear my heart was in my throat the entire time.”

he chuckled, pulling you into a quick hug, the scent of sweat and fuel faint on his race suit. “you’re always so dramatic,” he teased, his lips brushing the top of your head.

“I think it’s justified,” you quipped, lightly smacking his chest. “especially after that last turn. I was ready to jump on the track and drag you off myself.”

oscar laughed, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “I’m just glad I didn’t give you another heart attack. next time, I’ll make it easier for you.”

you smiled, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before stepping back. “well, go do your interviews, mr. piastri. I’ll be waiting for you back here.”

“yeah, yeah, I know the drill,” he said, giving you a wink before heading off toward the media pen.

you found a spot near a screen in the garage to watch him and lando give their interviews. they stood side by side, casual as always, but you knew they were in for the usual bombardment of questions. sure enough, one interviewer didn’t waste time.

“lando, there’s been a lot of speculation about your relationship with a certain singer. any comment?”

lando smirked and shot oscar a sideways glance. “oh, we’re really doing this again?” he said, crossing his arms and pretending to think. “well, I can’t blame people for talking. she’s a fantastic performer, you know?”

oscar snorted beside him, shaking his head. “he’s full of it,” he added with a grin. “no relationship there, sorry to disappoint.”

they both shared a laugh, shrugging off the question as the interviewer quickly moved on to race-related topics. you had to bite back a smile as you watched the whole thing unfold. the internet was going to lose it - again.

——————

the next day, you had a concert in the same city, and once again, oscar and lando made an appearance. as the show started, the crowd was electric, and the energy only grew when you hit the chorus of your song, ‘good graces.’

“break my heart and I swear I’m moving on with your favourite athlete,” you sang, throwing in that same steering wheel motion you did at the last show. the screams from the audience were deafening, and you couldn’t help but grin at the chaos you’d created again.

you stole a glance toward the back of the venue, where you knew oscar and lando were. it was hard to miss them, even in the dim light of the concert hall. oscar had that proud, supportive look on his face that never failed to make your heart swell, while lando - well, lando was grinning like the mischievous devil he always was.

once the concert ended and the cheers died down, you headed backstage. it wasn’t long before oscar and lando followed, dodging a few cameras as they made their way through the halls.

“well, if it isn’t the star of the show,” oscar teased as he approached you, his smile lighting up his whole face.

“that’s me,” you said, still catching your breath from the performance. “did I live up to your high standards?”

“always,” he replied softly, stepping closer to pull you into his arms.

just as you leaned into him, you felt a flash of a camera, and before you could react, oscar’s lips were on yours. it was a quick kiss, nothing too showy, but the click of the camera and the flashing lights around you meant only one thing—the internet was about to go wild.

“oh great, here we go,” lando muttered from the side, raising an eyebrow at the photographers. “guess we’ll be dealing with questions about this tomorrow.”

you and oscar both laughed as you pulled apart, but deep down, you knew this was going to cause another storm online.

sure enough, overnight, the internet exploded with headlines, pictures of oscar kissing you backstage, and a new wave of speculation about your relationship. it was everywhere - your fans, his fans, random gossip accounts.

the next morning, after a quick talk with oscar, you decided it was time to put an end to the rumors once and for all. you posted a simple picture on your social media - one of you and oscar, arms wrapped around each other, lips interlocked, and of course a cheesy caption.

oscar did the same, posting a cute picture of the two of your from a random cozy night-in you had, paired with a caption you made him change three times because of how oscar-ish it was.

the response was instant - fans flooding the comments with excitement, support, and some playful teasing.

lando even chimed in, posting a candid picture of you he took with the caption “wrong papaya mate guys”.

you couldn’t help but laugh as you scrolled through the reactions. it was all out in the open now, and honestly? it felt pretty damn good.

————————————————————————————

a/n : took me so long to write it (two days lol) but oh my godddd am I a sucker for singer!reader it feeds the oc’s in my head

[everythingismadeofchaos]

I immediately love this. Are these tags the names of associated animes? I'm going to level with you: I'm just using you because I'm super high right now and I'll never remember to come back here and look at this except if you get back to me and answer this dumb question I have it will remind me to do that and Google the names of these animes and then watch them. Is that what they are? Anime names or what?

I like your art

Edit: Christ, I'm so sorry. I have to stop posting on here when I get super elevated

Sorry for the dumb waste of time question. Fun little animatic. Are they trying to get funding to turn it into a full motion cartoon? Is that the plan? Because honestly it's pretty fun just as it is. Although I'm only halfway through at the moment.

Anyway, thanks

my forever girl 💜🌙

zira from @kianamaiart’s i don’t want to be a magical girl!

bonus:

[gf2bellamy]

You know how spencer always suggests to someone on the team to go watch a movie in a different language so he can whisper the translation to them but no one ever agrees to go with him so one time he asks bau!reader if she'd like to come with him and she agrees even though he expected her to reject his offer

festival — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: nothing a/n: hii !! i hope you like this :)

You were packing your bag at your desk while Spencer was standing by your desk , fidgeting slightly as he rambled on, his usual excitement overflowing.

"It's a Korean film festival," he said, his eyes lighting up. "It’s taking place downtown this weekend. The lineup is incredible—films from all across Korea, some of them have been getting a lot of buzz lately." 

You smiled, amused by his enthusiasm. You zipped up your bag and slung it over your shoulder, following him as he walked toward the elevator, still talking about the festival.

“There are so many options, too. Thrillers, dramas, comedies… some are even based on historical events. And, you know, if you want, I could translate for you. The movies won’t have subtitles, but I’d be happy to whisper the translations to you." 

You pressed the elevator button, your smile widening at his usual offer, knowing full well that no one ever took him up on it. Spencer had a habit of suggesting movie nights where he could translate foreign films for his colleagues—an invitation most of the team quickly declined.

But here he was, asking you and you didn’t hesitate. 

"Sure, I’d love to go with you," you said. You'd always enjoyed Spencer’s company, and a night out at the movies sounded like a nice break from the stress of the job. 

The elevator doors slid open, but Spencer didn’t move. He was standing there, blinking at you in silence, as though he hadn’t quite processed what you’d just said. 

You furrowed your brow, a little confused by his reaction. "Spence?" you asked, stepping forward and holding your hand out to stop the doors from closing. "Are you coming?" 

He blinked again, as if waking from a daze, entering the elevator. "You... you want to come with me?" he asked, his voice quiet, like he couldn’t quite believe it. 

"Yes?" you answered, now genuinely puzzled. You pressed the button for your floor, the elevator doors sliding shut as you glanced over at him. 

His eyes seemed to search yours, an almost uncertain look on his face. "Why?" he asked, his head tilted slightly. 

You couldn’t help but laugh softly. "Because I’d love to go with you, Spence. Why else?" 

He blinked again, still processing. "Really?" The question seemed to hang in the air, as if he was waiting for you to change your mind. 

"Yes, really." You smiled, the tension in the air beginning to ease. But Spencer still seemed stuck in a trance-like state, almost as if he couldn’t quite grasp that someone had actually agreed to do this with him. 

The elevator doors opened to your floor, and you stepped out, glancing back at him. "Spence, are you okay?" you asked, a concerned edge to your voice as you noticed his continued surprise. 

He stood frozen for a moment, his gaze locked on you. Then, with a small, almost shy smile, he said, "No one’s ever said yes before." 

Your heart skipped a beat.

You gave him a reassuring smile, stepping back toward him. "Well, I’m saying yes now," you said gently. "And I’m really looking forward to it." 

Spencer nodded slowly, a look of quiet relief spreading across his face. "Thanks," he murmured. "I think this is going to be fun." 

[gffa]

People shouldn't be too hard on Mon!

I absolutely love and is grateful of Freed's understanding and appreciation of the Jedi, apparent in the book, apparent in the interview he'd given for the book:

"For me, the excitement of the time period here, is that I tend to think of 'Star Wars' as a setting with plenty of room for grey area stories and moral ambiguity, but there are very clear lines of good and evil as well. There's no version of 'Star Wars' in which you look at the Emperor and go, 'Well, maybe he had some good ideas.' No, the Emperor is evil. And the Jedi and Luke at their best are good. Everything else exists somewhere in there. This is a period where the remains true but no one really knows that the Emperor is evil.

"As far as the public is concerned, this guy just won the worst war in living memory. The Clone Wars were this horrendous affair and Palpatine has put an end to it. Yes, he's declared himself Emperor but he's not the embodiment of all evil. There's not even a Death Star out there. On the absolute good side, the Jedi have sort of been tarnished in recent years. War scrapes away at the shining morality of any organization."

I think Freed really understands what Lucas meant when he said "The Jedi have been corrupted by this war."

...but I still don't hold it against Mon cause she's going through hell and she spoilerspoilerspoilerspoiler in the later half of the book. I think she's fascinating, wonderful, equally valid character with equally valid viewpoints as Bail within context of their own worlds and experiences in this novel.

The editor of the book said it best:

Bail – knows the truth about Palpatine, the Empire, and the fall of the Jedi. Caught between his commitment to truth and justice at any cost, and the duty he has to the daughter he’s been entrusted to protect.

Mon Mothma – a master politician, who believes – like so many – that opposing Palpatine is part of the regular game of politics. She doesn’t yet realize, Palpatine stood up from the game board years ago, and she’s playing against shadows.

Mon and Bail are allies, but not really friends (at this time). Padme was their link, and now, she’s gone. Where does that leave them?

For Mon and Bail especially, the secrets Bail holds that he cannot reveal leaves a gulf between them. And what does it mean when they find themselves at odds with each other, over truths they cannot speak?

prev anon) I'm talking about their different mindsets and experiences and viewpoints born from those and I'm not excusing Mon's... *spoilers* anyway I hope you enjoy the rest of the book! It's so nice seeing an author like Freed, who usually writes non-force side of sw, handling the jedi with such warmth, understanding and awareness

This was such a reassuring message to get, thank you! I've been avoiding spoilers for the book as best I can, but I'm only a quarter of the way through it and I was wondering how the various themes were going to go, but Freed's interview quotes and your comments have made me glad that I'm picking up what this book is putting down, because that's exactly how I've been reading it. (And why I'm hoping to encourage more people to read it--though, I will give a warning that this book can be uncomfortably prescient about current events in a way that I wouldn't say Alexander Freed Is A Witch, but that can be very hard to read about if you're not in the headspace to deal with a lot of reflections of the dumpster fire we're currently in.) As for Mon, I hope nobody comes down on her for this, because as much as I scream, cry, throw up, etc., over Bail's scenes, in general I lean a bit more towards Mon's way of doing things, because I think her approach is her answer to the question, "But what can actually be truly achieved?" That she is looking at an incredibly shitty situation with only shitty options and asking herself what can she actually get done, what does she have a snowball's chance in hell of success with? And she knows clearing the Jedi's name at this point in time is not on the table, not when there are a million other things that might actually do tangible good for the galaxy. And I don't disagree with that! I love the Jedi more than anyone, but clearing their name isn't more important that, say, trying to stop the Wookiees from being classified as a non-sentient species! Clearing their name isn't important enough to blow all your political capital and having nothing to show for it when there are people who you can help, with a chance that will actually succeed! Bail's idealism isn't stupid, he's incredible and the galaxy needs a shining light like him, it's necessary for the bigger hope for the future, we can't make it through the dark times without bright, shining hope. So even when they don't always think positively of each other, I never get the sense that Bail and Mon don't understand that the other is doing what they think is best. They just disagree on what that is. And it makes sense! Bail knew and was friends with the Jedi! He knows the truth about Palpatine and how important all that Force shit is to what's going on here! Mon is operating with the idea that this is a political battle--and she's not entirely wrong, she's necessary to the recovery of the galaxy, too, just as Luke is necessary to save the day, so too is Leia, and I sort of see that reflected in Bail and Mon's approaches--one is focusing on the mystical and one is focusing on the political and I think both are important here. So, I have nothing but hearts for Mon Mothma and what she's trying to do for the galaxy.

And I don't see them as antagonists here, I see them as two people who look at each other with the understanding that there is deep love and compassion for people in the other, that they want this other person on their side not just for political alliances but because they care, and maybe they want to scream in frustration that the other person can't see what they see, but I don't feel for a second that this is going to end with them anything other than them as friends. Their scene in Rogue One implies she knows about Bail knowing a living Jedi, if not directly knowing about Obi-Wan Kenobi, which isn't something he would tell just anyone. I'm hoping for the same with Saw, there's going to be conflict about their approaches, and I love that that's clearly a theme/why these three characters were chosen as the pillars of this book, that each of them are shown to have their reasons why and that each of them serve a purpose. I scream/cry/throw up more about the Jedi because that's the most fun for me, but I am enthralled with Mon's chapters just as much, the political tightrope she's on, and I would encourage people to read for those aspects just as much as I would encourage them for crying about the Jedi. ANYWAY, EVERYONE SHOULD READ THIS BOOK FOR YOURSELF, I'm having fun with the snippets I'm posting, but the book is so much more than those things! It's one of the best SW for rounding out the characters and filling in the transitions between the movies and TV shows, but in a way that keeps the tension and emotional gut-punches despite that we know where it's going. ALSO, MON MOTHMA AND BAIL ORGANA ARE THE BEST, I'M WILLING TO FIGHT THE INTERNET OVER THIS

[ivesdio]

AGAIN . . ? ⋆.˚

summary: after a night out, you wake up in a bed you know all too well.. again.

warnings: single mention of vomiting (she’s hungover let a girl live smh), reference to previous sexual activities, ending leads to sex, but no details are given - lmk if i missed anything!

a/n: hi lovelies!! this is my obx fic writer debut, so pretty please go easy on me :,) my requests are open 24/7 and i’m really excited to be in this amazin community! enjoy this lil thing xx

wc: 922

you groan, your head feeling like it’s being, repeatedly, banged against a wall, lids heavy with sleep and an impending hangover. the morning sunlight shining in through the covers was blinding, another tired sound slipping past your lips.

you think nothing of it when you notice that the messy sheets surrounding you are different from yours - that’s ‘cause you’d changed them not too long ago.

but when the sound of movement behind you breaks your thoughts, you sigh in.. disappointment? anger? anyway; the feeling was targeted towards yourself.

your phone vibrates next to the pillow your head was resting on, an alarm chiming in the warm room. you turn it off, taking it in your hands. a text catches your eye.

ah, fuck.

sar 🤍

pls don’t telk me that u lrft wit my brotger again

Delivered: 01:54 AM

well.. that confirms your suspicions.

you and rafe had an.. interesting relationship, to put it mildly. glances around tannyhill soon became hook-ups in his bedroom and truck after parties. sneaking around the cameron household, stolen kisses and sweat beaded bodies slowly becoming a norm.

but, damn it, was he fucking imposs—

“fuck you doin’ up so early?” rafe’s voice invades your hearing, making you wonder if killing yourself would be a good option right about now.

“how much did i have t’drink?” you grumble as you put down your phone and press your cheek against the cool pillow, your face slightly squished.

“why?” he asks, his tone lacking any sign of patience. shocking.

“‘cause i’m here. again,” a dry scoff leaves your raw throat (probably from the vomiting. great fuckin’ job!).

“..a decent amount,” he answers, chuckling with no emotion behind the small laugh “way too early for this shit, baby,” the nickname spills from his lips before he could even think about it - a habit, almost.

“told y’not to call me that, rafe,” you mumble, groaning hoarsely when you sit up and stand up from the plush bed. you catch a glimpse of yourself in his mirror, brows furrowing as you gaze into the glass.

yesterday’s clothes? gone.

panties? still there.

what was new, though, was the black tee framing your body. the fabric was soft and smelled of.. him. fuck, his perfume was intoxicating. what did he use again? eh, whatever - all you knew was that it smelled divine. and expensive.

“did we..?” you ask carefully, turning to face him from your place on the floor. he simply shakes his head, huffing.

“nah. drunk outta your mind.”

you nod in acknowledgment, biting the inside of your cheek in thought.

“did you.. want to?” another question from you fills the room. he shrugs, sitting up. the white covers fall from his bare upper half, crumpling in his lap.

“no shit,” he scoffs, scratching his nose before he continues, “didn’t wanna.. y’know— take advantage of you. basic human decency and stuff. would’a been wrong.”

he was rambling. a bit, at least. you’d never seen him like this and.. to be completely honest? it was kinda cute. you nod again, the corners of your mouth tilting up a bit. you try to fight the smile starting to break through, but god, was it difficult.

“right, yeah. uh.. thanks,” you mutter and chuckle quietly. to your complete surprise, his lips turn up an inch, a hint of a smile playing on them. he stands up and the duvet falls behind him, a pair of boxers being the only thing on his toned form. he steps closer to you, towering. bastard.

“sarah texted?” he asks, tilting his head. fuck him and his fucking teasing, and his fucking smile, and his—

“mhm. jumble of letters, really, but yeah. why?” you sigh, crossing your arms over your chest. you don’t miss the way rafe’s baby blues flicker down to the movement, before meeting your gaze again.

“think we have some time ‘fore she scolds us again?” his voice was just barely above a whisper, a small smirk grazing the corner of his mouth.

“maybe,” you reply, shrugging.

before you could fully finish saying the word, his lips were crashing into yours, big hands cradling your face. his ring was cold against your heated skin. an audible hitch of your breath travels into his mouth as you kiss him back, your own hands brushing up his muscular arms. his biceps flex underneath your touch, the feeling sending a jolt up your spine.

he’s devouring your fucking face at this point - like a man starved. your back meets a wall, a soft gasp leaving your mouth. rafe swallows the sound, a small grunt escaping his throat. he pulls away after a few moments, his forehead resting against yours as he pants.

“fuck, baby.. can’t stay away for t’long,” he whispers, “that okay with you?”

you chuckle, slightly out of breath, “d’you hear me complaining?”

“that’s my girl,” he drawls, his signature smirk filling your sight.

in one swift motion, his hands reach down and grasp your thighs, lifting you up. instinctively, your legs wrap around his waist. he leaves small wet kisses on your neck, his breath hot against yours skin, all while his thumb rubs circles into the small of your back.

your back meets his plush bed again, the man in front of you already on his knees. his eyes flicker from your panties to your eyes, that fucking proud smirk plastered on his smug face.

“you got time, right?” he chuckles, kissing up your inner thigh.

you nod, breathing heavily.

oh, you were definitely sober now.

[legendofmorons]

Yooooo happy 2 year anniversary!!! As for the fic bingo,

SOULMATE AU WITH LEGEND I AM ON MY HANDS AND KNEES PLEASE 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

I'm so normal about him I promise

Thank you!!!

I'm al SO normal about Legend ;)

(Soul) Marked hearts

Pairing: Legend x reader

Rating: T

Summary: In a world where you have the most important thing your soulmate says to you, printed somewhere on your body... you realize the man you love (and have loved for years) is your soulmate.

Warnings: cursing

Other: If I missed anything, please let me know

-------

You sit by the fire, side by side with your long time friend Legend. Cool summer night breezes lazily pass by as the star shin above you.

The others sleep peacefully as your shift of watch drags on.

"You didn't have to take watch with me." You say to him.

Legend shrugs half heartedly. "You get bored."

"I do." You smile.

He snorts, elbowing you gently.

You just roll tour eyes, leaning against him. It's one of the many privileges you are afforded as someone close to him.

Legend wraps one arm around you, staring out at the stars as everyone else sleeps. He rests his hand on your arm, the metal of his rings cooler than his flesh.

It's easy, being here with him. The way your mind wanders to what a life with him might entail is... nothing new.

You soak up the warmth and ease that radiates off him. This is something reserved for you.

Legend is a sweetheart. Under the jaded attitude, he's still kind. He's earned the right to be jaded. But here? When it's just the two of you?

He is always more open with you like this. He's comfortable enough with you to be softer. Comfort enough to be affectionate.

"Did you ever find your soulmate?" He asks you. "I know you wanted to."

You laugh. "Not yet. I... don't know that I care, either. You know?"

"I do."

"Oh?" You prompt, "Is there someone you want to pursue, bunny boy?"

"That's not my name." Legend huffs. He gives you a playful glare, too.

You smile. "Answer the question."

"Maybe. It's... not important. I don't think I have a chance." Legend pulls you closer.

You lean with it, humming. "Why not?"

"I doubt I'm their soulmate. You know the world we live in." He gives a half shrug.

His tone is bitter, and he sounds genuinely resigned to a fate without whoever it is he is talking about.

You fall silent, searching the fire for answers as if it can reassure you. What are you supposed to say?

You can't let yourself hope he's talking about you.

The urge to reassure him is stringer than any jealousy you have over a man that isn't yours. You love him, you don't want him upset.

"Well... Fuck em." You offer and smile at him, "If they don't feel the same their a total fool."

"Really? That's all you got?" He huffs, raising one brow.

"Yep." You say, poping the 'p'.

Legend stares at you with unreadable eyes. He looks at you, searching for something but you can't say what.

He looks back to the stars.

You settle back down against him.

Legend rubs your arm with his hand where it rests, arm still around you like a promise.

You don't know what it's a promise of, just that it is.

Minutes pass, silent companionship a steady beat in your heart.

Legend finally asks, "If... I tell you something, you can't laugh at me. Okay?"

"I make no promises." You say immediately. "When people say that they tell me things that make me laugh."

"It's not a joke." Legend says.

His voice is firm, but his frame shakes slightly against you.

You frown, pulling out of his hold and sitting up on your own. You watch his face for any hint of what he wants to say.

"I'm listening." You tell him. "I won't laugh."

"Did you mean what you said, that I should tell them?" Legend asks, voice quiet and shaking.

You offer a nod.

He looks at you with a vulnerability you rarely see on him. He looks sea sick.

"Okay." He says, letting out a breath.

"Take your time." You soothe. "It's okay."

Legend nods weakly. He is looking directly into your eyes.

He takes a deep breath, setting his shoulders before he speaks.

"I don't care if you're my soulmate, I chose you. You're who I want at my side, as my partner, as my spouse if you want to get married." He says, voice firm even as he looks ready to run.

You let out a gasp.

He watches you, hands shaking as he fists them in his lap.

You know those words.

Those are the words that's are printed on one of your shoulder blades.

Legend said-

Oh.

"Fuck, man." You breathe out.

You want to laugh a little. You don't, but the surprise is there.

Legend flinches.

"It's really you, Link." You say in awe, "You're the one."

He blinks, confusion flitting across his face. "What?"

"It's your words on me. It's you!" You smile.

His breath catches. He knows those words. Those are the words printed on his sternum.

You're hugging him quickly, heart beating too fast as you knock your knee against his in the movement.

Legend hugs you back on reflex, sucking in a breath. "We're so stupid."

You laugh softly, setting your forehead on his shoulder. "We're soulmates."

"I'm glad it's you." Legend decides.

You grin, pulling away to look at him again. "How long can we go before the others realize we're together?"

"We're together now?" Legend asks with a smirk.

"Yes." You say, taking his hand in your own. "You're mine forever, bunny boy."

"Only if you're mine too."

"Good." You say, pulling his hand to up and pressing a kiss to it.

"Sap." He acusses. Then he gives you a smirk. "We could probably go for a week or two before they put it together."

You laugh, "Yeah?"

"Absolutely."

You lean against him again, setting your joined hands on your thigh. "This is nice."

He hums, "It is."

"For what it's worth... I chose you too, Link."

He smiles, face red. "Yeah?"

"Forever."

Legend hums once. "Forever sounds... great."

You smile up at him.

He means it, too. He knows he's prickly and he has bad days, but if you'll have him he'll stay with you. Forever.

[nightbutterfly09]

Surprise!!

You were walking home when your phone started ringing. 'My loveee 💕' displayed on the screen. You pick it up with a slightly wide smile. "Hii what's up?" "Want me to drive you home mi amor?" You could hear the flirtatious tone coming from him. You couldn't help but laugh. "Stop joking, you are all the way in Spain."

"Wrong, I'm home, arrived an hour ago" he smirked and you could hear it. "What?" Shock formed on your face and your legs couldn't move an inch.

"You heard right, I am here, anyway I don't need your answer I already have the keys just wait for me." "But S-sae!" You couldn't make anything of the situation. "It's cold so I'm going" with that he hung up. No further words needed.

The hand that was holding your device lowered still trying to process the situation. Time passed while staring at the cars. Each car that looked like his (not that there is a lot) caused your eyes to fill with anticipation. You definitely looked like a teenage girl with some kind of separation anxiety, or at least who was deeply in love.

Not that it was so far from the truth.

Finally the car you've waited for turned inside the parking lot and you ran towards it. You opened the passenger door with a big smile and dropped your bags.

Arms nestled around his neck as he leaned away from the steering wheel. "Someone missed me" he chuckled into your neck, reciprocating the hug. "Why didn't you tell me you're back!!" Although that was more of an excited statement than a question. "It was better this way, no?" He smirked. "Well.. I guess I like this version too." You grinned against him.

He pulled away and raised your chin while looking into your eyes. "I'm back." His gaze softened and wandered around your figure, staying a minute more on your face. He missed you so much that he just couldn't admit that. His days were so poor and emotionless with just those nightly video calls. He does often thank the world that scientists have discovered them. Without those he'd surely die. And he isn't exaggerating.

"I've missed you Sae." And you know very well he did too. The feel of his lips on yours made this moment electric. Dancing together at a fast pace but still not forgetting the passion behind it.

Your love, and his amor. The feeling couldn't be described even by a poet who is famous worldwide. Never in this world could someone find the right words for this feeling. Something out of this world. Bigger than planet Earth.

Something ethereal.

“Let's go home.” He chuckled against your lips finally pulling away. He threw your bags in the backseat. “Oh and I got you something.” He gave you a bag.

A bouquet of flowers towered out of it while it also contained your favorite sweets. “Thank you!!” You giggled happily. Leaning into him again. “I love you.”

“I love you too, mi Vida.”

[marauder-misprint]

hii! i love your writing so much and just saw that your requests were open!!

i was wondering if you could do a remus x reader based around davy crochet by the backseat lovers? its just always kinda reminded me of remus (but then again everything reminds me of that man). but the part where is says “i guess there’s some things that you shouldn’t know, but i’ll tell you anyway” just felt like remus trusting someone enough to tell them about his lycanthropy, remembering that maybe he shouldn’t tell them but he does anyway. and then the rest of the chorus just feels like things would happen with remus, laughing, teaching him crochet bc he would be interested in your interests, skipping class. just very remus, very marauders.

this is my first time doing a request so i’m so sorry if this was like not good LOL

A SONG REQUEST OMG! THANK YOU! ❤︎❤︎❤︎

Very excited for this request! Lots of fluff, bit of angst, mutual pining! ALSO, this is a very sweet song so thank you for introducing me to it! And I do not crochet so the bit that talks about crocheting is what I know from brief googles

I hope you enjoy ❤︎

Davy Crochet

Remus Lupin x fem!reader

5.4k words

cw: fluff, angst, mutual pining

Remus’ friendship with you wasn’t as loud as his friendship with the Marauders. The friendships began in very different ways. The boys were forced upon him, all of them being sorted into Gryffindor. With you, Remus just had the lucky habit of studying in the library. 

At first, you were just a girl who studied at the table next to his. Every once in a while, your friends joined you and Remus’ friends joined him, but more often than not, it was just the two of you with more space than either needed.

Then you were the girl who studied at the table next to his. That happened around third year when Remus started stealing glances at you and becoming increasingly intrigued by you. Such a pretty girl consistently studying alone so near to him, yet still so far away. You were just out of reach. 

Remus thought you would stay that way. Sure, you had classes together, but he never had a real reason to talk to you. He wasn’t like James and Sirius who could strike up a conversation with a wall with ease. He needed a real, solid reason to start talking to someone new.

The fates took pity on him during fourth year. Remus had staked out his table early in the day. Then sixth years descended upon the library in herds; he was certain it was every goddamn sixth year in the castle. That meant that when you came into the library, your usual table was already occupied. 

“Do you mind if I sit here?” you asked, your voice sounding like a sweet melody to Remus’ ears.

“Of course. Feel free,” he answered, gesturing to the chair across from him.

You took it with a smile on your face as relief washed over you. You couldn’t focus on assignments anywhere. 

Remus thought it would just be for the day. But then the sixth years returned to the library every day for the next week or so and you sat at Remus’ table every day. And then when the sixth years stopped hogging every other table in the vicinity, you still sat across from Remus. 

“See you tomorrow, Remus,” you’d say before you left every time now. 

A promise that you’d be back. And the way you said his name made his heart flutter. You had been out of reach, but now? You didn’t seem so far away.

Maybe that’s why Remus ditched the Marauders during Defense Against the Dark Arts to sit next to you. It came as a surprise to you and the boys, but you weren’t complaining. And then Remus took another step and sat with you during Charms, History of Magic and Ancient Runes. Just enough classes to ensure he saw you multiple times a day and could hear your voice more often.

You found his presence next to you in class pleasant. He wasn’t obnoxious. He paid enough attention. He smelled nice. He offered you his notes if you missed something. He would murmur the answer to a question if you were called on and you didn’t know the answer. And he was a cute distraction when you needed it. 

Okay, you had to admit to yourself eventually that him sitting next to you was more than pleasant. You loved it and wished he sat next to you in all of your classes. But that was a dream you kept to yourself. 

You were feeling especially bored in History of Magic. Goblin rebellions seemed to always start because of the same handful of reasons and ended the same way. You took out some spare parchment. 

‘Hi’ - you wrote before sliding it toward Remus and tapping his arm with the end of your quill.

He looked down at the parchment, smiled and wrote something back.

‘Hi’

‘Does Binns know half of the class is sleeping?’

‘Half - That’s a low estimate’

‘I’m optimistic’

‘Chess tourney in the C.R. last night. i’m the only gryffindor awake’

You stifled a laugh as you cast a glance around the classroom to see that Remus was in fact correct. Not a single other Gryffindor was awake and Professor Binns was too enthralled with his own repetitive lecture to notice.

‘you can use my shoulder as a pillow if you need :)’

Remus tried not to blush as he wrote his response.

‘Someone has to take notes’

‘Youre not’

‘i’ll read the chapter’

‘When? This weekend?’

‘Maybe’

‘So you’re not going to hogsmeade?’

‘Im going’

‘Then ill see you there’

It was another promise of seeing Remus again. Not that you didn’t see each other every day. But it had the air of looking forward to seeing him and Remus’ head grew fuzzy if he thought about it for too long. 

The notes, evenings in the library and running into Remus at Hogsmeade didn’t end when fourth year did. They carried on as you got older. Although you had offered your shoulder first, you often used Remus’ shoulder to nap during the History. He always provided you notes of anything important you may have missed; this maxed out at like three bullet points per nap thanks to Binns’ overly redundant lectures. 

Being fifth years, your time in the library expanded. It now included time before dinner, in free periods and more often on the weekend. You got into the habit of bringing your crochet with you. It made for a nice break when you needed a break from the endless assignments or a distraction from the handsome face across from you. Every once in a while, you catch Remus watching you work on your current project. He smiles through the pink blush that dusted his cheeks before turning back to his assignments. 

Despite your attraction to Remus, all you two were was friends and it didn’t feel like he’d be returning your feelings any time soon. So you felt no qualms when Marcus Marley started talking to you and flirting with you. He walked you from class to class to a while. He made you laugh and there were a few Hogsmeade dates. Your feelings for Remus were tucked away into a deep corner of your mind as Marcus took center focus. 

You were convinced that things were going good. He was walking with you to the library after classes. 

“Hey, this isn't working. You’re a pretty girl and all, but let’s not continue this, okay?” he said, barely looking at you as you stood just outside the doors. “Okay. See you around.”

He walked away like he hadn’t just broken your heart. He didn’t give you a reason for leaving. He just left. And that made it hurt all that much more. 

You entered the library as you had planned to do anyway. You walked to your usual table and sat in your usual spot across from Remus. It’s there in the comfort of your daily sanctuary and across from one of the kindest people you know that you break. Tears begin streaming down your face in perfect silence. Even when you felt broken, you couldn’t disturb the peaceful quiet of the library. 

Remus had looked up and given you a smile when you took your seat, but you hadn’t been crying yet. It takes him a little less than a minute to realize that something is wrong: you didn’t move to take out any assignments or your current crochet project, so he looks up again. He sees the tears. Immediately, he puts down his quill and gets up. He’s crouching at your side with a gentle hand on your shoulder within seconds. 

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he coos. His voice is soft and full of concern.

“Nothing,” you choke out.

Remus doesn’t believe you for a second. He pulls your chair back from the table and takes your hand. He leads you away from prying eyes, through endless shelves until you’ve practically reached the edge of the library. He places his hands on your shoulders so he can look at you straight on.

“What’s wrong, love?” he asks.

You shake your head with your lips pressed together. It’s not convincing. You’re still crying silent tears. You know if you open your mouth, all that will come out is a sob. 

“Come ‘ere,” Remus whispers and pulls you into his arms.

They wrap around you, holding you close to his chest. His hands rub soothingly along your back. He whispers sweet nothings of “you’re okay” and “it’ll be alright” until you stop shaking. You weren’t even aware that you were shaking until you were pressed against something firm. Pressed against him. 

After a while, you’re able to whisper, “Got dumped.”

“Oh, darling…” is all that Remus allowed himself to say as he continued to hold you, hoping it provided some comfort.

He didn’t dare say more. He didn’t know what else he could say that wouldn’t give away how much he fancied you. He wasn’t pleased that you were so upset, but he did like that you were no longer dating someone who wasn’t him. As you continue to cry into his sweater, Remus can’t help but think that you fit perfectly in his arms.

You appreciate that Remus didn’t ask questions about it. Not many guys you know would’ve let you cry into their sweater without saying much for as long as you needed. Once you composed yourself enough to go back to your shared table, you knew that you still wouldn’t be able to focus or get much work done. Not when all you could think about now was how nice it was to be held by Remus. 

You swore of boys for a while as your professors assigned more and more homework. You still spent plenty of time in the library with Remus, but all it continued to be was friendly. Nothing more. 

You went to Hogsmeade with your friends. You had spent a good portion of the day going into various stores with them. It was a much needed break from the endless hours pouring over essays and worksheets. Even if you weren’t actually buying anything, you enjoyed window shopping. You paused outside the bookstore on the way to Zonko’s and looked to your friends. No one else wanted to go in and you didn’t really care for Zonko’s so you told them to on ahead. You’d find them later. 

The bell of the door tinkled as you went in alone. You browse the shelves by yourself for a few minutes, going deeper and deeper into the shop. And then you see a familiar figure.

“Remus?” you gasp.

He looks up from the book in his hand and a smile spreads across his scarred face.

“Hello!” he replies cheerfully. “Totally a surprise seeing you here.”

You share a laugh. You’d talked about this shop several times in passing. You look around the bookshop together.

When you leave, you ask, “Where’re your friends?”

The rest of the Marauders were noticeably absent.

“Zonko’s.”

“Hey, so are mine! Didn’t fancy going.”

“Me neither.” He looks around. “Fancy a butterbeer?”

You go to the Three Broomsticks together. If your friends saw you, they’d say you just went on an impromptu date with Remus, but you didn’t think it felt like a date. Was Remus a gentleman and even offered to pay for your drink? Yes, but that’s how Remus always is. If he was a girl, your friends wouldn’t think anything of it. And that’s what convinces you that this isn’t a date. The comfortable conversation and seemingly endless laughter and smiles? Those were just a result of being friends. 

When you finally leave the pub to go back to school, it’s dark out. 

“Shit, is it snowing?” Remus mutters, unconsciously pulling his coat tighter around himself. 

You smile, looking up at the sky. Indeed, little flakes of snow were drifting to the ground. The downside to snow, though, was the cold that it brought with it. You hadn’t brought a coat with you to Hogsmeade. It wasn’t that chilly when you left the school’s grounds this morning, your long-sleeved shirt sufficing. Now, you were shivering as you walked alongside Remus.

“Where’s your coat?” Remus asks. “Here, take mine.”

He’s shrugging off his coat before you can answer and forcing you into it. You don’t protest. You know he wouldn’t accept ‘no’ for an answer. His coat is warm from his body heat and smells deeply of him. You sneak a sniff as you tighten it around yourself. 

“Won’t you be cold though?” you ask, already feeling warmer in his coat.

He pulls at his sweater. “I got more layers than you do. I’ll be fine.”

You frown and say, “Okay, but if you get cold, just let me know. Actually, if I see you shiver once, I’m giving it back.” 

“I won’t shiver. I’ll be warm enough.”

He was correct. He didn’t shiver once the entire walk back, not even on the bit of trail that goes by the Black Lake and is notorious for being colder than the rest of the path. He was so warm and content with having gotten to spend time with you at Hogsmeade that Remus doesn’t notice that you forgot to give him his coat back until he’s back in his dorm. You’d give it back eventually, right?

Some time in the spring, the two of you arranged to study outside rather than in the library during a period you both had free. By the time that period arrived though, you had finished all of your assignments. You didn’t want to leave Remus hanging so you brought your crochet. It wouldn’t be the first time you crocheted while Remus did homework. 

When you pulled it out as you sat at the base of a tree, Remus gave you a curious look.

“That’s not homework.”

You hummed as the hooks weaved the yarn together. “Good observation.”

He watches you intently for a few minutes. His Transfiguration book sat forgotten in his lap. The subtle clicking of your hooks was mesmerizing, as was the repetitive motion. 

“That chapter’s not reading itself,” you say, not looking up from your work. “I can feel you watching.”

“Teach me,” he says a bit rushed.

You stop working for a moment. You look at Remus with a tilt of your head.

“Would you teach me how to crochet? Please?” he asks again with a polite smile.

“You want to learn how to crochet?” 

“Yeah,” he says breathlessly. “You seem to like it. Must be fun.”

You laugh, shaking your head. But you’re smiling. 

“Do you… want to learn now?” you offer. 

Remus’ book is put away at record speed and he moves to sit closer to you. You start with explaining your current project, a blanket. You tell him about the different hooks and yarn sizes. You teach him a handful of knots. You get lost in recounting your favorite completed projects. 

The noise of students coming out of the castle to enjoy the beautiful day brings you out of your recollection. 

“Oh, shoot, is the period over?”

Remus just smiles at you.

“Ended like ten minutes ago, I think.”

“Then we better get going! We are so late to Charms!”

“Ah, we’re already late. Let’s skip.” He looks down at the yarn laced around his fingers and hook that you’re letting him borrow. “You’re going to have to walk me through this one again.”

And that was the first crochet lesson turned skipped lesson. There would be more of those, especially as the weather continuously got nicer. On the occasional rainy day, Remus suggested you work on your projects in the Gryffindor Common Room. He had ordered his own yarn and hooks and patterns, but he still asked you for help and advice. While it was satisfying to create something cozy, Remus really enjoyed getting to spend time with you and the times when your hands brushed against his as you helped him correct a stitch. 

By the time fall of your sixth year came around, you were constantly with Remus. In the library. In the Gryffindor Common Room. In his dorm. At the Gryffindor table during meals. If anyone asked, you were just the bestest of friends. As close as you could get while still maintaining that innocent title. The Marauders got used to you being around very quickly, just as your friends got used to Remus tagging along practically everywhere you went. You both received endless teasing from your respective friends. Because there was no way, according to them, that you two were simply platonic. 

One evening, you and Remus were alone in his dorm. It was a rare occurrence. James, Peter and Sirius were all elsewhere. Quidditch practice, detention, common room, studying, with a girl, Remus didn’t know, nor did he really care. He was with you and that’s all he needed. 

“Okay, so lay on your back,” you instruct Remus. 

He does as told, laying backwards onto the floor.

“Grab your shoulders. Opposite sides, Remus. So your arms make a ‘V’ over your chest.”

“Okay…”

“Now, take a deep breath and start saying ha as you exhale. Keep saying it.”

“Ha… ha… ha…” 

You press down on his arms so they dig into his chest. Within a few more ha’s, Remus falls into a fit of deep, full laughs. You let up, falling into your own fit of giggles. 

“Where’d you learn that?” he asks as he wheezes, sitting up. 

“Slumber parties from when I was little,” you say. “Everyone takes turns doing it. One of my old friends peed herself from it!”

“Must’ve been nice to have friends before Hogwarts,” he says a bit melancholy. 

You didn’t know why Remus didn’t have friends before school, but you never asked. It didn’t seem like something that he wanted to talk about. He always got quiet when he brought it up. This time, it almost seemed as if he was jealous you had these lovely memories you could reminisce on and he didn’t. 

Remus moved from the ground to his bed. You joined him there, sitting right next to him. You leaned your head on his shoulder; it felt like it was the perfect height for you. The two of you are able to sit in silence for a while without it being uncomfortable. Hours in the library doing homework trained you for peaceful moments like this. In the quiet, you debate asking Remus about his childhood, if he wanted to talk about it.

Then you felt Remus take a deep breath from under you.

“I need to tell you something.”

You angle your head to look up at him. He’s staring straight ahead with taut features. You're not sure if you’ve ever seen him looking so grim. It’s quite a contrast to how he was smiling when you were showing him the laughing trick. He’s certain he’s only looked this way once before: when he confirmed to the Marauders that he was a werewolf. 

You sit up a little straighter and place your hand over his where it rests on the bed.

“You can tell me anything.”

“You… you say that, but what I’m about to say is going to change everything.”

You frown and give his hand a squeeze. You hope it’s reassuring.

“Change isn’t always bad, you know,” you tell him, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he’s felt the same things blossoming between you two as you have, as your friends have observed.

“I’m a… I’m a werewolf.”

“Oh.” It comes out as a shocked gasp of disbelief. 

You don’t know what to do as you recall every lesson you’ve had on werewolves and their bloodthirsty tendencies. You shift away from Remus and end up sitting at the foot of his bed. You’re still on his bed though, which gives him a flicker of hope. And you’re facing him. That has to be something, he thinks. 

He takes a deep breath before saying, “I’m a monster. I know I am. I just… I couldn’t go on with this-” He pauses to take another breath, this one more shaky than the last. “-without you knowing what you were getting into.”

You’re surprised to say the least. Everything you heard, everything you learned, everything you knew about werewolves told you to run out of this dorm and to stay as far away from Remus as you could. Because it was as he said: he was a monster. 

But something keeps you sitting on the end of the bed, unmoving. 

It’s the contradicting facts of who Remus is. The boy who let you sit at his table in the library wasn’t a monster. He wasn’t a monster when he lent you his jacket or when you passed notes to each other during class. He wasn’t a monster when he asked you to teach him crochet or when he made you laugh when you had been crying. He wasn’t a monster when you skipped class together.

You’re not sure what your expression was telling Remus as he stared at you, waiting for you to say or do something. You sat staring at each other for a few minutes. It was killing Remus to do nothing, but he knew that he had to wait. If you had run out, at least he would’ve known where you two stood. But you didn’t run out. You just moved to the foot of his bed and stayed. It wasn’t the brotherly comfort that James, Peter and Sirius had shown that night years ago. This was something else and he didn’t know how he was supposed to respond while he waited for you to do something more than stare at him.

But then you did. You move back to where you had been sitting, although you’re a hair off from the exact position. You’re not touching Remus this time, but you’re near him and that’s enough for him for now.

The quiet that you had shared minutes before returned, but it was different. Now it felt like you were both waiting for the other to talk. 

“You’re not scared of me?” Remus asks with a weak voice.

“I, um, I’m terrified,” you say, your own voice on par with his. “It’s just… It doesn’t feel real. I’m supposed to believe you’re classified as a five-x creature? You? I can’t…”

“It’s a lot… I know,” Remus says, letting his head fall forward. “But it’s true.” You don’t respond right away. You’re trying to sort through your spinning thoughts, a compilation of fears and questions. The silence, however, is suffocating for both of you.

“How many people know?” you ask, thinking that if this was common knowledge, more people would be frightened to even look in his direction.

“Dumbledore and some of the staff. Sirius, James and Peter. You,” he lists off. 

You swallow thickly before bringing yourself to look at Remus. The list was much smaller than you had expected. No Lily. No Marlene or Mary. No Emmeline or Dorcas. No Weasleys or Prewetts. No Benjy. None of the other houses’ prefects. 

“You trust me that much?” 

He lifts his head to return your gaze. His hand hovers above yours with the tentativeness of not knowing if he was allowed to place his on yours. 

“I trust you more than I’d like to admit,” he whispers. 

You nod. It feels a bit peculiar how until now, you would’ve answered that question the same way. Maybe you still would.

“And what happens now?” you ask.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, now I know. I don’t think you want me to go around telling people. Do we still study together? Do you still want to crochet? Do I still come sit in your dorm? Am I okay to hug you when I’ve had a shit day? What happens now?” 

“Ah.” Remus sits up a bit, looking away from you for a moment. “I suppose that’s up to you.”

You close your eyes and nod. “Then we go back to how things were before you told me. For now, at least.”

Remus wasn’t exactly sure what you meant by “go back” but it sounded like nothing was to change. For now. 

The two of you sat in silence for a while. You stayed until Peter arrived, back from wherever he had been. 

“I’ll see you later, Remus,” you say before heading out.

Remus doesn’t say anything, which Peter finds odd. He doesn’t ask Remus about it. He just gets ready for bed. The dorm is quiet until Sirius and James barrel in together. 

“Moony! Wormtail! That’s where you two are!” Sirius exclaims.

Peter acknowledges the two boys, but Remus continues staring with unfocused eyes. He was too deep in his own mind to notice that more of his friends were in the room.

“Moony?” James asks, leaning against the post at the end of Remus’ four-poster bed. “You got another week before the full. What’s up?”

The mention of the moon gets his attention.

“I told her,” he says. “I shouldn’t’ve told her.”

The other two boys’ heads snap toward Remus.

“You told her?” Peter repeats as James and Sirius sit at the foot of Remus’ bed. Remus nods.

“And she took it bad?” Peter continued.

Remus shook his head.

“Then she took it well?” Sirius asks. 

He shook his head again.

“Moony, you gotta talk to us. What happened?” Sirius pressed.

“I think…” His throat was too dry, too scratchy to talk. He tried to swallow but it hurt. “I think we’re pretending I didn’t tell her.”

The boys didn’t say anything. They didn’t know what to say.

“She’s terrified of me,” Remus whispers. 

Peter frowns at that. “She didn’t seem terrified when she left.”

“She’s terrified of me,” he says again. “So we’re pretending I’m not what I am.” 

The boys exchange looks, each varying in their reaction. They all thought the same thing though - you can’t pretend that Remus isn’t a werewolf once you know. Once you know, the facts and the patterns are too blatant to ignore. It’s easier to look past when you don’t know. The boys knew that they took the news that Remus was a werewolf better than most. The fact that you hadn’t run out screaming was a good sign. The fact that you seemed to still want to be friends with Remus was a good sign. But they knew, even if Remus refused to say it out loud to them, that it wasn’t quite the response you needed to have if you were to have a romantic relationship with him. 

You try to come to peace with the fact that Remus is a werewolf over the next few days, which bleeds into weeks. As the full moon waxes and wanes, you notice the changes in Remus. It’s obvious. The way he’s paler, moves slower, the bags under his eyes darker, the new bandages on his arms when he rolls up his sleeves. 

You still sat next to him in classes and met with him in the library. You try to talk like you always did, but there’s something off in the air between you. It doesn’t feel like the same. It doesn’t feel quite as it was. You don’t spend as much time in the Gryffindor Common Room and at their table as you used to. You hope it wasn’t too obvious to all of your friends that you were suddenly putting a little bit of space between you and Remus, but that was wishful thinking. You’re just glad your friends were being non-confrontational for once. You wouldn’t know how to explain it if they asked. 

It’s Sirius who calls you out on it. He saw you leave the Great Hall from breakfast and got up to talk to you. 

“Hey!” he calls just outside of the hall. “Can we chat?”

You turn to wait for the curly haired boy. 

“Yeah. What’s up?”

You felt silly asking that. You knew what was up.

“Remus.”

Yup. You could have called that form the moment you heard his voice. You swallowed thickly and nodded.

“Right…”

“Walk with me?” he asks and you nod again. “You can’t pretend he’s not what he is.”

“I’m realizing that,” you say softly. “Two weeks ago… I’d never noticed it.”

“It took us until third year to figure it out and we live with him. Don’t beat yourself up over it. But it is weird to not have you around as much.” 

You let out a breath. “It’s weird not being around you all… But I don’t know how… how to go back to normal? How do you get past everything we’ve been taught?”

Sirius nods understandingly. “It can take time, but you have to understand that nearly everything we’re taught in lessons is from people who’ve never spent much time with one. And if they have, it’s not one like Remus.” 

“Can you keep a secret?”

“I didn’t tell you about Remus. What do you think?”

You chuckle softly. Then you bite your lip as you stop walking, turning to face Sirius.

“I fancied Remus before he told me.”

Sirius’ lips tugged upward. He knew it. 

“You know, he’s still the same Remus as before. He’s had his furry little problem since he was young. You’ve never known him without it, none of us have. And he’s real careful with it, if you’re worried he’s going to hurt you. Hasn’t hurt anyone at Hogwarts, or before from what I’m aware of. And, you didn’t hear it from me, but he would never hurt you on purpose. Even on accident, he’d beat himself up forever for causing you any kind of pain. He cares for you. More than I think you know.”

“He cares for me?” you echo. 

Sirius nods. You think back to the night Remus told you about being a werewolf. 

I couldn’t go on with this without you knowing what you were getting into.

This? Maybe Remus had told you he felt something between you. 

That thought repeats in your mind during your morning lessons. You’re not sure if you’re glad or not that you didn’t have any classes with Remus. If you had, maybe you would’ve spoken to him and been able to actually pay attention. 

You’re desperate to talk to Remus when lunch rolls around. He’s already sitting in the Great Hall at the Gryffindor table when you get there. You give Sirius a soft smile as you approach them. 

“Remus? Can we talk?” 

He looks at you hesitantly. He can guess where this is going. You’ve decided that you can’t be friends with a werewolf and you hope that he can understand. You’re just going to let him down gently. It’ll be an attempt to not provoke him. Because, of course, he is a dangerous monster.

He follows you out of the side door. He moves slowly though, like his limbs weigh ten times their normal weight. 

“I don’t want things to be the same,” you say. There’s a firmness to your voice.

He looks at you with sad eyes. “Oh, okay…”

Everything about him tells you that you weren’t clear enough. You mentally kick yourself for not saying more. 

“When you told me about your… what did Sirius call it? Your fuzzy secret or something? Whatever. That. Um, when you told me about it, you said that you couldn’t go on with this. This was something other than friendship, right?” 

Remus fidgets with his hands nervously. But he nods, unable to make eye contact with you. So you were going to reject him in more ways than one. Wonderful. 

“Well, now that I know, we… we can go on with… with this. Right?”

He stops fidgeting. He’s completely stilled and he’s still not looking at you.

“That can be different than before. Erm, being something other than friends… more than friends.”

“You’d really want that? With me?” Remus asks quietly, his words uncertain. 

“I wanted it before,” you say slowly. “And the feeling hasn’t gone away.”

You pause as you reach for his hands. When they touch, Remus brings himself to meet your eyes. 

“I think… I think it’ll take time to get used to knowing… about your…”

“Furry little problem,” Remus fills in for you.

“Yes. That. Erm, it’ll take time, but I will get used to it. If you help me.” 

“Help you…” Remus spoke as if the words baffled him.

“Help me by being my boyfriend? I’m sure if we spend more time together, it’ll make getting used to it a whole lot easier.”

“Then let me help you,” he says, a smile finally appearing on his face. “Call it returning the favor for the all those times you helped with my crochet.”

“Your puff stitch is still atrocious. We’ll have to spend a lot of time on that.”

[ssentimentals]

hi love ur works! can i request 43 and 45 for idol!cheol and idol!reader?

hi babe! aw, thank you :') thank you for requesting, hopefully you'll like it! 💜

prompt: realization of the feelings at the Worst Possible Moment & fake dating

'pr relationships' are very common in the idol world. seungcheol never particularly cared for semantics but he wished he did, because when he got into pr relationship with you, he was totally clueless. the whole 'fake dating' thing spiraled from few videos of you two on the awards ceremony laughing and then your fans made their own conclusions and... well. seungcheol supposes there are weirder things out there than seeing an article about himself being in happy relationship with you, when in reality he never even met you outside of big events.

'it worked very well,' his manager says, smiling at him reassuringly. 'it's a normal practice, seungcheol. we will just put out a statement that you two didn't manage to hold on to your love due to very busy schedules and that's it, you will officially be a free man. those five months were probably very tiring for you.'

seungcheol doesn't think he should say that those five months were actually the best months of his life, so he wisely keeps his mouth shut. he tried to ask around about this - are there any pr relationships that turned out to be real? did any couple in the history go from 'fake dating' to very much real dating? answer is no and it weighs heavily on his chest. he never thought how fake dating would work, but you made it so easy. going out with you was awkward at first but then? days when you two were supposed to meet quickly became his favorites. he anticipated them, got ready for them, enjoyed them fully. somehow from 'just another idol' you turned into 'a good friend' and then-

'okay, let's get this done. today is the day we put an end to that pr stunt,' his manager pats him on the back. 'she and her manager are already inside.'

seungcheol thinks that universe is probably laughing at him right now. he's about to walk into the meeting where you two are supposed to sign the document specifying the end of 'pr stunt' and 'fake dating' and seungcheol? seungcheol wants none of that. seungcheol wants to take your hand and kiss you for the first time in those five months. he wants to wrap his arms around you and look into your eyes and tell you that he's fallen in love for real. he wants to go on those dates but not because it's an obligation due to contract, but because he genuinely wants to spend time with you. he wants you to be his real girlfriend with no pretense. and he thinks that you might want it too. after five months seungcheol likes to think that he knows you well and if there's even a tiny chance that you might feel the same - he's going to go for it.

'any questions before we start?' the lawyer asks once everyone sits down.

seungcheol chews on his bottom lip. you're sitting in front of him, looking as nervous as he feels. he wants to reach out and take your hand in his, wants to tell you that there's nothing to worry about, that he will handle it all. he truly is an idiot for figuring his feelings out the day this contract is supposed to end. 'i have a question,' he says loudly, startling everyone. you look up at him with raised eyebrows and cheol leans on the table, stretching his hand out to you. 'you're with me, yes?'

you blink. there's moment of hesitation but then you clasp his hand. 'not sure what's happening, but yeah, i'm with you.'

seungcheol gives your hand a squeeze. that's all he needs. 'what if i didn't want to break up?' he asks, causing both managers to freeze in shock. 'what if i wanted to keep going?' you start to pull your hand out of his grip and he quickly adds: 'as a real thing this time.'

'seungcheol, what?' you breathe out with widened eyes. 'what-'

'for real this time,' he repeats, turning to you. you look shocked but you also look hopeful and yeah, seungcheol is going all in. 'you and me. as a couple. no contract anymore, no stupid pr things that we have to do. just us.'

'just us,' you repeat in awe. blush colors your cheeks when the meaning behind his words resonates. 'cheol, i-'

'with me?' he asks, interlacing your fingers. 'still with me, yeah?'

his manager is going to kill him. shocked looking lawyer will probably have his ass too. but none of it matters when your eyes sparkle prettily at him. when you lean closer, smiling. when you squeeze his hand in reassurance. 'yeah. still with you.'

seungcheol smiles. there's some stuff happening at the background: managers bickering, lawyer shouting. none of it matters though, not when he moves his chair until he's right next to you. when you let him kiss your cheek and your shoulder. 'can't wait to take you out on a real date,' he whispers, grinning.

you chuckle, leaning on his right side. 'me too.'

people on the background fade. seungcheol kisses your hand and smiles - nothing else matters.

a/n: oh this was so fun to write hehe :D hope you enjoyed, let me know! - nini

request your own here

my other seventeen work is here

[airandyeah]

Animals (Alpha!Sukuna X Alpha!Toji X Omega!Reader) Pt.4

My Masterlist Series Masterlist Warnings: Obvious A/B/O dynamics, suggestive comments or actions, just generally Minors DNI-just in case. This will be similar to Pink Pony Club and Sins, where I just mark every chapter as 18+ This also has the general warning of Toji and Sukuna both honestly being menaces.

The screen flickered as the call connected, and before you could even greet anyone properly, your mother’s voice rang out—sharp, commanding, impossible to ignore.

“Are you eating well?”

You sighed, already regretting answering. Should’ve let it go to voicemail.

“Hi, Mom,” you deadpanned, but she wasn’t having it.

“Don’t ‘Hi, Mom’ me. Have you been eating properly? You looked thin the last time we saw you.”

You rolled your eyes, shifting on the couch. “I eat fine.”

“And exercising?” she pressed, narrowing her eyes through the screen.

You groaned. “Yes.” A lie. You’d barely been moving from your couch unless absolutely necessary.

Your father was in the background, half-listening, half-distracted, while your three brothers lounged around like oversized wolves, occasionally throwing glances at the screen.

Then, the question you knew was coming.

“So,” your mother drawled, eyes gleaming. “Any boys caught your eye?”

Your entire body stiffened. Nope. Absolutely not. Not doing this.

“No,” you said firmly.

Your brothers perked up immediately. “No one?” the eldest asked, skeptical.

“No,” you repeated, more agitated.

Your mother hummed. “Not even a little?”

Flashes of muscle and smirks crossed your mind—Sukuna’s sharp teeth, Toji’s lazy, knowing grin, their irritatingly smug confidence—

NO.

“No,” you bit out again, too fast, too defensive.

Your brothers definitely noticed.

“Ohhh, shit,” one of them muttered, grinning.

“There is someone,” another accused, leaning in.

“No, there isn’t,” you snapped.

But your mother was already smirking, far too pleased. “Well, you are at that age. If someone has caught your eye, you should bring them home. They’ll need to be evaluated.”

Evaluated. Like a damn threat assessment.

You scowled. “I said there’s no one.”

Your father, silent until now, finally sighed. “Leave her alone,��� he muttered, barely looking up from whatever he was doing.

But the damage was done. Your mother knew you were hiding something. And worse? So did your brothers.

If they found out about Toji and Sukuna? You were never going to hear the end of it.

The call had finally settled into something normal—or at least as normal as it ever got with your family. Your mother had moved on from interrogating your love life (thank god), now talking about some new fitness routine she wanted you to try.

Your father chimed in occasionally, offering quiet grunts of agreement, while your brothers bickered in the background over some ridiculous bet. It was comfortable.

Buzz.

Until your phone started vibrating.

You ignored it at first, assuming it was some random notification. But then—

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

A rapid string of messages lit up the screen, the vibrations rattling against the table.

You glanced at it, frowning.

Toji: Hey. Toji: Did you eat yet? Toji: Answer, brat.

Then—

Sukuna: Oi. You alive? Sukuna: Answer before we show up at your door.

You clenched your jaw, glancing at the laptop screen where your mother was still talking.

Another message.

Sukuna: Maybe we should’ve kept you in town, huh? You get lonely out there?

You glared at your phone.

“What’s with that face?” one of your brothers asked, smirking.

“Nothing,” you muttered, flipping the device over.

Your mother narrowed her eyes. “Who’s texting you?”

Your shoulders tensed. “No one.”

A beat of silence.

Then your eldest brother—the worst of them—grinned. “It’s a guy.”

Your mother’s eyes lit up. “Oh? So you do have someone.”

“No, I don’t,” you shot back.

Buzz.

You were going to kill them.

Your brothers started laughing, already sensing blood in the water.

Your mother smirked. “Well, now I have to know. Who is he?”

“No one.”

Your laptop screen was filled with their amused faces, but all you could focus on was your phone—still lighting up with messages from the two Alphas who refused to leave you alone.

You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to ignore the persistent buzzing of your phone as your family continued their interrogation. Every second felt like a warzone, with your brothers circling like vultures, trying to pull out the most embarrassing details about your nonexistent love life.

You kept your face neutral, answering only when necessary. It wasn’t that you didn’t love your family—it was just that you could already tell what was coming. They never stopped.

You gritted your teeth, trying to tune out the incessant buzzing from your phone as your family continued their usual questioning. Your brothers were relentless, teasing you about every little thing, while your mother turned her attention to your eating habits—as if you were still a teenager.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

The vibrations from your phone rattled the table, but you resisted the urge to check it. You didn’t want to deal with it right now.

The call was live, your laptop screen filled with the faces of your family, each one pushing for more details about your nonexistent love life. It had been a long day, and your patience was wearing thin.

Then, through the chatter and your mother’s never-ending advice about how you needed to eat better and exercise more, the faint, familiar crunch of gravel echoed through your window. The sound of doors slamming followed, and your heart skipped a beat. You didn’t have to look to know exactly who it was.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

You froze.

It was the unmistakable sound of the two of them. Toji and Sukuna.

“Who’s at the door?” your mother asked, squinting at the screen in confusion.

You didn’t answer right away. No, not now, you thought, panic rising in your chest. The last thing you wanted was to deal with them while you were on a video call with your family.

Another knock.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Your heart pounded. You glanced at the screen—your family was still oblivious, completely unaware of the storm at your door. They didn’t feel the sudden shift in the air, the way you could.

You sighed, defeated, and stood up, walking towards the door as you muttered under your breath. Your family’s voices faded into the background as you made your way toward the door, trying to steady your nerves.

You opened it, and there they were—standing on your doorstep like they owned the place.

Toji grinned, his hands casually tucked in his pockets, looking every bit the smug bastard he was. Sukuna stood beside him, arms crossed, his smirk somehow even more insufferable.

Both of them looked like trouble.

“Hey, brat,” Toji greeted you, his tone a lazy drawl as he looked you up and down.

Sukuna, always the one to push things further, took a step forward, his voice almost too casual. “What’s up?”

Your heart sank as you realized your family was still watching. They hadn’t noticed the shift in your demeanor or your tension, but you knew it was only a matter of time before they did.

“What are you doing here?” you hissed, trying your best to keep your voice steady, though your frustration was clear.

Toji’s grin only widened. “You weren't responding. Figured we’d swing by.”

Sukuna’s eyes flicked to your laptop, where your family’s faces were still visible on the screen, their expressions starting to shift from curiosity to suspicion. “It’s not every day we get to meet the family,” he added, eyes glinting with amusement.

You shot him a death glare, desperate to shut this down before it spiraled further. But of course, it was already too late. The damage had been done.

They were here. And your family had seen them.

Your mother, ever the sharp one, raised an eyebrow through the screen. “Well, well, well,” she said, her voice teasing. “Looks like we have some guests, huh?”

Toji’s grin never faltered, and Sukuna simply leaned back against the doorframe, his smirk growing.

You were trapped.

It was only a matter of time before your family started asking questions you didn’t want to answer.

You felt your face flush with embarrassment as you heard your mother’s voice on the other side of the screen. “Well, it’s nice to meet you both,” she said, far too cheerful, like this was some sort of normal occurrence. You could already feel your brothers’ laughter bubbling up in the background.

Your patience snapped.

You had had enough. You didn’t even hesitate.

You turned on your heel, slamming the door with all your might. The sound echoed, harsh and final.

But of course, Toji wasn’t having it.

You heard the door thud as his hand shot out, catching it before it could close all the way. You barely had time to react before he was pushing it back open, grinning like the devil himself.

“You don’t really think you can just get rid of us that easily, do you?” Toji’s voice was low, playful, but there was no mistaking the challenge in it.

Sukuna leaned in the doorway, his gaze still sharp, still as smug as ever. “We’ll leave when we’re good and ready.”

Your mouth went dry. You had just made everything worse.

Your stomach churned. You wanted to scream at them to leave, to let you have your peace. Instead, you stood there, trying not to let your irritation show too much. The last thing you needed was for them to see your weakness, your frustration.

Without asking, they made their way to the laptop on the table, both of them towering over it, staring down at the screen.

You quickly turned your attention to the video call, half-worried that your family was about to get a show they weren't prepared for. The last thing you wanted was for your mother to ask them questions or for your brothers to make some inappropriate comment.

To your surprise, though, Toji and Sukuna didn’t say anything crude. They didn’t make any obnoxious jokes or flirtatious comments like you expected. They didn’t make a scene.

Instead, both of them leaned in close to the screen, grinning like they’d won some sort of game, but their demeanor was almost… respectful.

“Hello,” Toji said, his voice smooth, with an air of warmth that almost caught you off guard. He was smiling, but it was sincere—nothing at all like his usual teasing tone. His eyes flicked to the screen as he added, “We’re Toji and Sukuna. Nice to meet you.”

Sukuna’s smile was a little more restrained, but the glint in his eye didn’t soften. He nodded politely, just enough to be courteous. “Pleasure,” he said, his voice deep and calm.

You blinked. This wasn’t what you expected.

You could almost hear your mother’s voice crack through the screen, her eyes now focused on the two men standing at your table. “Well, hello,” she said, her tone still a bit skeptical, but undeniably curious. “It’s nice to meet you both. I’m Y/N’s mother.”

The two men straightened up a little at the introduction, both nodding, but neither making a move to get too close to the camera. They were oddly reserved, like they knew the boundaries and were respecting them.

“Thanks for looking out for her,” Toji said casually, but there was an underlying sincerity in his voice. It caught you off guard, and you felt your shoulders tense as you looked between them, trying to keep your composure.

Sukuna’s eyes flicked to yours for a split second before he turned back to the laptop. “She’s been a pain in our ass, but we’re keeping an eye on her,” he added with a small smirk, though his voice lacked the usual taunting bite. It was more like an inside joke—something that was just between the three of you.

Your mother smiled at them, clearly not picking up on the layers of meaning in Sukuna’s words. “You two must be very close,” she commented, her tone light and friendly. “I’m glad my daughter has people like you around.”

You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks. You wanted to snap at them, to tell your family to stop, but you were caught between your growing frustration and the bizarrely polite, almost charming version of Toji and Sukuna you hadn’t seen before.

Toji’s grin returned in full force as he gave a quick nod to your mother. “Of course. She’s a stubborn one, but we’re good at dealing with stubborn people,” he said, his voice warm but still carrying that unmistakable edge of teasing.

You narrowed your eyes at him, but before you could say anything, Sukuna spoke up again, his voice softer than usual. “We’re just making sure she doesn’t get into trouble. She tends to cause it without even trying.”

You tried not to flinch at his words, but deep down, it stung. It wasn’t exactly wrong.

Your mother chuckled, clearly enjoying the conversation. She had no idea how much this conversation was grating on your nerves. “She sure does like to cause a little trouble, doesn’t she?”

You shot them both a glare, but they didn’t even flinch. They had already won this round.

The strangest thing, though, was that as much as you wanted to push them away, this version of Toji and Sukuna—the one who wasn’t pushing you, wasn’t being crude or overwhelming—felt even worse. This respectful, controlled version of them was a whole new kind of frustrating.

As the conversation continued, you silently cursed yourself. How was it that every time they showed up, you were forced to face something new—something you weren’t ready for?

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to go,” you said abruptly, not even giving them a chance to respond. You quickly clicked the ‘end call’ button on your laptop, cutting off the image of your family before they could protest.

You heard the faint buzz of their protest on the other end, but you couldn’t stand it anymore. You needed to get away from this—them. The awkward silence that followed the call seemed to stretch endlessly in your head.

When the screen finally went black, you exhaled a shaky breath, shoulders sagging in relief. You didn't want to hear your mom's nagging or deal with the endless stream of questions from your brothers. Not with them here.

But as soon as the silence settled, you realized—they hadn’t left yet.

Toji and Sukuna were still standing there, smirking, still like they owned the place. They hadn’t moved an inch since the video call ended.

You didn’t know if you should be more frustrated with your family or them.

“So,” Sukuna drawled, breaking the silence with a lazy stretch, “that was fun. Do you want us to stick around? We could’ve stayed longer.”

Your hands balled into fists at your sides, but you tried to stay calm, not wanting to lose it in front of them—again. “No. You’ve done enough. I appreciate the help, but—”

“To be fair,” Toji interrupted, his voice teasing, “you didn’t exactly look thrilled to see us show up, did you?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “I’m just... I’m tired.”

The last thing you wanted was to get tangled up in another one of their games.

But, damn it, you could feel the pull again—despite everything. Their presence was still so overwhelming. The way they just stood there, watching you, like they were waiting for you to fall in line. Like you were supposed to bend to whatever they wanted.

Sukuna grinned, that sly, knowing smirk creeping up again. “Yeah, I think you are tired. But, you know,” he added, glancing at Toji, “we wouldn’t mind hanging out for a bit. Make sure you're settling in.”

You could see where this was going—again.

“Look, I just need some space.” You said it firmly, stepping toward the door, hand gripping the handle. “Thank you for everything, but I’m fine now. I just need some time alone.”

Toji’s eyes flicked to Sukuna before he shrugged. “Alright, but don’t take too long,” he said, voice heavy with that damn teasing tone. “You’ll need us eventually.”

Sukuna snorted, but said nothing as he followed Toji out of the door.

You closed it behind them, the moment they were out of sight, and leaned against it, breathing in a deep breath. You didn’t know whether you were angry, embarrassed, or just utterly frustrated by the whole situation.

But the feeling that gnawed at you most was the one you couldn’t shake—the one that left your heart pounding in your chest. Even after everything, even after pushing them away, you couldn’t deny the pull they had on you.

And that made you madder than anything else. ~~~ The following days dragged on in a blur of restless waiting. You kept busy around the cabin, trying to distract yourself from the reality that you had to rely on them to fix your car. The constant tension between wanting independence and needing help felt like an endless back-and-forth, and you were starting to lose patience with the entire situation.

But then, finally, the message you’d been waiting for appeared on your phone.

“Car’s fixed. We’ll drop it off tomorrow. I’ll drive it, and Sukuna will bring the truck.”

You stared at the message from Toji, a mix of annoyance and relief bubbling inside you. At least it would be over soon. You’d have your car back, and hopefully, you wouldn’t have to deal with them for a while after that.

The next day, you tried to keep yourself occupied, but every noise outside seemed to send your mind spiraling. The quiet of the woods made the waiting feel even worse, like the world was holding its breath just as you were. You could already feel the pull of them, like gravity, reminding you that you were too close to them for comfort.

By midday, you heard the rumble of engines. You couldn’t help but glance out the window, seeing their truck pulling up to your place—Toji in the driver’s seat of your car, Sukuna at the wheel of the truck.

They stopped in front of the cabin, both of them stepping out with that same smug expression you’d grown to hate and secretly crave. You rolled your eyes, though you could feel the heat creeping up your neck despite yourself.

Toji made his way toward your front door with his usual confident stride, throwing a casual wave as he approached. Sukuna followed behind, taking his time, eyes lingering on you as usual.

“Your car’s good as new,” Toji said with that teasing grin you could never quite figure out. He leaned against your doorframe casually, his eyes raking over you, as if he knew the effect he had on you. “Ready to take it for a spin?”

You folded your arms, standing your ground. “Yeah, thanks.” You could feel the irritation bubbling beneath your cool facade. "I appreciate the help, but I don't need a babysitter."

Sukuna snorted behind you, his deep voice smooth. “Who says we’re babysitting? We’re just making sure you don’t break down on the way back into town, sweetheart.”

“Right,” you said dryly, looking over at them both. “I can handle it. But thanks for fixing it.”

Toji gave a lazy shrug, “Figured we’d make sure it was working properly. No more issues, at least not for a while.”

You hesitated, then stepped outside, locking the door behind you. The air was crisp, and the woods around you felt silent except for their voices. Toji walked to your car and opened the door like it was just another day, while Sukuna lingered by the truck, his eyes never leaving you.

You couldn’t deny the way your heart skipped a beat, but you pushed the feeling aside, telling yourself it was just the tension from being near them too long.

“Let’s go,” Toji said, tapping the roof of your car with a grin. “Sukuna’s getting impatient.”

You glanced at Sukuna, who was leaning on the truck with a smirk, arms crossed over his chest. He raised an eyebrow at you as if daring you to make a move.

“Fine,” you muttered under your breath, finally walking over to your car and sliding into the driver's seat.

Toji climbed into the passenger side of your car, Sukuna following you both to the truck with an almost lazy swagger. You started the engine, and as you pulled out of the driveway, you couldn’t shake the feeling that they were still watching, still pushing you in a way that made your heart race.

The drive into town wasn’t long, but with both Toji and Sukuna by your side, the tension felt unbearable, thick enough to cut through the air between you. The thought of breaking away from them, of getting to a place where you could think clearly, was something you ached for—but they weren’t making it easy.

"How does it feel to finally get your car back?" Toji asked, his voice low, a knowing glint in his eyes. "You were starting to get used to us, huh?"

You bit back the urge to retort, but instead focused on the road ahead. The last thing you needed was to play into their teasing games.

Sukuna, ever the troublemaker, shot you a smirk. "You look like you're about to bite someone's head off. What's wrong, princess? Not enjoying the ride?"

You gritted your teeth, pretending their teasing didn’t affect you. But deep down, you knew the truth—you hated how much it did.

Taglist is always open for anyone! Just comment, send an ask, or a DM and I'll add you! Taglist: @tojislongshlong , @jaxawinchester , @ectomotive , @hishearttohave Perma Tags: @thenightperson

[sunarots]

taste ━━━ suna rintarou & miya osamu

RINTAROU ROUTE — click here for osamu’s route

01. the big leagues ♡

You can see him already sat at the table with an older man you assume to be the team's manager. You stare at your reflection in the window, flattening your dress before entering. You're almost at the table when the manager notices you approaching. He rises from his chair to greet you as Suna jumps to his feet, a hesitation before turning to look at you.

You stop beside Suna, resting an arm on his bicep as you greet the man. "I'm sorry for being so late. Traffic was horrible. I'm l/n y/n, it's nice to meet you."

He smiles, bowing his head with his hands clasped in front of him. "I'm Ono Tetsuya, I coach division one EJP Raijin," he introduces himself before sitting back down again.

You slide into place beside Suna, feeling his eyes still on you. "So, what can I tell you about Rin that'll get you take him on your team?" A smile breaks out on your face, picking up the menu in front of you to glance at.

"I'd like to know how he gets on with his teammates. I know how he plays, his stats, all of that. That's why he started every match on the court, he's a good player. A great one, even. But following the events at the intercollegiate, I have some concerns. Is he a team player?"

You can feel your cheeks heating up as he speaks. You try to swallow your embarrassment, clearing your throat before speaking, "Without a doubt, he is. That was a personal conflict which has been...taken care of, we'll say."

Suna rests a hand on your knee under the table. "I can assure you, it won't ever happen again."

As the manager throws more questions at you regarding his teamwork, you and Suna manage to answer them without incriminating anyone else on the team. As your main course is delivered, he excuses himself to take a call. For the first time tonight, you're able to properly look at Suna.

He has a wide smile reaching from ear to ear, something you don't recall him doing. With an arm resting on the back of your chair, he adjusts his position to be closer to you. "You almost had me there. I thought you weren't coming," he laughs, trying not to be too loud.

"Traffic was genuinely torture. I walked the last block." You gesture behind you to the doors. "I'm here, though. Where I should be."

Suna nods, his smile growing smaller and smaller until his lips are hardly curved upwards. There's a soft touch under his stare, the warmth pulling you in. "You're here." He places a tender kiss on your forehead, before turning back to the table.

You lean your head against his shoulder, smelling the aroma surrounding him. It tickles your nose and you immediately place the sent. Gasping, you sit upright again. "Rin, did you start smoking again?"

He looks at you sheepishly, a guilty smirk. Before you have a chance to criticise him, he says, "Hey, I was stressing. You literally had another date the same time as this. I also said I'd wait for you forever. Thank god you came now and not when my lungs collapsed."

You can't help but laugh, picking up your glass. "Well, I'm here now. And you need to quit to stay in shape since you're joining the big leagues."

"Is playing for a seeded nationals team and winning the intercollegiate not the big leagues?"

"But this is the real big leagues." When he still looks at you in confusion, you set down your glass and try to think of how to word it. "Okay, yes you've always been in the big leagues when playing volleyball. But collegiate volleyball and professional volleyball are very different. There are thousands of people who play volleyball in high school and college that don't get these offers, and likely never will. You have two years left of college and already have an offer lined up for a division one team. Do you know what that means?"

Suna shrugs his shoulders and smiles. "Yeah, I can do what I love professionally for as long as I want."

"Well, yeah. But other than that?" You can't fight your smile. "Rin, that means you're a front runner for the Olympics."

It takes him a second to process it, and soon there's a new smile working its way out. "Oh my god. I didn't even fucking think of that. I could play in the Olympics." He glances over his shoulder and spots Ono entering, dropping his arm from the back of your chair. He leans in to whisper to you, "I couldn't do this without you."

# fun fact !

rin only had a cigarette before the dinner, he only smokes when he’s under a lot of stress

masterlist. previous | next

summary. when your ex starts dating your least favourite person on campus, your ex-best friend from high school, you can’t help but feel a little betrayed. you quickly realise a way to get back at him: his best friend.

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[dekariosclan]

I’m curious how you think Gale would handle his beloved Tav who has epilepsy? It’s something I’ve struggled with for about 8 years now, and it’s a disability now often recognized.

Do you think he’d make some sort of potion to stop the seizures? Or maybe he’d enchanted a piece of jewelry to stop them? Idk, whatever you think!

For me my seizures typically happen within an hour of waking up, and are trigger by flashing lights and sleep deprivation. My seizures are always grand Mal seizures, which basically means I violently convulse and lose consciousness for a short period of time. If you have any questions or anything, feel free to DM me! I’m happy to help! And thank you for taking time k read and possible write this, I know it’s not easy. :) 💜

@nerbyrobotics, I’m so sorry that you have to deal with such a severe condition, but I’m happy to answer your question because I can’t think of a better or more loving partner for someone struggling with epilepsy than Gale.

You know, one of the reasons I think Gale would be absolutely amazing at caring for a partner with health issues isn’t just because of his loving heart and kind nature—both of which are still very important qualities!—but because he knows what it is like to have a debilitating condition. One where he was wholly dependent on others helping him and offering him assistance during his flare-ups. After experiencing such a condition and the stress and anxiety that goes along with it, Gale would be completely empathetic to his beloved’s struggle and would go out of his way to do whatever he could to ease their burden.

Of course, I think if there were any possibility of Gale curing Tav completely, he would go for it—even if doing so had a fair chance of danger (to him, not Tav). If a cure wasn’t possible, then the next option he would try would be exactly what you said: potions or enchanted jewelry to prevent the seizures entirely—and you’d best believe he’d stay on top of keeping those potions filled and that jewel enchanted at all times.

If prevention was not possible, then Gale would set up some sort of means of proactive protection—for example, enchanted jewelry for both Tav and Gale that would give an alert that a seizure was imminent so they could prepare for it. There would be pillows enchanted to always protect Tav’s head during an episode, and Gale’s mirror image on standby to assist Tav if needed, whether ‘real’ Gale was present at the time or not.

In short, Tav would never be left with the anxiety of being alone, or unprepared, or feeling like a burden in dealing with their health—because Gale would know how awful that feels, and would do everything in his power to give his beloved the security and confidence to live their life to the fullest, while still being fully prepared to help them overcome any obstacles arising from their epilepsy.

Op, I sincerely hope you have someone like Gale in your life to offer you loving support through your health journey, and I wish you nothing but the best in your future. 💜