#what i remember is in my very first voice lesson in college

[scarletlizzard]

Older

Music Series

Pairing: professor!Wanda x fem!Reader

Tags Minors DNI: older/younger (college), mommy kink, smut, choking, fingering & strap on use (R receiving), little overstimulation, praise or degradation kink? why not both, just shameless smut sorry

A/N: This is based on the song Older by Isabel LaRosa! This was requested. Thanks for reading, gladly appreciate any feedback. Thank you! 😊🩷

Masterlist

Wanda watches from her chair as you lean across the desk in front of her, your ass in the air with your skirt pulled down. Her hands reach out to caress your hips, touching the soft skin she can see. When her fingers reach your panties, she begins to pull them down, seeing a sticky string of wetness on your thigh.

"Please, Professor... I need you so bad," you moan and look back at her. Wanda stares in your eyes, her fingers dipping inside of you. You were soaking wet, and she knew it was all for her, your hot walls squeezing her fingers as she thrusted them inside you.

"Ohh, God! Miss Maximoff! " You moan again, Wanda feels herself becoming wetter as you push your hips back against her.

"Miss Maximoff..."

The image of you bent over her desk begins to fade.

"Miss Maximoff? " She hears your voice again.

Wanda blinks and clears her throat, her eyes meeting yours. Only this time, you're standing in front of her desk instead of lying across it. Students around the room were packing their bags and heading towards the door.

"Yes, Miss Y/L/N?" She asks and blinks a few more times, looking up from the papers she was supposed to be grading.

This had been happening more often the closer to the end of the semester came. Wanda was a professor at the university you attended. She had been a professor for a while now and absolutely loved her job, the life she was able to live with the money it paid, and being able to teach young minds. Every semester, she saw hundreds of faces, sometimes not being able to remember all of the names.

But then you walked in the first day of this spring semester with a cute smile on your face, eyes sparkling up at her as you greeted her.

Something about you and the way you acted towards her had Wanda questioning all of her morals.

To be fair, you couldn't help it... when you saw Wanda Maximoffs name on your schedule, you knew what you wanted. Your friends had told you all about her from when they took her class, and you'd seen her walking around campus before. She was exactly what you needed after failed relationship after relationship.

Someone older, someone as hot as she is.

So as the semester went on, you began wearing more revealing clothes, leaving very little to the imagination. At the end of every class, you would find yourself leaning over her desk, watching as Wanda struggled to keep eye contact with you.

"I don't think I really understood today's lesson. Do you think you could give me some extra help?" You would ask her, batting your eyelashes. Wanda swallowed hard and looked around the empty room, running a hand through her firey hair.

"My last class gets out at 3:30. You can meet me back here at 4." She said with a smile, muscle tensing in your grasp as you touched her arm.

"Thank you so much, Professor. .."

And that was how you started your extra 'tutoring' sessions with Wanda. Every day at 4, you would meet her in her class and shut the door behind you. You were a straight A student, clearly not needing any help, so the entire time was spent flirting and laughing, lots of lingering looks and touches.

As time went on, you couldn't help but stare at the ring on her finger. One afternoon, she caught you and gave a soft smile, finding herself needing to explain it to you. But as she opened her mouth, she realized you were her student and nothing more.

"It's complicated," she sighs, deciding not to share. You nod and rest your hand on top of hers, using your other hand to flip the pages of your book. She didn't move away.

'It's complicated' was good enough for you to want - no, need more from her.

So the next day you showed up to her classroom after hours, and when you shut the door, you strutted over to her where she sat at her desk.

"Hey Y/N, what -" Wanda said with an eyebrow raised. She watched as you moved between her and her desk, situating yourself between her legs.

"How long are we gonna play this game for?" You asked in a sultry voice, your hand playing with the top button of her blouse.

"Y/N... this is highly inappropriate. I-I don't know what you're talking about," she spoke sternly, but the look in her eyes and the way she didn't move away was all you needed to continue.

"I'm talking about where we pretend you don't want to fuck me." Your hands moved to the bottom of your skirt, fingers pulling the fabric slowly over the skin of your thighs. "Cmon, Wanda, I can be your little secret... I know you think about me. Do you imagine fucking me right here?" You asked and bite your lip, watching her hands ball into fists.

"I told you to call me Miss Maximoff." Wanda said, not denying a word you spoke.

You leaned forward, hands moved to rub her thighs as your lips touched her ear.

"I'd rather call you mommy..."

Wanda groaned at your words, and in a quick second, she had you bent over her desk, your hands behind your back as her hips pressed against your ass. A moan escaped your lips as your cheek hit the wooden surface. Your hips moved back against her, causing another low sound from Wandas throat.

Before she could do anything else, she quickly released you, panting from the sudden rush of adrenaline. Wanda runs a hand through her hair and straightens out your skirt, stepping away from you. You frown at her actions, hating the way her hands weren't on you anymore.

"You're my student, Y/N. I can't risk it," She said with a cold tone to you, eyes dark with lust.

"Only for a little longer!" You argued her, frowning and crossing your arms.

"You're too young," Wanda said softly and shook her head. Her fingers ran over her lips after she spoke.

You didn't have anything to say at that. You ran out of the room with tearful eyes and an ache in your stomach, not stopping when she called out your name.

That was two weeks ago, and you hadn't been back to her class after hours since. Though every morning Wanda greeted you with that charming fucking smile and a, "Good morning, Y/N," slipping off her tongue in the nicest voice.

Which brings you back to today, standing in front of her as she stared at you with those same dark eyes from two weeks ago. You raise an eyebrow at her demeanor.

"I just wanted to say thanks for all the..." You eye the students leaving the classroom. "...extra help this semester." You clear your throat and adjust the bag on your shoulder. Wanda nods slowly, the image of her fingers inside of you now stuck in her head.

"Of course, Miss Y/L/N. You're a very bright young lady, you know that? Wise beyond your years," Wanda says with a smile, and she truly meant it. You sigh softly with a nod and head towards the door as everyone else had left.

"I'd like to go over your final paper with you, if you don't mind?" You hear her say, and your heart begins to race.

"4?" You ask, turning your head to look at her. She nods.

***

You hear the wood creak as Wanda closes the door. The clicking of the lock makes you squeeze your thighs together as you sit in the chair she put in front of her desk.

You take in her appearance, a white blouse hugging her top and dark slacks on her lower half that she usually wore. She took her red hair out of the bun she had and let her hair fall down her shoulders. She always looks so effortlessly beautiful, always so perfect.

"Is something wrong with my paper?" You ask tentatively, watching her sit across the desk from you.

Wanda folds her hands together on the desk, studying your face carefully. "It was brilliant, Y/N. One of the best I received, actually," she chuckles a little. You blush at her praise and watch as her smile slides into a smirk.

"Thank you, Miss Maximoff." You swallow hard, feeling the tension between the two of you grow in the quiet room. You hear the clock on the wall behind Wanda ticking almost as loudly as your heart was beating in your ears.

"Since I'm no longer your teacher, you don't have to call me that," she says and leans back in her chair.

"Oh, so I can call you Wanda now?" You say playfully, taking in the way she slides the ring off her finger and puts it in a drawer of her desk.

"I'd rather you call me something else," Wanda says, and you can feel your body heat up, realizing she was quoting your last conversation.

You stand from your chair and walk around the desk, feeling her eyes on you as you do. "Something specific?" You tease, standing between her and her desk, once again.

"Are you going to make me ask?" She says and tilts her head, looking up to you. Her hands reach out to rest on your hips as she stands from the chair. It's your turn to look up to her.

"Maybe," you tease again with a shrug, a gasp leaving your mouth when she lifts you easily onto the desk.

Wanda puts herself between your legs, the space between the two of you filled with her presence. You could smell the expensive perfume she wore and the mint on her breath as she leaned in. She chuckles lowly at the goosebumps that arise on your arms.

"I'm not going to be the one begging," she whispers in your ear, a finger under your chin as she leans back and forces your head up.

The two of you lean in at the same time, lips moving in sync as your arms move to wrap around her. Her lips are softer than you could have ever imagined, and you could taste the mint you smelled earlier on her tongue as she explores your mouth.

"I've wanted to kiss you like this since the first time you walked in this room," Wanda groans into your mouth and you can only whine in reply as your hands move to unbutton her blouse.

Her hands make quick work of undoing your jeans, and you wish you hadn't stopped wearing skirts after she told you she couldn't be with you. But those thoughts are quickly replaced with watching Wanda slide your pants and panties down together.

Wanda can't help but moan quietly at the sight of your already wet thighs, sticky with your arousal just like in her dream. She looks in your eyes as two fingers press onto your clit, your mouth parting at the feeling.

"So wet for me already, and I haven't even done anything yet..." She sighs, rubbing circles as your hands grip desperately onto her now open shirt.

"Please, Miss Maximoff... I need you so bad," you moan her name. She almost thinks she's dreaming again until she slips her fingers inside of you, feeling your warm walls squeeze her fingers just as she thought they would. Even better than she imagined.

"What was that, baby?" Her fingers stay still inside of you, her eyes watching your red cheeks.

"Please... mommy?" You ask and bite your lip, her fingers suddenly moving inside of you was all you needed to know that was what she wanted to hear.

"You hear that? You hear how wet you are for me?" She asks, the filthy sounds of her fingers pumping in and out of you fill the empty room. "Fucking gorgeous sounds baby," Wanda groans at the feeling of you squeezing her fingers.

"Yes, mommy, I-I'm so wet for you! Your fingers feel so good," you moan and buck your hips pathetically against her hand.

"You feel so good clenching around my fingers, taking me so well, baby.. you gonna cum already huh?" Wanda says in a condescending tone with a smirk on her lips. Her fingers pick up pace, and you moan at the feeling of her knuckle deep inside of your pussy. The fingers you had imagined so many times inside of you, finally curling and drawing an orgasm out of you. Your body shakes as you come, stomach tightening as you soak her fingers.

"Fuck - Wanda!" You let out, feeling her fingers pump inside of you through your climax.

When she sees your body calm, Wanda removes her fingers, a whimper leaving your mouth as you clench around nothing. Your legs squeeze Wandas hips when she puts her fingers in front of your lips.

"Open up, sweetheart. Taste yourself, see how good mommy made you feel," she says and moves her other hand to cup under your chin.

You comply and open your mouth, sticking your tongue out. When she puts her fingers in your mouth, you suck hard and look up at her with innocent eyes. Batting your eyelashes, you lick between her fingers, a low moan illiciting from the back of her throat.

Something seemed to snap inside of Wanda as you did that, and she quickly removed them and lifted your shirt over your head before taking a step back. The fact that you weren't wearing a bra only drove Wanda more crazy.

"Turn around, baby, and stick your ass up... let me see that pretty pussy," she says with dark eyes, her hands unzipping her slacks to pull out a red strap. Your eyes widen at the sight and she chuckles. "It's okay sweetheart, you can take it. We'll make it fit, won't we?" She asks and watches as you nod and turn around.

You bend over the desk, lifting your ass up and looking back at her, always so fucking innocently. Wanda hums at the sight and guides her strap up and down your wet pussy, sliding part of it in easily.

"I've dreamed of this," she says, and you didn't know she literally had.

You grip onto the wood in front of you, eyes squeezing closed as she pushes herself deeper inside of you. Her hands rub your back and hips soothingly.

"Mommy -fuck- want to take all of you," you whimper out.

"Oh don't worry, sweetheart, you will," she coos and fills you up completely, the fabric of her pants rubbing against your ass as you push back onto her hips.

Once she's bottomed out, she reaches forward to grab your hands, placing them behind your back and holding them there tightly with one hand. Again, all too familiar from your last meeting with her, only this time you've gotten your way. Her hips begin to move slowly at first, but once your whimpers turn into moans, she can no longer hold back.

"This is all you wanted, isn't it, sweetheart? To be fucked and filled with mommys cock like a good little slut," Wanda breathes out as she rails into you.

"Yes, mommy! I-" You stop mid sentence and half moan half whine as your cheek rubs against the wood with every thrust, her hips hitting yours roughly. You clench around the length of her cock, every word driving you closer ro another orgasm.

With one hand holding yours behind your back, the other smacks your ass sharply. "You can't even talk, can you baby? Is mommy fucking you dumb? What happened to my smart girl?" She chuckles, again in a condescending tone.

But she wasn't wrong. You were at the point of whining, and gasping breathes with each thrust feeling deeper than the next. All your teasing and taunting Wanda through the semester, and this was all it took to finally shut you up.

Not that either of you would complain.

The desk scratches against the floor as she pounds into you, the sounds of the wood creaking underneath the weight of you and her fucking into your wet pussy fill the room, accompanied by your whimpers and half sentences.

"Feels so -"

Another moan.

"So, so good, mommy!"

Another whimper.

Wandas hand palms your ass cheek roughly before you feel her nails digging into your hips. She feels more resistance as she pumps in and out of you, your walls clenching tightly.

"You're close, aren't you, sweetheart?" She groans at the whimper that leaves your mouth, and she pushes herself harder into you. For a second, you feel like the desk would break. "Alright baby, you better be a good girl and cum for mommy..." She says and the praise is all you need to release all over Wandas strap, your wetness spreading and dripping onto your thighs.

The scrapping of the desk stops as she slows her thrusts, her hand releasing your hands from her grip. The two of you sit there for a moment breathing heavily, and Wanda leans forward to kiss your cheek.

"Such a good girl for me, you took me so well, baby... that's it. Just take a minute." Her hands move to lift you up, not removing the cock from inside of you. She sits down in her chair and brings you with her, sitting you in her lap.

"I-I can't take anymore," you breathe out and shake your head, wincing at the feeling of how full she felt inside of you, the way she stretched you out completely.

"Shhh," Wanda coos in a soothing voice, placing sweet kisses on your back and shoulder. "Just one more baby, one more for mommy. There you go, baby just like that," she says, guiding you to move your hips.

Any pain had quickly turned to pleasure as you moved in her lap, your back pressing against her front as you leaned back. Her hips met yours with every bounce, and you tears threatened to escape with how good you felt.

"Such a good girl for mommy, aren't you?" She asks, you feel her left hand grope your breasts, fingers squeezing your nipple as her right hand moves up your side slowly, gripping your throat.

"Y-Yes, mommy, just for you. I'm -oh fuck- I'm so close," you whine as her fingers squeeze either side of your neck. You feel the air escape your throat just enough to feel your chest tighten.

Wanda moans at the feeling of your pulse quicken under her thumb. She was practically holding you up at this point. Your head falls back onto her shoulder, and her left hand moves down to rub your swollen clit. You let out a gasp at the pleasure of the overstimulation of it all.

"That's it, baby, just like that. You're doing so good for mommy," she praises in your ear, her lips moving against the skin just underneath. Wandas hips move more roughly up into you, her grip tightening around your throat.

Your hands move up to grip onto her arm, nails digging into the sleeves of her shirt as she forces another orgasm out of you.

"Mommy, I'm coming!" You whine as your body trembles against her, your legs failing you as she holds you up tightly in her lap.

"Fuck sweetheart, just-just hold on mommy's gonna cum too," Wanda groans against your neck and continues to pound into you from underneath you as she chases her own high. You were beyond overstimulated at this point, and the tears that threatened to fall from earlier flowed freely down your cheeks now.

Wandas thrusts begin to waver, and as she moans against your skin, her hand squeezes your throat again, the muscles in her arm tensing as she comes.

She removes her hand from your throat and clit and instead wraps her arms around you securely. You bury your face against her neck, feeling vulnerable and exposed as you sit naked in her lap. Wanda had taken any weight you carried off your shoulders, you had never felt more relaxed or well-fucked in your life.

You feel her lips kiss your cheek, and you respond by peppering her neck and jaw with kisses back.

"You okay, darling?" Wanda asks, her voice soft. You could see a bright smile on her face as you look up at her and nod. "Use your words."

"Yes... never felt better." You sigh contently and smile back at her, leaning over to kiss her on the lips.

Wanda helps you off of her strap, your legs weak underneath you as you reach for your shirt as she tucks the strap back into her pants. She reaches out to grab your panties and jeans.

"I don't want you to clean yourself off until you get home. Understand?" She asks with a smirk as she pulls your pants over your wet and sticky thighs. "I want you to think about me for the rest of the night," Wanda whispers and buttons your jeans, pulling up the zipper. You stand uncomfortably but nod, the thought and feeling only making your stomach burn all over again.

You look at Wanda and take in the sight of the smirk on her red, swollen lips, her red hair cascading down to lay on her breasts that peak through her open blouse. Her hands move to button up the shirt, but the sight of her empty ring finger reminds you of a certain fact.

"Will I see you again?" You ask, not being able to hide the disappointment on your face. The smile that takes over her face is enough to relax the features on your own.

"We've got all summer," she chuckles, her hands cupping your cheeks as she kisses your forehead.

Someone older was definitely what you needed.

And having Wanda for the summer? You would do everything prove to her that age was just a number, and figure out just how 'complicated' her marriage was. Because when she walked out of the classroom with you next to her, she left the ring in the drawer of the desk she had just fucked you on.

[marichild]

satosugu fics i entreat everyone to read

these are just some of the amazing fics I’ve read! I highly recommend every single one to my fellow satosugu lovers. you won’t regret it, I promise.

Carry Me Home by @valleykey [58.4k, completed, T]

The boy shifts on his feet. “The year is two thousand and eighteen? Common Era?” Slowly, smile still plastic on his face, Suguru faces Satoru. This fucking dumbass. “Satoru,” he says, dangerous edge to his voice, “what did you do?” Satoru makes some bastardization of a sound, half between a laugh and a cough.  “...Whoops?”  “I,” Suguru grits, pinching two fingers together, “am this close to mass murder.” He’s joking.  Probably.  ///OR: Shortly before Geto would have massacred a village, he and Gojo are thrust eleven years forward into a would-have-been future that Geto is conspicuously absent from.

愛のある場所; river of light (that brings me to you) by @yuzudetergent [66.8k, completed, T]

A lesson in love is a lesson in swimming. Except for Suguru, it's getting dropped into the deep end with the tide licking at his neck, no kickboard or life preserver keeping him afloat. (Or: This is how Satoru finds the ocean.)

achilles, only the dead stay seventeen forever by getou_suguru (dheiress) [7.9k, ongoing, T]

He looks like a little kid, insouciant and irreverent, smiling at you like that. This is how you want to remember him. “Winter snow melts into Spring, of course!” You open your mouth to laugh and laugh and laugh and— His breath tastes, inexplicably, like spun sugar and honey on your tongue.  (Gojou Satoru is not a God, not yet. But He will be and you think (you know) that you will be  the first to kneel in worship and offer Him your blood, your flesh. Build Him a temple inside the circle of your arms until He sinks inside your ribcage, there to dwell safe and sound and beating just for you.)  ((Pay attention, now. This is a story about how a boy—the Hallowed one, the enlightenment of all, the one who rose high above others, the one and only—fell.))

Always an Angel (Never a God) by 0atmlk [44.6k, ongoing, M]

"The first time I saw the sunset here, I wanted to send you a picture."  Suguru looked at him, surprised. "Why didn't you?"  "Because I knew you’d been here before on your own, it was probably something you'd seen plenty of times." Satoru paused. "But I almost did. Opened it and everything to send to you. Then I saw the date of the last message you sent. We were pushing year three. So I didn't." . . .  Suguru finds Satoru at fifteen. Satoru finds him at twenty-eight.

I’m Sorry: In Various Translations by @koifishscribbles [45.9k, ongoing, M]

The coffee in Satoru’s stomach curdles. He feels the weight of every one if those eight years roll through his entire body like an earthquake. All the missed sleep clings to his eyes, and the unsent texts threaten to erupt from his mouth. Getou Suguru. It is not that his stitches unravel. Those took years to craft, cinched with vitriol, and won’t be undone in a single moment. It’s his very being that unspools onto the dirty linoleum floor. He wants Suguru to pick him up and untangle the length of him. His fingers once again becoming familiar as they expertly craft him into something new, better.  —— Gojo Satoru has not seen his ex, Getou Suguru, since college. Until he shows up one day teaching in the classroom across the hall from him.

an anthology of bad ideas by ilovegetosuguru [9.5k, completed, gen]

Gojo panics and asks a very attractive stranger to be his fake boyfriend for a wedding.  Here’s the problem — there’s no wedding.  (Fake Dating AU)

april pink by @valleykey [3k, completed, gen]

“Dude,” Satoru says, first thing off the train, glasses sliding down, wide eyes peering over the rim, “you have, like, flowers. In your lungs.” “Oh really,” Suguru says, dry, “I hadn't noticed.”

Puppet On A String by @killjoyproductions [6.8k, completed, E]

“Huh,” he muses. “Are you… saving yourself for marriage?”  “Nope.”  “Are you asexual?”  Satoru shakes his head. “I’m not asexual, just a virgin.”

Autonomic Breath by finalproject [10.9k, completed, E]

She turns to Satoru and asks, "When did you know?"

Lies That Bind by Anonymous [48.1k, ongoing, E]

“Really now,” Gakuganji snorted, doubtful. “How convenient. Who is this alpha, then?” And of course, Satoru had seen that question coming as soon as his claim of having a mate was halfway out of his mouth, but by that point he was already talking and it was too late to stop. “So nosy.” He wagged his finger in a tut-tut motion in the geezer’s face, watching him turn a horrible shade of angry red. “It’s Geto Suguru, of course.” Satoru's sick and tired of all the higher-ups insisting he needs to find an alpha and settle down just because he's an omega, and the simple lie that Suguru is his mate seems like the easiest way to get some peace and quiet. What could go wrong?

like the tides, never standing still. by antepuer [1.1k, completed, T]

“I fucking hate it sometimes.” Suguru taps the ash off and looks at him. Puppy-dog eyes, has no idea what Satoru refers to, but it would be far from the first time. “What do you mean?” “Being queer.” He finally admits. “It fucking sucks.”

once we have sufficiently tortured one another by irrevenance [4.6k, completed, E]

Suguru’s throat goes dry. “You’re no longer a sorcerer,” he realizes, a hysterical laugh bubbling in his throat in response to the sick joke that has laid itself before him. “And you came to me?” “Yes,” Satoru says pleasantly. “What will you do about it,” and here he lowers both his eyelashes and his tone, a mockery of seduction, “Getou-sama?”

the dream house by irrevenance [6.1k, completed, E]

Suguru adopts two little girls, marries Satoru, and becomes a teacher. It’s not enough.

where shall we go tomorrow? by elivellichor [15k, ongoing, T]

“Who the hell are you, and what the fuck do you want from me?” a raspy voice hisses, breath on the shell of his ear, knocking Suguru out of his daze. Suguru tilts his chin up to better meet his pursuit face to face and goes breathless. Enraged and fiery cerulean eyes stare down at him with a twisted expression. This child is undeniably Gojo Satoru. He can’t imagine any other with a disposition so fiery and confrontational.  Or: an indulgent age-regression fic featuring One (1) Baby Gojo Satoru and One (1) Very Tired Geto Suguru feat. healing <3

Caesura by @cielelyse [85.5k, completed, M]

The first time they meet, Suguru and Satoru do not like each other. Arrogant, cocky, insufferable, they think. Despite the smirks Shoko gives Suguru, or the sighs Yaga gives Satoru, they do not like each other. Until a mission changes that.

it's not gay unless the domains touch by @hollow-lime-green [40.2k, completed, E]

Funny thing is, when you put up walls made of infinity, you don’t expect people to start slipping in. And you certainly don’t expect to start wanting them to. Gojo Satoru never had a chance to get used to people touching him. Suguru gets that, and he’s happy to help. That’s what good friends do, right? Alternatively: Geto Suguru is the most oblivious man alive.

two sorcerers chillin' in a hot tub (five feet apart cause they’re not gay) by @hollow-lime-green

Geto Suguru has almost two decades of practice pretending not to see things that are clearly there, and Gojo Satoru has a well-documented history of being the most socially-stunted motherfucker alive. That’s how they got here. That’s also why neither of them know where the hell they’re going with this.

BONUS! Baby Mine by @seaemberthesecond

There was something just slightly off in every interaction between Gojo-sensei and Fushiguro and once Yuji’d begun to notice it, he couldn’t unsee it. It wasn’t a bad kind of off – at least he didn’t think so – but it was just different from the way either of them acted around everyone else. * Or, Yuji's journey to discovering that Megumi is Gojo's baby boy, featuring: an insane amount of simping, the mundane indignities of being a parent, and a lot of Yuji snooping in places he really shouldn't be.

(aka, that fic I go back to all the time. gojo being megumi’s dad will never not be one of my favorite things ever.) (clearly)

[thriftedtchotchkes]

his favorite girl, part i

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: joel agrees to teach you how to play guitar for a college course, but you can't keep your eyes off him long enough to learn. he really likes that.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, language, guitar teacher!joel, no outbreak, big age gap (reader’s 22, joel’s 56), slow-burn, sexual tension, finger kink, slight dubcon, touching, smut for later chapters, some fluff, mostly angst

word count: 3.3k

a/n: my first chaptered fic! dedicated to joel's fingers! i've been playing guitar a lot more lately so...yeah 🥲 thinking this'll probably be 3 or 4 chapters? as always, thoughts and feedback are always appreciated! hope y'all enjoyy

Don’t stare at his fingers. Don’t stare at his fingers. He’s doing you a huge favor by teaching you to play guitar in the first place. The least you can do is pay attention and stop staring at his fingers. 

But it’s a lost cause, and you know it, because you’d have no hope of learning without staring at his fingers. 

Even so, you’re convinced he’ll somehow know that’s not the real reason you’re watching them so intently. The way they hop gracefully from fret to fret, strings biting into his well-earned calluses, producing the most beautiful chords that ring out perfectly with every strum. 

It’s a wonder any of that is even possible for him. You don’t mean to knock his talent—he obviously honed his craft through decades of fine-tuning and dedicated practice—but his fingers are just so thick.

With your clumsy, beginner’s touch, you’re constantly fumbling with the strings, unable to press down hard enough or keep your other fingers out of the way for them to vibrate the way they need to. They just sort of…fizzle.

But there’s a finesse to how he plays. It also helps that his guitar is a lot bigger than yours. It's a totally innocuous thought, but it still warms your cheeks a little. A big guitar for a big man. Broad and tall, with those thick, thick fingers—

“Hey, you still with me?” 

You’re not sure when he stopped playing, but you really hope it was right before he said something. Otherwise, he definitely knows exactly what you were thinking about, and that would be humiliating. 

Not a great start to your first guitar lesson, but how were you supposed to know your teacher was going to look like that? When your music theory professor recommended him, he conveniently left that part out, which, whatever, makes sense. But it still would’ve been helpful to know ahead of time.

Joel Miller. 56 years old. Has a ton of experience and takes on very few students, so you should consider yourself lucky. That’s all of the information you were given before you stepped into his house this afternoon, and were greeted by possibly the hottest man you’ve ever seen. He was supposed to be your ticket to an A on your senior thesis. But you’re totally flubbing it.

“Y-yeah, sorry, just got a little distracted,” you laugh awkwardly, wishing you had said anything else but that. You couldn't be any more obvious if you tried. “Won’t happen again, promise.” 

He’s kind enough to pretend you’re not a filthy liar and taps the neck of his guitar to redirect your focus. “S’alright. We’ll just take it from the top. You remember the fingerin' for the first chord?”

You gape at him dumbly for a second. He’s kidding, right? You might as well leave now if he’s going to keep saying fingering with that devastating Southern drawl of his. 

“Um, yeah, I think so,” you sputter, lying for the second time in a row. You're struggling to recall anything from your lesson but, god, you can only remember his fingers, not their placement. With no confidence whatsoever, you press your fingertips down firmly on the three strings you think he showed you. “Here, right?” 

He quirks a brow. “You askin’ me or tellin’ me?” 

Ah, so he’s that kind of teacher. The 'learn the hard way', 'fail on your own until you succeed' type. Well, he’s about to learn that you’re not that kind of student.

“…Telling?” Your voice lilts with even less confidence. He chuckles, nodding at your finger placement.

“Let’s hear it, then,” he says expectantly, the slightest hint of a smile on his face. You can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but you’re about to find out. You strum slowly, and the sound reverberates around the room. 

Wrong. 

His smile widens just a fraction as you grimace, quickly wrapping your hand around the neck of the guitar to stop the horrible noises still playing from it. You look over at him, wincing, but he doesn’t seem frustrated. If anything, he seems patient.

“Not quite,” he shakes his head, moving his instrument out of his lap so he can shift closer to where you’re sitting further down the couch. The cushion dips with his weight, and you tip into him slightly, but he remains completely unfazed. “Lemme show you again—and pay attention this time, alright?”

You start to nod apologetically, but then he throws an arm behind you on the back of the couch, and all hope of retaining whatever he’s about to teach you goes out the window. Instead of showing you on his own guitar, he gestures for you to hold yours up, gently arranging your fingers on the frets.

His fingertips whisper against yours like he’s hesitant to touch you, softly tugging them into place before pressing down, showing you the right amount of pressure to apply. 

They feel just as warm and rough as you’d imagined, dwarfing yours by a long shot, and the realization makes your fingers accidentally twitch out of place. Your eyes dart up to gauge his reaction and lock with his, deep and brown, and very amused. 

“Doin’ alright there?” he teases, and now you know he’s on to you. You try to play it off, blaming it on your inexperience.

“Just haven't gotten used to using those muscles yet," you mumble, moving your hand away from his to flex your fingers. "Not sure I've ever had to stretch them like that before."

 "'m sure ya have. Probably just didn't realize it at the time. That kinda muscle soreness comes from prolonged repetition—repeatin' an action over 'n over," he explains in that syrupy-sweet accent, completely unaware of how his words are affecting you. "Bet ya use those fingers for a lot'a different things every day, just nothin' long or strenuous enough to leave you achin'."

You bite your lip to keep from reacting. He has to know what he's doing right now. How he sounds. This conversation is starting to veer into dangerous territory, but the weird thing about it is that he genuinely doesn't seem to realize that everything he's saying has a double meaning. To you, at least. You knew all this fingering talk was going to get you into trouble. 

"Uhh, yeah," you agree, side-stepping that line of thought to bring yourself back to the lesson, but it's getting harder to stay focused. "I guess I just thought playing would mostly be memorization, but there's a lot of physicality to it, too, huh?" 

"Yeah, s'pose that's true," he muses, looking down at the calluses on his own hand. This time you refuse to take the bait, your breathing already too shallow, heart nearly pounding out of your chest with how close he's sitting. But he’s still completely calm and collected. "Your hand hurtin' a lot right now?"

You shrug, inspecting your reddening fingertips. "Kinda, yeah."

"It's like that in the beginnin’," he says kindly. "But the more ya play, the tougher the skin gets, and ya won't feel it as much." 

He surprises you by taking your hand again, massaging the tender skin between his thumb and index fingers. God, that feels so much better already. The heat of his fingertips seeps into yours, soothing the painful indents left by the unforgiving strings, and you let out a breathy sigh of relief. 

You feel his entire body tense palpably next to you. It might be your imagination or just wishful thinking, but you swear you can feel his warmth radiating into your side, somehow even closer than before. Your brain’s starting to fizzle more than the sound of your shitty guitar playing, and the room feels a little hotter. Hazier, like a daydream.

"That feel good?" he murmurs, lips practically brushing the shell of your ear.

Definitely closer.

“Y-yeah, feels nice…really nice,” you stutter, voice lowering almost to a whisper as if you were sharing a secret. “The, um—the rest of my hand is a little sore, too. Is that normal?”

You can feel him grinning at your obvious attempt to get him to keep touching you, and he gives in easily. Surprisingly so, and it's becoming clearer that he's as into whatever's happening right now as you are. You’re not sure what happened to the unfazed man from before, but you’ll happily welcome this change in demeanor.

“Yeah, s’normal,” he trails down to your palm, engulfing your hand with his own. “Don’t worry, I'll take care of ya.”

Your eyes flutter closed as his thigh presses into yours, and the arm behind you lowers around your shoulders, his hand skimming the side of your neck. Shit, what is going on? You’re pretty sure guitar lessons don’t usually go like this, but you can’t bring yourself to dwell on it. Not when he feels this good.

Everywhere his skin touches yours feels electric, sending jolts up your spine, and making you forget where you are and what you were doing in the first place. He ducks down to press his lips to your bare shoulder, and your mind goes completely blank. 

All that's left is...sensation. Something dragging roughly across your skin, then soft—a little chapped—and wet. Sharp. You're abruptly aware of him sucking a hard bruise at the crook of your neck, soothing the sting with his tongue, and you're unable to stop the whimper that escapes your lips. It's soft and inappropriate. A single, hushed syllable.

"Joel."

He lets out a pained groan that rumbles from deep within his chest, and the hand around yours tenses. That boundless patience he had earlier feels like it's about to run out, and the thought makes your blood run hot. 

God, how is he real? How is this real? You just met this man—this much, much older man—less than an hour ago, and, yet, this is probably the hottest thing that’s ever happened to you. He continues to mouth up your neck, nipping at the underside of your jaw.

"What else hurts? Tell me, 'n I'll make it better," he mutters humidly, urgently against your skin. 

You want to tell him where it hurts the most. That unbearable ache between your legs, the burning in your belly that you didn't even realize he was stoking. But you're so wound up, all you can manage is a frustrated sob.

"Use your words, beautiful. C'mon, lemme hear 'em," he says as if you're his instrument, meant to produce dulcet tones and resonate at his hand.

"It—fuck...it—here," you drag the hand clutching yours down, next to where the body of your guitar rests on your thigh. Where you've already soaked through the thin fabric of your pants. "Joel...need you to make it better."

The gentle vibrato of your voice, the way it shakes tumultuously around his name, and even more so when he cups your heat. His lips return to your throat to feel it, to taste it as you moan for him. And those fingers. You knew they’d feel good, and they’re so close to where you need them. Just a little bit more—but there’s still too many layers between you and his rough touch. 

“M-more…need more, just—,” you whine, and he mirrors the sound back at you raggedly.

“‘Course, beautiful. Told you I’d take care of ya, didn’t I? 

You're too far gone to even notice yourself desperately grinding into the palm of his hand, or the fingers at your cheek turning your face toward his. 

Or your guitar quickly slipping out of your lap, more and more with each swivel of your hips. It hits the carpet with a hollow clang and, suddenly, the spell is broken. Then, it all comes crashing back. 

He’s saying your name, but he sounds...different. Less breathy, less needy, and more like your patient, collected guitar teacher. Joel Miller. 56 years old, remember? Way too old for you, for your body to be reacting to him like this, and the man whose help you still desperately need to help complete your thesis.

Your eyes snap open and you realize with abject horror that you’ve been daydreaming this entire time. You can’t even imagine how long he’s been trying to get your attention while you’ve just been sitting here, fantasizing about his hands on you. 

Not even ten minutes ago, you promised you wouldn’t get distracted, but you did. Again. And so much worse this time.

By his furrowed brow and the way he won’t even look at you, you must have accidentally said something out loud, too. Something totally inappropriate that you really shouldn’t have. But then, his hand twitches and your blood turns to ice. 

That—fuck, that's not where it was before you zoned out. It was still on yours, arranging your fingers on the frets for the chord he was teaching you. He…he was asking about your hand, if it hurt, and then—

As if you’ve been burned, you quickly release his hand from where you’re clutching it between your legs—not just in your daydream, but in horrifying actuality. You’re screwed. 

Not only is he probably going to kick you out of his house and refuse to be your teacher anymore, but he’ll likely tell your professor. And he’d have every right to. There’s no way you’ll be able to get anyone else to teach you after this.

The reason you’re here, everything you’ve worked so hard for, flashes before your eyes, catching fire and turning to ash. Your love for music, your degree—in the span of a single guitar lesson, you destroyed all of it.

And what would he think? Your father, your inspiration for choosing this path. He’d be so disappointed in you, though maybe not as much as you are right now. 

All of this for what? The attractive, middle-aged guitar teacher you’ve known for less than an hour? He doesn’t even want you and, even if he did, that’s not what you came here for. Stupid, stupid. 

You can feel his eyes on you, but you can’t bear to look at him, to say anything at all. Instead, you lean down to retrieve your guitar from where it still lies face down on the floor, and slowly stand up. 

“I, uh…,” you croak out, fighting the urge to cry and look like even more of an idiot. You shake your head, unable to finish your sentence, and start to walk away, but then something miraculous happens.

Joel’s hand shoots out, his fingers wrapping around your wrist to keep you from leaving. You turn back to him, eyebrows raised in shock, dropping your gaze to where his skin is touching yours. He doesn't let go. 

“Look—,” he starts, and you wince. It’s never a good sign when someone starts a sentence like that. If all he’s trying to do is let you down easy, he shouldn’t have stopped you. He’s just shaming you even further. “—‘m not too sure what just happened here, but if you just—if ya sit back down, we can talk about it or…just keep goin’ with the lesson…”

You didn’t see that one coming. 

“You want me to stay?” you ask dubiously. “Why?”

You search his eyes for the answers to all of the things you’re not understanding, but come up with nothing. He’s sitting on the couch watching you, still holding your hand like nothing’s wrong. Acting like none of this is a big deal, as if you didn’t basically just shove his hand down your pants without his consent.

“Still got a lot to teach ya. We didn’t even get through the first line of music,” he chuckles, his voice filled with such kindness. So much more than you deserve. 

“Yeah, and that’s my fault. I—,” you pause, still trying to gather your thoughts, “—I crossed a line…made you uncomfortable. You really don’t have to do this.”

He sighs, rubbing his thumb soothingly into your wrist, and the gesture makes you shiver. Somehow it’s calming, even as the gears continue to turn in your head. You still can’t seem to grasp any of this or shake the feeling that there’s something wrong with this picture. 

“Well, isn’t this supposed to be a favor for some big, important grade? Don’t ya need this to pass your class?”

He’s not wrong. Without his help, you’re basically fucked for the rest of the semester.

“Yeah, I...actually really do,” you answer hesitantly.

Hope blooms in your chest. Maybe your thesis isn’t totally lost. If you’re lucky, maybe you’ll even be able to focus on your lessons.

“I think we can keep this professional. Don’t you?” he implores, brows raised.

He’s right again. That’s the only way this is going to work, but it’s still a reminder that he’s not interested in you in the slightest. You’re not sure why that feels so bad.

“Totally,” you breathe out, but your expression must betray your words because he rushes to reassure you.

“It’s not that I—look, I mean…you’re a beautiful girl ‘n all, but…,” he trails off, and…what?

Beautiful. He can’t have just said that out of the blue. Beautiful, of all the words he could’ve used to describe you right then. This man is driving you crazy—and he won’t stop.

“Can’t help feelin’ like maybe I gave ya the wrong impression. I took advantage of ya,” he looks away, pained, like this was all his fault. You have no idea how he came to that conclusion, but he’s got it all wrong.

“What—no. No, if anything, I took advantage of you. You were just trying to be a good teacher,” you shake your head furiously. “Look, I did this. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t pull away, now, did I?” 

His eyes meet yours again, darker than before, and you know for a fact you’re not making it up this time. The setting sun is casting shadows around his living room, across his 80s-style leather couch and carpet, illuminating every one of his handsome features. 

And, yet, his eyes are black, endless voids that threaten to consume you. Whatever power he has over you feels dangerous. You knew you couldn’t have imagined it all. 

But it's gone as quickly as it came. He clears his throat, dropping your wrist as if he finally came to his senses. Your patient, unaffected guitar teacher is back.

“I, uh, think maybe that about wraps it up for today,” he says with finality, standing up. “It's already eight, anyhow. You should head on home.”

Gently plucking the guitar from your hands, he zips it up in its case and gives it back to you. You nod, feeling grateful, but cautious...and also extremely curious. His hand finds the small of your back, leading you to the front door, and you try your best not to react as his fingers urge you forward. 

You know you’ll be thinking about them later tonight, even though you really shouldn’t. About them finishing what you started earlier, taking care of you like you still want him to. Part of you hopes he’ll be thinking about yours, too. 

His hand drops and he turns to you with a small smile, leaning on his arm against the doorframe. 

"But, uh, same time tomorrow? And maybe put in a little practice time before then—stretch out those fingers so you're ready to play."

“Sure,” you reply breathily. “Same time tomorrow.”

thanks for reading! part ii coming soon 🥰

(p.s. how are we feeling about finger sucking...okay bye)

[misctf]

Coach's Curse

Jason could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he propelled himself on his skates. He expertly navigated between his opponents, doing his best to tune out the cheering crowd and the shouting of his teammates. And as Jason reared his hockey stick back and fired the puck forward, he felt as if the world went still. He watched as it sailed through the air- as the goalie attempted to block his shot. But as he watched the puck find the back of the net and the buzzer sound, he could barely believe it.

Jason immediately was tackled by his teammates, all of them cheering and yelling in celebration. He did it. He scored the game winning goal. The championship hockey game- and he scored the game winning point. The next part was a blur. He was in the locker room with his teammates, all of them still basking in their victory. Jason beamed as the victory cowboy hat was placed on his head. There were plans for a big party later that night with a few of the frats and sororities on campus. And Jason couldn’t be more excited. As the winner of the game, he was sure he’d get a few girls in bed that night. But as he thought about the night ahead of him, his coach told everyone to quiet down. As per game tradition, Coach Henderson was giving them a victory speech. But something about the speech was off. It was almost somewhat... dull. Maybe even a hint of sadness. Jason ignored it, thinking it was probably just coach getting all sentimental. Besides, it had been 15 years since coach’s last victory.

“Jason,” His coach’s deep voice boomed through the locker room, “I have your game winning puck in my office. Come with me.”

Jason smirked and followed Henderson out of the locker room and down the corridor lined with old jerseys as his team cheered him on. He remembered his first walk down these halls when he was a freshman, excited to start his time on the team. He never imagined that his college hockey career would end like this.

“Oh Jason.” Coach Henderson mumbled as they entered his office, “I never thought I’d see this day. It’s been so long.”

“Doesn’t matter how long it’s been.” Jason smirked, “We fucking did it.”

Henderson frowned, “You know all those years ago, I didn’t know what to make of it. When I stood in this very room.”

“Yeah but it’s all worth it. Doesn’t matter if it took you fifteen years or whatever to get another one.” Jason frowned as something cool passed through him.  

Coach smiled slightly, “At first it didn’t feel like I had a choice. But I think I’m going to miss it.” He took a deep breath, “You see, many years ago the real Coach Henderson put a curse on the team.” The room was silent, with Jason standing and processing the odd statement.

“What are you talking about?” Jason chuckled, “This some kind of joke?”  

“It was to teach a douchebag on the team a lesson. But the curse continued even after that.” Jason shuddered as he felt more cool air pass through him, “The winner of the championship game, to prevent them from becoming too full of themselves, would have to become the team’s coach. And lead them to victory.”

Jason could barely process the words as his whole body started to shake violently. He tried to tell Henderson that he wasn’t feeling well, but the words couldn’t leave his mouth. The whole world was starting to spin now and he fell to his knees, shivering as the coldness around him became unbearable. But that’s when he noticed it. He raised his hand and looked, inspecting it closely. The skin of his hand looked more weathered, lighter even. He raised an eyebrow as he watched the hair on it become lighter in color as well.

“I wasn’t always coach.” Henderson said as he raised his hand. Jason’s eyes widened as he watched coach’s hand become more tan, the weathered appearance disappearing, “My name was AJ. But fifteen years ago I scored the game winning goal.”

Jason was unable to respond as the feeling in his skin intensified. He fell to his back and writhed as his body started shifting. He could feel the changes moving up his arm and he forced himself to watch as his biceps expanded at first with muscle. This was soon followed with a thick layer of fat- while the skin became more weathered and tired with age. He looked at his changed arm in horror, feeling the new skin and fat with his other hand.

‘This doesn’t make sense!’ He thought, a feeling of dread passing through him as he saw his other hand begin to change, ‘Curses aren’t real! This isn’t real!’ He looked up at Henderson, who’s arms had lost their fat, replaced instead by strong muscles- muscles that put Jason’s old ones to shame.

And that wasn’t all Jason noticed. Coach’s belly shrunk. And Jason quickly learned what that meant for him. His stomach start to grumble, the sound becoming more and more intense. He looked at Henderson with desperation, silently pleading for help, but found his coach frowning at him. Jason let out a belch and a thin layer of fat covered his lean abdomen and chest. Another belch and now a slight pudge graced his features. And with each belch Jason’s abdomen expanded and expanded. And with one final loud belch, Jason could feel his stomach reach its final size. At the same time, his lean chest pushed out with fat and muscle, jiggling slightly as he moved. Jason cringed at this foreign feeling. At this new heaviness that he never appreciated in his life. Ever since he was young, he was lean and in shape. Years of practice and playing hockey gifted him with his physique. And he shuddered at the realization it only took a few minutes to reverse that entirely. He pushed himself into a sitting position and watched as his gut fell into his lap. Jason placed a hand on his belly and frowned. It really was his. It was real. He looked up at Henderson, who was running a hand over his perfect abdominal muscles. The two met each other’s gaze.

“I’m sorry.” Henderson whispered, running a hand over his head as blond locks started to sprout.

Jason copied the motion, running a hand through his black hair and knocking his victory hat off. As his hand moved through his hair though, clumps of it began to fall out and disappear into nothingness. At this point, a few tears fall from his eyes and onto his plump abdomen. He cherished his hair- always making sure to style it and keep it well maintained. He loved when chicks ran their hands through it. But now it was gone, replaced by the same buzz cut that Coach Henderson sported. And as he looked up at Henderson, who’s neck fat receded and face became more angular, Jason knew that his face was changing. Fat filling his angular face. His neck disappearing under a layer of chub.

“I know I shouldn’t brag.” Henderson- or AJ said, feeling his face with a grin, “But it really feels nice to be back.” He rubbed at the goatee that still adorned his face, which quickly began to fall away with each touch.

Jason’s hand shot to his new face and frowned as he felt hair sprout from his upper lip and chin. He liked to be clean shaven. But just like that, his face was now adorned with his new facial hair. And that’s when he noticed an itchiness move across his chubby body. The small amount of body hair he did have already started to fill in more, blanketing his chest and flabby belly in a nice coat of hair. He watched as his treasure trail grew with hairs sprouting along the sides of it. It crawled up his abdomen until it reached his chest, which then erupted in a dense layer of hair before expanding out and coating the remainder of his chest. Jason rubbed a hand through it, wincing at the feeling. And as he looked down at himself, still trying to process that this was real- that this was him- AJ extended his hand.

“Here coach.” AJ said calmly. Jason frowned and grabbed AJ’s hand, allowing the younger man to help him up. As he stood up, he shuddered as his ass jiggled with its new padding, “I know this is a lot to process.” AJ’s voice was less gruff now, a youthful tone now escaping his lips, “But I’ve told you what you need to know. You’re Coach Henderson now, at least until some other poor guy wins the championship game. But until then you’ve gotta coach them, got it?”

Jason’s eyes were wide, unable to fully process any of this. He was going to stay stuck like this? Until the team won a championship? It took fifteen years... would he be like this for the next fifteen years?

“No fucking way.” Jason winced at how deep and gruff his voice had become, “No, turn me the fuck back. I just won the game. There’s no way...”

“No, I just won the game.” AJ replied, placing the victory hat on his head, “From this point on, Jason never existed... at least until the next time this team takes home the championship. People will think I won the game tonight.”

“But my friends? My family? What...?”

“Everything will return to normal when you lead the team to victory, okay Jason? Until then, you have all the tools you need. All the basic memories to get by day to day.” AJ smiled, “Use those memories of who you were to motivate you. That’s what I needed to do. But from this moment on, you’re Coach Henderson. It’s easier if you accept that.”

Before Jason could reply, his former teammates called out for AJ. The hockey star gave Jason a smile and a nod, before heading out to celebrate his victory with the team. Jason could only stand there, in the quiet of his new office, the thrill of his victory turning into despair.

_______________________

Coach Henderson yawned as he pushed himself out of bed, careful not to wake the naked bear of a man sleeping next to him. He trudged through his apartment, scratching at his hairy chest and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. As he walked, he kicked a few beer bottles out of his way, barely acknowledging the messy state of his apartment. He plopped down at his computer, looking over briefly at a team photo. One where AJ proudly stood with their championship trophy. A photo taken about 16 years ago. Henderson turned his attention back to his computer, looking at the roster of new players that would be joining the team for the season. They looked promising- maybe just maybe this was the year.

He quickly shut his laptop and yawned- he always thought that. That hope that this year would be the year. Why should he think this year would be different? He stepped into his bathroom and looked at himself over in the mirror. Sixteen years looking like this- didn’t matter if he shaved, exercised, drank- his appearance remained unchanged. He let out a belch and frowned. He barely remembered his life as Jason or what he used to look like. It got to a point where he was starting to wonder if he was ever anyone else. And he stopped even thinking of himself as Jason. And maybe that was for the best. He could feel the magic that changed him feeding off his doubt, cementing itself. He wondered what would happen if he just let it completely win.

“You could...” A voice whispered in the back of his head, “Live the rest of your out as me.” It echoed, “Become me fully.”  

Henderson shook his head, and those thoughts became quieter. But soon another voice filled the room. One asking how he was doing and if he was excited for the year. One belonging to another man, who wrapped his arms around Henderson and gave him a kiss. A man that Jason would’ve never considered, but as Henderson couldn’t help it. And so maybe if this year didn’t end in victory, Henderson would have to take the voice in his head up on its offer. Maybe that was all he would need in the end to win anyway.

[ventique18]

~ Crowley Vignette Pt. 3 ~

After lunch, Crowley's GOT NOTHING TO DO because all the professors are at their classes, so he might as well go to Sam's TO KILL TIME.

???: "You don't gotta worry 'bout that!"

Crowley: "Hm? That voice..."

He's far away, but when he looks to that direction...

Grim: "Ain't no one noticin' a cut class or two. So let's go nap instead, nyahaha!"

Yuu: "Let's go back to class"

Then Crowley starts spewing to himself "To think that there are two rebels cutting classes in my school... Seriously, I cannot believe it!"

Then an entire gang of students swaggers to Grim and Yuu because they're gonna take over the bench to slack off. Grim doesn't relent; they got here first so finders keepers!

"MORE STUDENTS HAVE COME TO CUT CLASSES!"

It looks like a fight's about to break out. Just what kind of discipline is going on at his school?!

"HEY, YOU LOT! Shouldn't you be at class right now?!"

Grim panics so Yuu apologizes for him.

"After having witnessed such blatant disobedience, I'm inadvertently getting reeled in by a sincere apology..."

"Everyone, please get back to your classes. I would very much appreciate it if you were to study properly. Magic talent without hard work is not quite as sweet. While it's true that being born with a natural sense for it is important, it is the daily grind and experience that truly matters."

Then he asks if the students recall his speech earlier. Grim says it was boring as hell so he wasn't listening at all. The random Ignihyde students says "Same, same."

SO OUT OF DESPERATION, Crowley turns to Yuu and asks if they remember.

"Of course I remember." / "It was something about a grape tree, yeah?" IT WAS AN APPLE TREE.

The random Savanaclaw student cuts in and says he's noisy as hell. He's the Headmage, but it's not that they need to listen to him yeah?

Diasomnia Student: "Yeah. And it's not like we've ever seen the headmage perform any amazing magic. Even the housewardens don't give a crap about him..."

Savanaclaw Student: "What a loser. 'Kay, let's just ignore him!"

Crowley: "... Really, what troublesome kids."

Crowley: "It can't be helped then. Let me show you how important it is to thoroughly study magic."

"... For I am very kind! / WATASHI YASASHII NO DE!"

AND THEN HE WHIPS THEM AND LITERALLY TIES THEM TOGETHER DASHJKHKJADS

Crowley: "It is not a bind. This is the whip of love! Only a slightly tougher version."

The students panic, but the Diasomnia student claims that magic's flimsy and can be easily broken. ... Not?! What's going on? His magic doesn't do shit...

Crowley: "Why, of course. Am I not the Headmage of Night Raven College? This level of magic is naught but as simple as breathing."

He sighs and comments that these kids are underestimating him one too many times. It won't do that children who can't even gauge their own abilities are looking down on an educator like him.

"I simply had to make you understand your own immaturities."

"Go, go, Crowley go! Show them how much of a baby they are!"

Yuu: "Now's the perfect time to run away..."

Crowley: "And for you: Whip of Love! Gentle Ver.!"

And then both Grim and Yuu get captured!

Crowley soothes the struggling Grim by saying that he really has high expectations for both him and Yuu. He's certain that the two of them can change the future of this school. 🤔

"You can do that, can't you?"

Grim: "'Course. Just leave it to the great genius master Grim!"

Grim: "... So let me go already!"

Crowley: "Well then. Shall we take each of you to your respective classes?"

Grim: "What?! Tied up like this?! If the other guys saw me, I'd definitely never hear the end of it! Let me go! Let me go!"

Crowley: "As you are Night Raven College students, take this as a lesson opportunity to reflect upon."

"Because all of you are... my precious, precious apple trees."

[3eyesdivine]

Reigns’ Girl

Chapter Two : After Class

inspired by the movie Miller’s Girl and song Teacher’s Pet.

warnings ; 18+ only, smut, intimate & heavily erotic scenes, teacher x college student plot, angst, thriller, obsession, drug use

It's been two weeks since I started Mr. Reigns' class, and my desire for him is growing by the minute. I've noticed every little detail about him, from the way he runs his big hand down his long, dark beard when reading, which is accented by little strands of gray hair here and there, to the way he twists and turns the black wedding band on his left hand when he's talking to someone, almost as if he's processing his thoughts before they turn into words.

“See me after class.” I heard a deep, velvety voice murmur near my neck and turned to see Mr. Reigns kneeling over me, his right hand lowering a piece of paper onto my desk with a letter grade scribbled in red. My gaze quickly shifted from his to the large A+ in the corner of my work. 

I wasn't given a chance to respond before he sauntered away to put the lesson to an end. 

I wish I could have him closer. Body to body and skin to skin. His aroma was comforting, like vanilla with a dash of shea butter. 

"Work on your homework for the night please, It's due first thing tomorrow." I heard him call to the class, followed by the sound of students racing and rustling as they grabbed their stuff and left their desks, moving one by one as they hurriedly exited the classroom.

Getting up slowly, I approached Mr. Reigns' desk and rested my palms on it, bending forward and looking up at the guy with an illusion of naivety in my pretty eyes. 

His deep brown eyes seared into mine, dark and low. I recognize that gaze anywhere, one filled with desire, want, and sex.

"You're an amazing writer, Lilith. Your paper was the best I’ve read in a while." He praises, extending out his hand to direct attention to a little seated area in his classroom.

It had a cottage core feel about it, with a hint of forest fairy. It held a warm tone to it, with occasional hints of green. It was like a miniature captivating library, with four small shelves mounted on top of each other, each full and organized with both old and modern books. The two of us take seats across from each other, the man adjusting his attire while I let my sight wander over the little space we're in.

“So, Ms. Dumas, your paper.”

My focus shifts to him, and I'm all ears as I straighten up and smile politely. 

“Yes. I wasn't very confident in it, but I'm glad you felt so highly of my writing ability.” I conversed while glancing down at my hands, where my fingers danced against one another. A coping mechanism I adopted as a way to handle certain things, in this case, a powerful blush battling to find its way across my cheeks.

“She was quiescent, her voice soft and sweet like nectar. She hummed a tune, the same melody every day at the same time; at this point, it had become an official aubade for the peculiar girl, but only she could purr it in a far more euphonious manner than the original.”

He pauses and takes a breath, as if it was written with such intensity that it nearly strikes the life out of him.

But, he proceeds..

“This was the woman's early morning ritual as she sat in her overgrown garden at a little, old table painted white with a few chips and cracks that only revealed the furniture's age. Atop the table were a pile of books, each of which she had read several times and would continue to do so whilst she couldn't get enough of the art that lay just beyond the hardcovers of each one.”

I was floored. 

"You remembered that whole piece?" I questioned. My eyes were probably wide enough that they were popping out of their sockets, and I watched the man smile with a scarlet hue along his cheeks as he turned away for a brief moment before returning my gaze.

"Yeah, that must've been a bit over the top, Ms. Dumas. I apologize. That one paragraph just happened to be what caught my attention the most. I must've read your paper about a dozen times." He admits with a big smile upon his lips, revealing his flawless teeth, without a single one out of shape or disfigured in any way.

This man was downright perfect.

"Your writing is beyond outstanding." He adds.

It felt like this man reached into my chest and gave my heart a small jolt of life; it was racing and thumping so fast that I was a bit frightened I might pass out.

I leaned back against the cushion of the little couch I was sitting on and glanced at the man, my bottom lip trapped between my teeth. "You know, I've read your work too."

Mr. Reigns' eyes reached me faster than light. 

"You read my book? Seriously?" He queried, his expression appearing intrigued though he tried to mask it.

I nodded and leaned forward, my elbows on my knees, my dazzling brown eyes piercing into his.

"I would quote every word off the top of my head but it wasn't really a book appropriate enough to be spoken about within school walls." I dared to say, and the man's instant response was to adjust his seated position to the edge of the chair.

We're inches away..

Just a little closer. 

"I wrote it about my wife, Ms. Dumas. So, you'd be correct. Nothing in that book is suitable for conversation in this environment.”

He dared to move another inch closer.

Goodness, just a tad more and we’re nearly kissing.

Please.

“Even for the innocent mind of a nineteen-year-old college student." He concluded.

Innocent, my ass.

But, nevertheless, I could feel it. A heavy and overwhelming sense of tension that settled in the air surrounding us. This was undeniable sexual tension. 

My thighs gently pushed together as I felt an aching of passion between my legs, a pulse so powerful that I had to suppress a whimper. There's no question he felt it as well, as evidenced by the way he gulped so hard I could hear it and his breathing, which was formerly calm and controlled but had become heavy and unsteady. 

"Have a good weekend then, Lilith." He husked, moving away slowly, and I could no longer feel the warmth emanating from his presence.

Thank you for reading! Chapter three will be up hopefully soon, maybe some smut ;) !

In the meantime, send in some requests and if you'd like to be tagged in this series and many more works of mine, don't be afraid to let me know.

[iwishpauldanowasreal]

Superstar - Greg Hirsch x Reader

1.3k - Author’s note: I love Greg, So I just had to write this. Also I might write a second one if this gets activity. :) enjoy

“Wait I have to piss first, wait for me outside” Tom slightly clapped his hands in front of Greg to scare him. Tom was satisfied enough when Greg slightly jumped in his chair and awkwardly laughed it off. “Of course! I see you out there then” Greg started to stand but Tom was already gone paying Greg no mind. 

Greg thanked the doorman then finding himself outside of the some 5 star restaurant that he couldn’t pronounce but Tom insisted they had the best steak or  lamb. To say the least Greg never ate lamb before and thought it was just fine. He began to look over to see Tom’s fancy limo about to step in trying to get away from outside. He heard your voice call to him. 

“Greg?” 

There you were standing in the middle of the street. Greg was going to avoid any person that called out his name, he learned that lesson from Roman. Never look in the way of people calling your name, they just want your attention or some lousy photo. But it was you. He could never forget your voice.

To be fair it has been a while since he heard it. Back in college when you two were best friends. Everyone knew you guys as close but never was told the secret kisses two of you would share. The little touches only he would get. To the simple eye, it was a shoulder touch but to him it was to meet you later to make out in a empty hallway. 

“Y/n!”

Greg quickly ran over to you. You saw his little run to you. He always carried himself a little differently being so tall. “Wow! I haven’t seen you in so long” You rolled your eyes playfully. “Yeah! What the hell, you avoided my texts and never replied” Greg forgot to mention that. After graduation Greg had a hard time finding a job while everyone else around him did. Even though he remembered how excited you were to start a job a few states away to become an editor. But he was embarrassed, practically living out of his car for a few months. He decided to avoid it all and just stopped talking to all his friends. Even you, which he didn’t think about until the moment you hit his shoulder. How did that affect you? Losing your best friend.

Greg’s face quickly went flat and you recognized that look from Greg being in his head. Quickly putting a stop to it. “Greg, Don’t worry. I’ve missed you” You took his shoulders and shook them a bit. Greg finally looked up at you and smiled. 

You couldn’t help but smile with him and laugh a bit. Same old Greg. You took a step back to get a full look at him with his outfit and shoes. “What’s up with you Mr Fancy. Your hair is so short. Oh My” You teased 

Greg always had his hair pretty shaggy and long. Now looking at him was a totally different person. The suit threw you off when you first spotted him. Greg would wear lame outfits and definitely go more comfort than fashion but now? He looked like a suitor who owns a huge company. “Yeah! It’s very cool! I have to put special stuff in my hair now, or else it won’t look right” He cheesed at you. He was clearly blushing, putting small piece hair behind his ear. 

“You look good Greg” He paused for a second. His heart was slightly beating faster and he let out another nervous laugh. “What about you! You’re editing, Why are you in New York. Wasn’t your job in.. “

He predicts to think about it hoping you cut him off. You wait for him to notice you aren’t taking his bullshit.

“Um”

 “Jersey”

“Jersey!!” He nodded his head. You couldn’t help but laugh at the cute way Greg got nervous. He was slightly rocking back and forth. “I quit that job one month in, I think. It was-“ There was suddenly a yell that came out behind Greg. “Greg!!” There stood another tall man in a suit just like Greg’s and waved a gesting wave to get in the car. Greg’s eyes widened which y/n noticed immediately.

“I’ve got to go. '' He deflated. You just couldn’t help but hug Greg. If there was one thing you missed about Greg it was most definitely his hugs, And boy did he deliver. He squeezes you tightly and slightly lifts you up in the most subtle and gentle way. You sighed softly as you pulled away. You debated in your head a little thinking of going headstrong with Greg. 

Before you fully pulled away you kissed his cheek before smiling at him sweetly. “Text me?” He stood there in disbelief. Just hugging you for that one second would have made his entire week. But also a light kiss? “Of course!” He nodded as you started to walk but in the coffee shop you were in earlier. He started to walk back but he couldn’t help himself but look back at you. 

“Who’s that?” Greg had hopped back into the limo and Tom quickly jumped on him with questions. “That hug looked intense. Tell me Greg who is she” Tom suddenly interested in Greg’s love life, or his life in general. “What are you talking about. She’s just a friend in college” Tom suddenly gasped and turned his whole attention towards Greg. “You dog!” 

Greg was red in the face and stuttered to say sometime to defend himself. “Did you guys sleep together?” Greg quickly shook his head. “No! I- No.” Tom suddenly did a read on Greg’s face and how it looked like a kicked puppy. “But you wanted to,” Greg just sighed heavily and looked away. “I mean, Yes. She’s beautiful” Tom leaned back suddenly getting bored, that wasn’t the reaction he wanted. 

“She is beautiful, I’ll give her that. But she isn’t anything” Tom just shrugged then suddenly pulled out his phone. “What do you mean?” Tom didn’t look up at Greg and was just texting who Greg assumed was Shiv. “She doesn't look rich or anything. That outfit“ Tom rolled his eyes and put his phone back into his suit pocket. “You can’t gain anything from her” 

-

Greg was pacing around his coffee table looking down at his phone. He just got off and was wondering if he should text her this late at night. “Shit” He yelped randomly and picked up his phone and began to text. “Hey. This is Greg, I was wondering if we can get coffee tomorrow morning at 9am” He quickly hit send and threw his phone.

Y/n just got out of the shower when you heard your phone go off. You smirked when you looked at your phone. It was an old photo of Greg. He was wearing a winter hat, and just looked perfect. One of his friends took the photo after you guys went out bar diving during winter break and decided at the last minute to have a snowball fight. 

Sitting down on your bed getting distracted by looking at old photos of Greg. He was your favorite. Everyone in the study group knew that you guys were stuck side by side. Your favorite part of the day is when class was over and you went to your dorm which Greg was always in. Luckily your roommate was gone most of the time, but the image of him passing out on your bed made you so soft. You would stare at him all day, you would either sneak photos or lean in super close and touch his hair and hear him breath. 

Luckily he never caught you, because explaining why you liked to watch him sleep was something you couldn’t do

[19orionis]

11, 15, 16, A, B, E with Lazare for the oc asks!

Questions for OCs:

11. How do they cope with confusion (seek clarification, pretend they understand, etc)?

It can go either way. He hates asking for clarification because to him it means risking either looking stupid or admitting that he wasn't listening (and he is prone to zoning out, despite his efforts). If he can get away with staying confused, he'll usually just try to move on smoothly and maybe look some stuff up on the internet later if he can remember. If he needs or wants clarity on something bad enough, he will ask, though. Always politely-- a "sorry, I didn't understand that," or a "what did you mean when you ___?" If he has to ask for instructions more than once, he tries to write stuff down so he doesn't have to do it Again. 15. How do they speak? Is what they say usually thought of on the spot, or do they rehearse it in their mind first?

Lazare definitely tries his best to think things through before he says them. He's known English for a long time and feels like he can adequately express himself in it. He picks his words carefully and overexplains things so he's not misinterpreted, because it drives him nuts to be on the receiving end of someone not getting something as well, especially when the thing they're not getting is Him As A Person. As a result, while he's not a slow talker, his cadence will kinda speed up and slow down. Probably "um"s and "ah"s a bit more than the average person. He's not hard to hear, his voice carries well, but he is conscious of his volume-- he's gentle while still animated and expressive in tone at the same time. I think living in the States (especially the Midwest) has made him feel like he has to Sound Friendly. He does complain about stuff to others a lot, he'd probably explode if he didn't, but the complaints are usually still filtered and he tries to be kinda funny about them when he can be. When a person or a particular conversation with a person really starts resonating with him or getting him excited, then he kinda loses his hold on himself as he steps into the moment more fully and the thoughts tumble out before he can stop them. Sometimes he's apologetic about it later. No matter what, he's always talking with his hands at least A Little Bit.

16. What makes their stomach turn?

Physical things: mold where it shouldn't be, leeches, most of the other things I can think of are pretty common things for people to gag at, wet dog smell Thoughts/concepts: catching himself acting or thinking like "the old him" always makes him feel like throwing up.

Questions for creators:

A) Why are you excited about this character?

Lazare learns a lot of lessons that I desperately need to. His story is very comforting to me as a perfectionist-- there are two distinct things going on with him that really soothe me and compel me to write about him:

He fucks up. Badly. But he manages to come clean to his family about it and start turning things around.

But in some ways, he overcorrects. He still goes a long time feeling lonely and like what is at his core is undesirable/ruined and like there's a lot that he doesn't deserve and that he's gotta do something to make up for continuing to Exist. Eventually, though, he meets people who are capable of imparting "you are still a person, having your own fun and Wanting Things From Others is NOT a crime" in a way that he's able to actually take to heart.

Like... IDK. I haven't catastrophically failed the way he has, but the possibility has been looming over my head for forever, especially now that I'm in college, where what I do actually... y'know... matters. He's also, like, outwardly tender and the Edge comes later, which is sort of the inverse of a lot of masculine characters in the Big Media that I've seen-- I like "asshole with a heart of gold" characters when they're done right, obviously, I have at least one of those too, but that's just it-- there are SO MANY.

B) What inspired you to create them?

Honest to god, this guy just appeared. Over the course of nearly eight years, granted, and he's still appearing, but yeah. I set out to RP a BLU Spy with some headcanoning and I didn't last a month doing that before Lazare came to life and I had to just run with it. I think the thing that really started him in that direction was going "well what if Spy had anxiety???" And then I put cute glasses on him and then and then and then

And now Lazare is completely divorced from TF2. I cannot put him back in there, he won't do it, he refuses! Going back to that kind of life just isn't a choice he'd make. I think "French and wears suits" are the only remaining things he has in common with Spy.

E) Are they someone you would get along with? Would they get along with you?

We'd so totally get along. I'd get along with most of my characters, but with Lazare in particular, we could hang out and shoot the shit for a while, I think. I hang out with 40somethings pretty regularly IRL, I've always gotten along with my parents' friends and enjoyed them. Lazare also is not bothered by younger people, though he does kind of obsess over making sure he's being a "good influence." Our music tastes and other interests overlap decently, and he knows how to keep a conversation going, which is all I really need. We're both curious and appreciate others who have that trait, so there's that, too. I feel like I'd inevitably say some Young Dumb shit that he'd just nod politely at, but yeah, I think he'd like talking to me too :)

[maladaptive-jcb]

Chapter 1: Icebreaker

Jamie x female!reader fanfic

(fluff, safe for under 18)

Summary: Reader is an independent artist who lives on her own in a small town and meets Jamie, a musician, in an art studio where their budding relationship formed through shared interests of different forms of art.

Warning: There will be talks about trauma and PTSD from domestic abuse and dissociative episodes throughout the story.

A quiet groan. I can hear it from two seats away from where I’m sitting. It’s almost been a month since I started this painting class where I saw it opened two blocks away from my apartment a month ago. I thought it was a perfect way to ignite my old artistic passion again. Lucky for me, it's a budget studio class, which means I don't have to break my savings just to fill up some of my free time. I work at a local bookstore and currently renting a small apartment. I'm doing good, but not amazing while living as an independent girl in this town.

I hear another sigh coming from him. Jamie first came into class around the second week I started here. I remember it was a slow day in class. I was wondering if I should even be here in the first place until I heard footsteps coming in. The way he walked in with his tussled blonde hair and iridescent eyes captured my attention immediately. Ever since then, he never missed a class. I decided to stick around after all.

“Jamie…Jamie… What did I say?” Mr. Hayes, our art teacher stops behind him as Jamie is struggling with his work. “Always check the proportions. Sorry,” he says in a low tone voice. Subtle English accent. Disgruntled look is forming on his face as he tries fixing his painting with more acrylic. Mr. Hayes pats on his back with approval and goes along to check his other students.

He's not really the worst in class. I’ve seen his work, he did a lot of good paintings except that he hates small details and proportional work.

Should I help him more? I mean, we barely talk in class aside from the occasional “Hey,” from time to time. In fact, he barely talks to anyone in here.

He shoots up a look to me.

Shit.

I didn’t realize that I’ve been staring at him for a while.

“Y/n, you’re doing great just don’t forget to clean up your finishing touches this time,” Mr. Hayes distracted my train of thoughts. “I will. Thank you, Mr. Hayes,” I give him a quick nod. I've had such a great experience so far with Mr. Hayes. He'll find a way to make one-on-one teaching lessons feel so personal to you. He's also very patient with all of us considering most of his students came in with zero prior art knowledge. I think that’s why Jamie has improved so much in just a short period of time.

____

The morning is still early when the class ended and I'm now on a hunt for some caffeine to keep my day going. The café is just a five minutes walk down the road. It's called the Aroma Mocha. Since it's an hour away until my shift starts at the bookstore, I decide to have a brisk walk under the cool weather, taking it all in.

As I walk in, there are already five people in line ahead of me at the counter. I wait in line as I soak in the café’s inviting atmosphere. I see a few people inside with their quiet talks to each other. Another middle aged woman reading her book while sipping on a hot coffee. A dark haired teenage girl in the slightly hidden corner with headphones on while sipping on her cold drink in hand. I can't tell what it is but it makes me crave for an iced latte. In another corner, there's a tired college student staring straight into his laptop screen with the fast click-clacking sound of his hands on the keyboard. Just the right amount of calm and busy here, topped off with the aroma of freshly grinded up coffee beans filling up the air. It’s just such a nice morning to start. I've been observing everyone that I haven't noticed anyone getting in line behind me until…

“Y/n, right?”

I turn around and met with a tall lanky figure, silver rings on his fingers, blonde hair framing his cheekbones perfectly in the dim lights of the café.

“Oh yes. And you’re Jamie!”

He smiles. “Yep. Fancy meeting you outside the class.”

“I hope that’s not a bad thing.”

“Not at all. Pleased, really,” his eyes twinkles.

I don’t see the disgruntled, contorted face he always makes when painting in frustrations. He seems… sweet.

“Next!” The barista calls out to me.

“One iced latte, please…” I turn to Jamie. “…and whatever he’s having.”

“Coffee. Black,” he leans forward to respond. His subtle breath warm on my neck. “Thank you."

“You’re welcome,” I return his smile.

I’ve wanted to approach him so many times in class and chickened out. Crazy to think that this is the longest conversation we’ve ever had.

Our drinks were done at the counter after a few minutes. I grab both and hands his coffee. He takes it, fingers brush against mine.

“I’ll see you again, soon?”

“Yeah. See you again, y/n.”

He smiles and raises the cup of coffee thanking me again. I nod and quickly turns my face towards the floor hiding the warmth that's rising to my cheeks. With one last wave, I walk towards the door to leave.

“Wait!”

A surge of relief going through my body. Somehow I was hoping it wouldn't just end there.

“Do you have time to sit with me?” he asks.

I hold my wrist up and check the time on my watch. My shift is not starting until 40 minutes anyways. How long can it be to sit and talk with Jamie?

“If that’s okay,” a little hint of pleading in his voice.

“Yes, of course."

____

We sit across each other at a table near the big window. His long legs brush against mine from time to time. Now that I'm actually closer to him than before, I can see his blue eyes sparkling even brighter under the sunlight streaming through the window pane. He's a little quiet at first. His fingers knotted with each other around his warm cup of coffee. It's almost as if he's wondering what to talk about. Eventually, he tries to ask me more about myself. Trying to set aside the sudden surprise of actually sitting with a new person on my day, I let myself cool down and let the conversations flow on their own. His eyes wide, yet soft as he looks at me attentively every time I tell him little things about myself. I just thought it was just out of politeness but I notice that he's actually listening to me when he chuckles and nods along to my stories. It's like every word that came out of my mouth hung around the air and he's just absorbing them all in.

"You know it's very interesting to finally hear all about the teacher's favourite in class," a teasing tone in his voice.

“Oh, stop. But you know, I've wanted to talk to you in class for a while as well."

“Is that why you’ve been staring at me?” he smirks and takes a sip of his coffee.

My heart does a somersault. He noticed that?

“Oh… I uh,” my cheeks starting to feel a little warm.

He winks.

“So what brings you to the class anyway,” my attempt at changing the subject.

“Oh, umm…” Jamie purses his lips as if he's thinking about the question itself.

"I wanted to try something new in this town. I just moved here and happened to walk by the studio and… well here I am."

“I see. I’m guessing you came all the way here from…”

“London. Yes. The accent, I know,” he laughs. Hand brushing through his beautiful locks.

“I just needed a change. What about you?”

“Oh I’ve lived here for a while. Two years now. Trying to prove to my parents that I can be independent, you know?” I tell him, quickly brushing the question off.

He nods. “You’re working?”

“Yeah. Do you know Bookworm Shack? It’s a block away from here. In fact, I should be getting into my shift in like 15 minutes now.”

“Oh yeah, I’ve seen it. Come on, I’ll drive you,” drinking the last bit of his coffee before he gets up.

I didn’t have time to process it. I haven’t sat in a car alone with a man for so long. Not since-

“You’re coming?” his head tilts towards me and scanning my eyes, hoping for a hint of agreement to his plan.

“I guess, there's no harm in that. Thank you."

“The least I could do for that coffee,” he gives a friendly punch to my upper arm and grinning ear to ear. Every bit of his face lights up when he does it. It feels nice to see him in a more cheerful mood than usual.

I'm not one to know much about cars. Truthfully, all cars look the same to me. If anyone would name a model of a car, no image would pop in my head at all. However, I am able to tell when a car is luxurious and expensive. Jamie's car is exactly that. At least better than the one I drove back in my hometown. It was an old car that my dad gave me after he finally saved up enough for a new one for his own. It was a little beat up but I loved it just the same. It didn't have the leg rooms as I have right now sitting in Jamie's car though. I know it wasn't the best car but it took me where I needed to and it was comfortable enough for me. Looking up at Jamie from the passenger's seat makes me feel a little shy. What do you do when someone told you to make yourself comfortable? Do they actually mean it or do they just want to be polite? Maybe I'll just play it safe and tuck my feet together and not mess with anything in here.

"Relax. The leather seat is not gonna bite you," he snickers after noticing me shifting carefully in my seat.

"Yeah, but you might," quickly giving him the same retort energy.

"Wow. Hurtful. Although, you'll never know. Hope you already got your rabid shot."

His face stays on the road but his eyes peering sideways towards me while smirking at his own joke. A giggle start escaping from my mouth and he finally lets out a big heartful laugh I've ever heard from him.

I feel myself being a lot more relaxed in my seat after that. We continue our conversations along the ride but it was cut short when Jamie pulls over in front of the bookstore. A little disappointment in my heart when I realized that I have to say goodbye to him now.

As I’m getting out of the car, he asks, “What time your shift ends?”

“6 pm. Why?” I respond back through the passenger’s seat window.

“Sounds like a good time for dinner. I’ll pick you up,” he winks again and drives away.

“Wait, I-“ Oh there’s no use. He’s gone.

_____

Chapter 2

Note: Hi! I'm new on here and I'm sharing my writing for the first time on the internet and thought that it'd be nice to start on here. I don't know if this will take off or not but I'm excited for everyone to read it. Do let me know your thoughts and reblog if you like it. If it starts picking up then I will continue posting the next chapter :)

[day6source]

Young K talks about his new album, how music brings people together and his experiences in Brazil

The musician took some time to talk to the HIT team! in an exclusive interview and digital cover for the September magazine! Check it out below:

TIME HIT – “Letter With Notes” is your first album since “Eternal” and your break for military service. How do you feel coming back this time with a new album?

Young K: I'm nervous but excited. I can't wait to share my music with you! I wanted to come back with an album, but I wasn't focusing on a whole one. I only submitted several songs and I think 11 of them were selected.

TIME HIT – Putting the album “Eternal” and your new release “Letters with notes” under analysis, what do you think is the biggest difference between their concept?

Young K: Besides the concept, I think the biggest difference would be the time that has passed. My voice changed and so did my way of thinking. So the story I tell and the words and notes I took must be different in some way.

TIME HIT – You are one of the most famous composers in Korea, with more than 100 songs signed. What is your creative process like when composing songs?

Young K: I always try to compose something that matches the song. So I took another look before finishing and making sure everything is ok.

TIME HIT – Do you remember the first song you composed?

Young K: The first song should be “daydreaming”. A song I wrote on guitar when I was in Canada. It's been 10 years now, so when I look at her, I think she's cute.

TIME HIT – The lyrics you write and the songs you sing have a positive impact on the lives of many people, every day. What's it like to be part of people's lives with your music, to be present in the happy and sad moments of your fans' lives?

Young K: I'm grateful that they take it that way. When I publish my songs and present them to the world, it's like they leave me. It's really up to the fans to choose to listen to them. If they feel something with them, I'm grateful for that.

TIME HIT – What advice would you give to beginning musicians?

Young K: Always do your best, but don't forget to take care of yourself. Be clear about who you are and take time to ask yourself if you are okay. This is for everyone, not just anyone who wants to be a musician.

TIME HIT – You were in college during the release of “Every DAY6” and it was certainly a big challenge! What advice would you give to university students who are going through challenges in their academic life?

Young K: Besides taking care of yourself, experience life. As much as you can. Learn in classes, learn from your friends, learn from every event you may face. Go travel, maybe. Time never comes back, so it's an opportunity you won't want to miss.

TIME HIT – What is your favorite memory while living in Canada?

Young K: Spending time with my dear friends. Talking about nothing important until late at night.

TIME HIT – Is there an instrument you would like to learn? And one that you tried, but gave up on because it was difficult?

Young K: I wanted to play the piano, so I took lessons. But due to lack of time and desire, they took me to this point, which is very close to the beginning. I learned to play a little drums with Dowoon, but I realized it was something I hadn't dreamed of at the time.

TIME HIT – You have had many experiences and achieved a lot in life. What is your dream currently? Something you haven't done or achieved yet, but really want to one day?

Young K: My dream currently is to sing and perform on stage as much as possible. To do this, I have to stay as healthy as possible. Not just me, but you too.

TIME HIT – Latin American fans are a very passionate audience for K-pop. Is there a Latin American rhythm that you would like to incorporate into your music one day?

Young K: We actually tried to incorporate them into some previous songs! I'm still open to challenges.

TIME HIT – Language is no longer a barrier to the power of music. How do you feel with so many fans spread across such distant places and with such different cultures and languages?

Young K: I would like to meet them and sing. It's always impressive to see how this is possible. When they sing together, it really is a different feeling. It makes me want to come back with more songs.

TIME HIT – You have collaborated with artists such as Ben&Ben, Jamie Miller and Park Moonchi. Are there any artists you would like to collaborate with at the moment?

Young K: I'm open to collaborations! Anyone interested, just give me a touch. It would be an honor to do something, anything with Ryan Tedder.

TIME HIT – Your project “YOUNG ONE” is loved by fans and the videos have accumulated millions of views. Which cover did you enjoy recording the most?

Young K: I think recording on a boat was something I could never forget. The song was “Fly Me To The Moon” and the night in Amsterdam was beautiful.

TIME HIT – What is your favorite karaoke or to sing in the car?

Young K: The songs to sing in the car would be the ones I need to practice. I like to spend my time in a car practicing songs I'm going to sing, or warming up my voice.

TIME HIT – Which musical genre do you want to explore a little more?

Young K: Maybe jazz in the future. Jazz is a genre I'm interested in, but have never delved into.

TIME HIT – What memory from your tour do you like most?

Young K: The different energies of different cities. Spending time with the members on the tour bus, and recording “YOUNG ONE” in my free time. And last but not least, the food.

TIME HIT – What is your favorite movie of all time that you would recommend to fans?

Young K: I wouldn't say all time, but one of my favorite movies that I loved most recently was “Puss in Boots: The Last Wish”.

TIME HIT – Eating is certainly one of your passions. Have you ever eaten Brazilian food? Is there a Brazilian dish you would like to try?

Young K: I've tried barbecue and loved it. I would like to try Vatapá one day.

TIME HIT – Can you send a message to your Brazilian fans?

Young K: I hope you guys always stay healthy! And I also wish you happiness and luck. If we can meet one day, let the night be filled with passion and love!

[elshells]

20 Questions? In This Economy?

Thank you so much for the tag, @sam-glade! Check out their post here!

Are you named after anyone?

Not as far as I know!

2. When was the last time you cried?

Two days ago, but that time, they were happy tears.

3. Do you have kids?

Nope!

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

Yeah, a fair bit. But it depends on who I'm with.

5. What’s the first thing you notice about people?

Hmmm. I'm especially drawn to voices, so I think that's the first thing I would remember about a person, especially if their voice was pleasant or unique in some way. If we're talking physical features, I would probably say hairstyle and eye color, though that doesn't always stick in my memory as long.

6. What’s your eye colour?

Blue.

7. Scary movie or happy endings?

Is it cheating to say both?? XD I love myself a good horror movie, but I'm also such a sucker for happy endings! If the two combine, I'm all about it, but if I absolutely had to pick one, I would probably have to go with happy endings.

8. Any special talents?

Uhhhm. My memory is frighteningly good when it comes to remembering the layout of buildings, even if I've only been there once. I can still remember the general blueprint of friends' houses that I haven't seen since in years. Some of the details are so specific that I feel like I can't really tell people without looking suspicious.

9. Where were you born?

United States.

10. What are your hobbies?

When I'm not writing, I can be found reading, playing video games, playing the flute, doing yoga or swimming.

11. Do you have any pets?

Yes!! Two beautiful doggos! 💕

12. What sports do you play/have you played?

I took horseback riding lessons for fun for several years, and still ride occasionally. I also ran cross country and track in junior high, and was a swimmer in high school and college.

13. How tall are you?

5'6.

14. Favourite subject in school?

English, followed closely by band and drama!

15. Dream job?

To write books for a living, but I would also love to pursue a career in voice acting.

I'm going to leave this as an open tag because I'm very behind on these and want to avoid spamming people with tags. XD

Blank questions below for convenient copy and pasting! :)

Are you named after anyone?

2. When was the last time you cried?

3. Do you have kids?

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

5. What’s the first thing you notice about people?

6. What’s your eye colour?

7. Scary movie or happy endings?

8. Any special talents?

9. Where were you born?

10. What are your hobbies?

11. Do you have any pets?

12. What sports do you play/have you played?

13. How tall are you?

14. Favourite subject in school?

15. Dream job?

[katiejacob]

Becoming the Author of Your Own Story: Learning to Trust Your Own Authority

Growing up, I loved stories. Books were my refuge—a way to escape the often-volatile atmosphere of my childhood and immerse myself in worlds where happy endings were guaranteed. I’d spend hours curled up with a book, sneaking chapters under the covers with a flashlight long after bedtime. Fairytales were my favorite, where good and evil were clear-cut, and the heroes always won.

As I grew older and entered the world of communications, I started to see that stories aren’t always as simple as they seem. Even when told with the best intentions, they’re colored by the experiences of both the storyteller and the listener. People hear what they want to hear, often accepting stories as truth without question.

These narratives come from many sources—parents, teachers, religious leaders, and cultural norms. Most are shared with the intent to guide, protect, or bring happiness. But there’s a risk in blindly accepting these stories: we give up our own authority and assume others know what’s best for us, ignoring our own inner voice.

I grew up in a culture that emphasized perfection and discouraged questioning. We were taught to trust a higher power, but only within the framework of what those in authority deemed acceptable. Decisions were ours to make, but only if they stayed within the boundaries of pre-approved beliefs.

This served me for a very long time, until life presented me with such cognitive dissonance that I was forced to find my personal truth. I had done everything I was supposed to. I followed the script I was told growing up, but things didn’t turn out as promised. The life I had known and trusted was shattered because of one person, and I was forced to revisit the story of my youth and give myself permission to ask, “Why?”  When life brings you to such a crossroads the only choice you have is to turn inward and listen to the voice inside you.

I remember hearing the hit musical Wicked for the first time when I went to college. I loved the music and the story then, but didn’t truly appreciate all of its meaning and messages until decades later when I, along with millions of others, saw the film adaptation. I realized Elphaba’s journey mirrored much of my own.  She defended the Wizard of OZ to the very group he was targeting saying, “That’s why we have a wizard, so nothing bad, nothing all that bad, could happen in Oz.” But when she met him, she realized he wasn’t the source of power she thought he was. Everything she needed was already within her.

That moment resonated deeply. Like Elphaba, I had spent years putting my trust in external authorities, believing they knew better than I did what my story should be. Through everything, I’ve learned this lesson: if something is true, it will withstand questioning.  Asking “why” isn’t defiance—it’s expanding your understanding.

Give yourself permission to question and then turn inward and listen to your intuition. When you do this consistently, you’ll discover that the power to write your story lies within you—not with someone else.

With all my love,

Katie

[tidalwavvves]

because tonight, the world turned in me (chase this light, jimmy eat world)

I've been putting off writing this first post. Honestly? I'm a little nervous. It's been a while since I've dusted off the ol' journalistic brain cells, and while I know it will take some time to build them back up again, I'm not a patient person.

So. Anyways. With that aside, let's talk about music! Growing up, there was always music playing in the house. I know everyone loves to say that, but it's true. My dad was a drummer, and his 2005 iPod had somewhere in the ballpark of 2,000 songs - absolutely groundbreaking at the time. Who knew you could have that much music in such a small device?? Meanwhile, my mom had a shared Beatles Fan Club membership with her friend in the '60s, and her record collection, while minuscule compared to those that seriously collect vinyls, is one that most millennials could only dream of. Unfortunately, some of those records were Alvin and the Chipmunks "classics" (as she calls them), but overall, it is a pretty solid collection.

I was free to love The Beatles and Los Lobos (specifically Kiko and the Lavender Moon) just as much as I loved Hilary Duff and the Jonas Brothers. As much as I loved listening to music, I was not naturally gifted in playing music. My parents' rule was before we learned anything else, my brother and I needed to take piano lessons. I barely scraped by there, and as soon as I started the fourth grade - the first year my school allowed you to join the school band - I came home with a school-rented flute.

So, after piano lessons, being the sole flute player, a brief stint with the recorder, my mom running out of patience teaching me guitar, my brother buying me a baritone ukulele from a yard sale for my birthday, and memorizing the bass tabs to Seven National Army, I think it's safe to say I was lost in the sauce of music. And, yes, I did try vocal lessons. As a theatre kid, that was a no brainer.

So while I had no real talent to make music, I listened to it as if it was my livelihood. I eventually began writing for a very small online music magazine in high school, and went to college to major in music business. This is all a longwinded way to explain just how much of my life has been dedicated to music.

Eventually, in my mid-twenties I hit a patch of depression strong enough that I barely listened to anything. I remember going to shows with friends and just wanting it to end already. That was the first time in my entire life that I didn't care about music. So what changed? I'm not really sure.

In May 2022 I went to Nashville to BreakFest (a breakfast food themed music festival? Hell yes!) to see Cassadee Pope, Derek Sanders, and New Found Glory. For those who haven't been initiated into peak 2012 pop-punk, that would be the lead singer of Hey Monday and the lead singer of Mayday Parade - two of my favorite bands in high school. I thought it would be a fun trip, get some sightseeing in, feel nostalgic for a bit, try to convince myself to like whiskey, the whole bit. I'm no stranger to going to shows alone, but I've never really mastered the art of hanging out between sets or during bands you don't care to see without someone to talk to, so it was a bit awkward at first. But it got markedly better pretty fast. I elbowed my way to the barricade to see Cassadee Pope - really I was just trying to get past the six foot tall dudes camping out at the front to see the two final bands - and screaming along to Homecoming and Arizona was a religious experience. Later on, I was standing against the railing on a platform off to the side to watch Derek Sanders. It was already a great set, but about halfway through I heard a voice talking to someone behind me. I turned around, and saw Cassadee Pope about two feet behind me, watching the show. And I don't know why, but that moment hit me. Hard. I was sandwiched between two bands responsible for getting me through some really hard times as a teenager, and it was like someone reached into my chest and squeezed my heart.

After that, I was back in. I went to as many shows as I could, listened to all the music I missed out on during my off years, and revisited old favorites. In 2023, my Spotify Wrapped informed me that I was in the top 5% of global listeners. Like, app-wide. Since then, I've only pulled myself in further. It has been a long time since I've felt this passionate about something, and I cannot tell you how happy that makes me.

So, as you read through my posts, you're reading the words of someone head-over-heals obsessed with music. I'm not a professional writer, or musician, or producer. I don't have the vocabulary (yet) of someone who has worked in it technically for twenty years. Half the time, I'm not even sure how to explain what I think about a song, but I'm sure as hell going to try.

[thelaurenshippen]

oooh interesting question! thanks for tagging me @holliwoobz!

I have complicated feelings about the word "creator", but I have complicated feelings about nearly every term used to refer to what I do, so it's no better or worse for me than any other. this question could just as easily have the word "artist" or "writer" or "podcaster" and I think my response would be equally ambivalent. in any case, I'm not sure that I have a strong definition for feeling like a creator - on the one hand, I felt like a creator the moment I put pen to paper and wrote my first story and on the other hand, I still don't feel like a creator at all, because I don't feel fully successful as one. I make my living from a patchwork of things, and creating is, in many ways, the smallest contributor to that patchwork.

but there are a few moments that stick out to me in the "oh shit I'm really doing this" feeling -

the table read for @thebrightsessions - hearing Julia, Briggon, and Anna give voice to these characters that had been only in my head was deeply surreal and rewarding

seeing fanart for the very first time. I remember it SO vividly. it was on instagram, in march of 2016, pretty much just after our second season began. it was a few doodles of chloe and I remember thinking "if this is it, if this show completely falls apart tomorrow, I'll be satisfied, because someone felt moved enough by it to make their own art"

recording the season 3 finale of TBS, the safe house episodes. those were the first episodes we ever recorded in a studio, not my bedroom (the only other episode we recorded in a studio in the first 4 seasons of TBS was the musical) and it was a full, 8 hour recording day, with pretty much the whole cast at, like, a real, fancy-ass studio that I dipped into my measly savings to cover and I sat in the parking lot for a full hour because I woke up at 6am and by 7:30 I just had to get out of the fucking house even if the session didn't start until 9. I had not one single goddamn clue of what I was doing, had never directed anything in a studio, had never tried to block anything before and, sure, we'd rehearsed, but I felt entirely unprepared. and then, you know, not the most emotionally chill episodes ever, so by the end of it, I was wrung out. but I got back into my car that evening and thought about how ten hours earlier I'd had to stare at the steering wheel and concentrate on not throwing up and now I was driving home having done it and done it well and maybe I really could make something of myself in this medium

and even now, having written hundreds of episodes of audio drama, directed even more than that, having worked with big companies and produced indie shows from other creators, having been hired to consult as an "expert", invited to speak at conferences and to college classes, I still sort of feel like I'm going to throw up every time I'm about to walk into that studio. I constantly have that feeling of "well, I made something that some people like, but that was a fluke, I'm not really a writer".

part of this is, of course, just your garden variety imposter syndrome that I'm not sure any of us ever truly get rid of. but the other big piece, the lesson I learned a few years into making shit and having it go somewhere, is that you never really arrive. you're never done, you've never made it. I long for the day that I'll be able to just write and make things and have that be enough to pay for my life and, god forbid, actually contribute to my retirement account, but I know that that level of stability won't necessarily mean I finally feel like a creator, like that's my job, like that's who I am, and like that's enough. but every day I do create, and that's the important part. so that's the feeling I try to focus on.

Audio drama creators: what moment made you feel like you were *actually* a creator?

[ghoulfr13nd]

hi!!! this is the playlist anon from before, back to gush over ur music taste! (and i'm sorry this is gonna be a long ask fgdsafjksdh) your playlist was like a godsend in finding some good new music! and i will gladly say what i enjoyed about it! :D first, you reminded me about Metric! i mean- ok, Nimona reminded me about them first when they played Gold Guns Girls (i had a blast during this scene btw dgsh) but it was your playlist that made me really return to them and look more into their music more xD like, when i was listening to Now or Never Now i was like, oh this is so good whats the band and i was shocked it was Metric i had to double check fdsagj this song has just such a different feel than what i remember from them! thanks to you i've been listening to Art of Doubt and i think it's my fave album from them! second, Will Wood, Modest Mouse, Of Monsters and Men, The Crane Wives and Lemon Demon are also always a win in my book! fsdjsdf third, i discovered a lot of new artists thanks to you! but man, if i mentioned all the songs that ur playlist made me discover and add to my faves on spotify i'd have to mention like 90% of the playlist fasdhdfs but my absolute faves are probably the previously mentioned Metric songs, Lessons Learned by Matt and Kim, Boy by Ra Ra Riot, The Distance by Aly & AJ, Quiet Little Voices by We Were Promised Jetpacks (the delicate 'Crunch' on the guiter in this one is delicious!) and Shark Attack by GROUPLOVE in short: great playlist! thought about making/sharing more??? asking for a friend! 👀 (and oh man my music taste is all over the place I can listen to anything so recommending songs and judging what is good is hard fasdgjk but maybe something close in the vibes of ur playlist! hmmm you might already know it but ever heard about Fish in the Birdcage? (i mean the song but it's also a band xd) i had it on constant repeat for so long i love it so much i definitely reccomend it and their music in general! alsooo, maybe Be Good by Dominik Dudek, and sail away by lovelytheband? also idk if it'd be in ur style but this song has been on my constant repeat for the past week so: Great Time To Be Human by Jagwar Twin :D)

oh man ok ok ok

I LOVE Metric!! theyre one of the bands my brother and I both really like and we’ve been to one of their concerts — it was so good! (if youre interested in how that went I took a video of them playing Black Sheep!) I went absolutely rabid when I heard it in Nimona (NIMONA IS SO GOOD!!!!!!)

Will Wood’s IN CASE I DIE album was a huge point of obsession for me last year. my friends were deeply concerned about the amount of times I listened to Cicada Days (Live at Knitting Factory, Spokane, WA)

THRILLED TO KNOW YOU ENJOY MATT AND KIM THOUGH!!! ABSOLUTE REQUIRED LISTENING FOR ANYONE WHO WANTS TO KNOW ME. they were my FAVORITE band in high school and college, and I had several of their albums that I played in my car!! highly highly recommend Cameras and Silver Tiles by them (and also just the whole Sidewalks album!)

I’m crazy about my playlists and will absolutely never turn down the chance to share them so here are a few!

March March March March is what I was listening to in - you guessed it - March!

October feels different this year. is one of my favorite playlists from 2023. it has some overlap with my gender playlist and in general is just really close to my heart. (The Milk Carton by Madilyn Mei had been a HUGE obsession for me I LOVE that song)

if you want a wildly different vibe rat nao is my country music playlist (I Am Not Immune To Being A Southerner) (there’s also a little bitty bit of overlap with my October playlist!) (its not 100% country but its all songs that make my accent terribly thick)

a heart’s a heavy burden is my other pinned playlist on Spotify and it’s all of the songs (more or less, approximately) every song I’ve ever cried to

Quintessential Listening is my abridged music taste from my entire life and its a VERY LONG PLAYLIST that I don’t actually recommend unless you want a lot to choose from and/or have a deeper understanding of me as a person (I made this playlist for fun I admittedly dont listen to it much fjskfjdj) (fun fact nobody asked for but I love sharing: my 4th birthday party was themed after Somebody To Call My Lover by Janet Jackson) (ALSO the picture for this playlist is a collage of photos I myself have taken!)

you by no means have to listen to all of these I just wanted to give you choices. additionally, feel free to just go poke around my profile. all my playlists are public! i make a lot though and not all of them actually get listened to gjdkdkdk

i AM familiar with Fish in a Birdcage!!!! I love the song and also the band - my favorite song by them though is Rule #13 - Waterfall. my friend Kit is more into them than I am, I think, admittedly, but I still really enjoy them! if you like them, I’ll recommend the same songs I did for Kit (November by Sparkbird — The Room Is Filled With People That Love You by Foresight — So Alright, Cool, Whatever by The Happy Fits)

I’m not familiar with the other three songs, so I listened to them on my drive to work this morning. They were fun, I enjoyed listening to them!

Funnily enough, I’m going back to college this fall and I’ve had a hard time figuring out my feelings about it. my therapist told me to try making a playlist and I’ve been struggling to find songs that aptly convey how I feel. Sail Away is one of the first songs that’s clicked, so thank you!

I also listened to Great Time to be Human by Jagwar Twin (twice to make sure I absorbed it well) and it’s very fun!! it reminds me of Glass Animals (who I also really enjoy). actually rotated my friend’s ocs in my head a little bit to the chorus.

ALSO IF YOU WANT TO SEND ME A PLAYLIST, I WOULD LOVE THAT? no pressure to ofc but I love exchanges! I love sharing! I love learning about other people!

If you read all of this thank you for letting me ramble about music!!!!!!! I’m very intrinsically tied to my music taste and it makes me feel very seen to share it and for it to be enjoyed by others.

I hope you’re doing well and that you have a good day today!

[contralto]

just gonna do the whole april tc challenge in one sitting (instead of homework for an unrelated class. lol.)

Day 1: Happy April Fool’s! Have you ever pranked your TC; if so, how did they react? on halloween last year (this was before my dumb ass realized i liked him) the entire choir hid in our rehearsal hall with the lights off a few minutes before class and when he walked in i said "play with us, 💎" in a creepy little-girl-in-a-horror-movie voice

Day 2: What is the earliest thing you can remember about your TC? apparently i met him when i was playing percussion at a choir performance several years ago but i have no memory of that. lmao. i do remember thinking his tattoo sleeves were cool when i met him on the first day of me actually being in one of his classes

Day 3: Do you like your TC’s subject? Do you consider yourself to be good at it? he teaches choir and private voice lessons and i am a voice major soooo... i fucking HOPE i'm good at it

Day 4: How do you feel about your age gap? i'm 26 so i'm not super young, but even then he's still twice my age. i've liked fictional characters almost three times my age before so it doesn't feel super weird, but he's definitely the oldest Real Actual Person i've crushed on

Day 5: Have you ever said anything to your TC that showed you favoured them? Have they said anything like that to you? he's one of the only teachers i've ever given multiple gifts to and gift giving is my love language (when i can afford it) so i think it's a bit obvious. he's pretty nice to everyone but he just seems to be extra considerate of my feelings and really encouraging to me, i feel like i might be a favorite 🙊

Day 6: Have you ever noticed any small habits that they have? If so, what comes to mind first? in another class i have with him, he tends to look around the room at each student when he's lecturing. sometimes we lock eyes and i feel my heart do a little flip

Day 7: What gift would you really like to be able to give them, regardless of if it’s realistic or not? gladiolus flowers. they're his favorite but they're expensive and not easy to find

Day 8: Does your TC ever talk about what it was like when they were still a student? oh yeah. he has a doctorate so he has lots of years of college to talk about

Day 9: Does your TC have a significant other? If so, what do you know about them and how do you feel about them? he has a boyfriend who is autistic and apparently likes to discuss geeky stuff with him. i'm not really jealous but sometimes i do think to myself "hey, i'm autistic and geeky too, where's my kiss"

Day 10: What is the longest time you have gone without seeing them? about a month (winter break) right after i realized i had a crush on him. it was a little rough. but man he's gonna be traveling for most of summer break and i probably won't see him for 3 months and i am trying not to think about that :(

Day 11: What do other people usually think about them? nobody else likes him romantically, but the other voice students really appreciate him and think he's cool

Day 12: Do you often make up excuses to speak to them? What kinds of excuses do you like to use? i don't really make excuses but sometimes if i have questions for him i will space them out a bit so i get to visit him in his office multiple times

Day 13: Other than the subject they teach, what are they really passionate about? doctor who (specifically 10. good taste), star trek, literature of all sorts, and english culture

Day 14: What is a skill you really wish your TC had? being attracted to me LMAO

Day 15: Which MBTI personality do you think they are? (cutting out the other part because i want nothing to do with that t*rf) i don't know a lot about mbti but i think we're both ambiverts. he's more of a thinker than a feeler but he's also very compassionate so that's a hard one to judge too. the other two i really cannot decide

Day 16: If you could go back in time and choose, would you still choose to develop feelings for your TC? if anything i'd choose to develop them earlier because i was in denial for months

Day 17: If it was the last time you would ever be able to see your TC, what is one thing you would never leave without saying to them? i love you. thank you for being so supportive and encouraging. you've changed my life and my personality for the better and i can't thank you enough.

Day 18: When was the first time you cried because of them? never cried over him but that last prompt got me a bit misty eyed

Day 19: How well do you think you know them? he's pretty open about certain aspects of his private life so i'd say i know him fairly well and if things continue like this i think i'm gonna get to know him even better!

Day 20: Do you ever lie to them? About what? i don't think i've ever intentionally lied to him but does physically restraining myself from saying lovey-dovey shit count?

Day 21: What is the longest time you have spent together with them? i think it's gonna be next monday because i have one class with him in the morning, then we're grabbing coffee between classes, then another class in the afternoon, and then a private lesson right after

Day 22: If you have had other TCs in the past (or right now), how are they similar to or different from your current (or primary) TC? he's the only major tc i've ever had. i was a little into my chem teacher in high school (he was older and scruffier than 💎) and i had a crush on a female teacher shortly after my bi awakening in middle school, but i absolutely was not this level of smitten

Day 23: Have you ever seen your TC in clothes they don’t usually wear? Casual clothes if they usually wear formal attire or the other way around? he's usually like, polo and jeans casual, but he wears a nice suit for our concerts and godddddd what a snack

Day 24: When was the last time they made your heart thump? today when we rescheduled coffee and he put it in his phone calendar to make sure he had no other scheduling conflicts this time

Day 25: How do you think your TC would react if you confided in them when you felt sad or stressed or anxious? that is literally the reason he asked me to coffee, so uh, that

Day 26: What is the best dream you have had of them? i don't think i've ever dreamt of him, not any that i can remember anyway

Day 27: What is the saddest/scariest dream you have had of them? see above

Day 28: Does your TC ever bring you up to other students/teachers that you know of? not that i know of (unless complimenting me in front of all my other classmates counts) but i wouldn't put it past him. god knows i bring him up to other people a lot

Day 29: Do you see them as being a romantic person? Are you? i mean he has a boyfriend so he must be at least a little romantic. as for me i'm definitely a romantic person but when i'm in actual relationships it has tended to cross the border into obsession so i'm staying away from dating til i can get that sorted out

Day 30: How have they changed since you two first met? How have you changed? he's really taken a liking to me. hehehe... as for me i've gotten significantly less shy and i've changed a lot of my bad singing habits. i like to think we've changed each other for the better