#who framed art teacher? au | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

seiwas · 5 months ago

Note

hihi sel! for your trope mashup game: bedsharing + teacher au featuring satosugu! (or any ship of your choice, really bahaha)

bitti!! thanks for playing with me 🥹 u need to know. this took me tf out 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 thanks for bouncing around these ideas w me babie @mieiri

"looks like we'll have to cuddle tonight," gojo plops down on the foot of the bed, hands outstretched behind him.

you drop your bag to the floor, scanning the rest of the room.

there's a decently sized window at the far end, with a small desk and its own chair. to your immediate right is the bathroom, with a single sink, a small shower space, and a toilet. the space is okay, not too big and not too small considering the two giants you’re rooming with.

except, there’s one problem. when your eyes pan to the left, right up against the wall—

there's only one bed.

you can hear geto chuckling behind you, his leather jacket crinkling as he walks around the room.

there was supposed to be a couch at least. that's what your faculty had promised you. it's why you agreed to room with geto and gojo in the first place.

"dibs not middle," geto settles into the seat right at the end of the room.

they both look at you.

oh god.

this professor's retreat was initiated by your college in an effort to mingle with your colleagues from the other departments. not that you needed it to get to interact with gojo and geto, you know each other enough from the weekend martial arts classes you attend together.

that being said, though, knowing them from a shared class is a far different relationship from being comfortable enough to sleep beside them.

between coinciding schedules with the physics department and later time slots of the molecular biology classes, the chemistry classes you teach leave almost no opportunity for you to pass them in the hallways.

which, is honestly kind of a good thing.

you don't think you can handle seeing them even more than you already do on the weekends; gojo dressed in tight compression shirts and geto in those sickeningly fitted vests. how sweaty they both end up after sparring with one another—

"i'll take the floor," you announce, heat firing your cheeks as you immediately rifle through the cabinets in the bathroom for extra towels.

granted, the outfits they wear to work are a lot more modest. gojo always opts for pressed dress shirts, neat and sleek as if he’s busy (which he is, you think. he’s always somehow invited to meetings with the university’s higher-ups). geto, on the other hand, swears by his leather jackets. if it weren’t for the ‘lecturer’ id clipped to his jacket pocket, he’d easily be mistaken as a student. you’re pretty sure he has, especially by his own students on the first day of class.

still, you cannot handle sleeping in between the two of them.

in your panic, you don't notice the sound of footsteps approaching the bathroom door, a broad figure leaning over its frame.

"hey,"

you’re going to kill gojo.

between the two of them, gojo’s always the one who tries to convince you to join in on their antics. but as long as he doesn’t touch you, you think you’ve built up a pretty good immunity to all his tricks.

this, however, is a completely different tactic.

if one of them can persuade you by voice alone, it’s geto suguru—and it seems like gojo knows it too.

“you know there'll be plenty of space on the bed, right?"

it was a mistake for you to look up, because now you've caught his eyes, an impossibly hypnotizing brown that drips warmth into his honeyed speech.

you breathe out, keeping your cool, “it's okay, suguru, i don't mind.”

he crosses his arms, leaning more of his weight on the doorframe as he peers down at you. a strand of his hair falls from the bun he usually keeps it in; it’s tip lands right where his smirk ends.

well, fuck.

"satoru's a stick," he comments, and from within the room you can hear gojo start to whine, “hey—!”, but suguru continues, ignoring him, “i can squeeze closer to the wall."

he tilts his head, dipping it lower.

you sigh, closing your eyes. the towels you’ve managed to scavenge now slipping from your hands.

when you step outside in evident defeat, gojo sits up from the bed, tapping the space beside him as he crosses his legs. gojo runs his mouth a lot of the time, but it’s in this moment that you truly believe pretty boys shouldn’t be allowed to speak. because when he says—

"c'mon, it'll be fun."

—you think the next three days will simultaneously be the best and worst days of your life.

some additional things i didn’t include:

gojo’s pedagogy is terrible but students love to take his class because they think he’s hot + he doesn’t require attendance. his assessments are either extremely easy (aka nothing) or fucking hard and students are willing to take this gamble 🥲 he also sucks at teaching because he can’t explain for shit!!! but he grades high 😃

geto on the other hand!! good all around except his assessments are always fucking HARD. but students also love to take his class because they actually learn something 😃 (and also bc his students crush on him hard lmao)

the sleeping situation happens as follows: gojo takes up most of the bed space and geto does in fact squeeze to the wall, with you squished to his side too 😃 on one of the nights, gojo clings onto you and geto scoots closer because the empty space freaks him out a lil 😃 at some point, both of them squish you in the middle too 😃 you start to think maybe they wanted this all along…

#omg bitti my mind was BUZZING with this oh my gooooood #satosugu x reader #jjk x reader #shotorus.workbook #i hope u enjoyed this bc imagining this took me tf oUT #ask #rep #bitti.🍞#rabbbitseason

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wttcsms · 1 year ago

Note

grumpy tenured professor Naoya x new, sunshine-y associate professor reader !!

lessons in intimacy, naoya zenin ;

pairing naoya zenin x f!reader word count 4.5k synopsis naoya zenin, phd, still has a lot to learn, and you are a surprisingly good teacher content contains fluff!!!, academia au, and they were office roomies!, naoya-centric, he bashes the arts </3

Learning Objective One: Notice Things About Your Partner

Naoya Zenin stares at the heart-shaped cake you left on his desk and refrains from going absolutely batshit.

He can feel the pinpricks of irritation poking his insides, making him curl his hands in annoyance. Two weeks prior, there was a staff meeting informing the business school that they would be sharing their classrooms and offices with the English professors since apparently, due to poor plumbing and a lack of funding, their shack of a school building got flooded and was therefore deemed “unsafe” and “unusable.”

Naoya distinctly remembers making a snide comment about how majoring in something as worthless as English or literature should be deemed a safety hazard and that the degree is basically unusable. Maybe this is the universe’s way of telling everyone in the school to get a grip and let the entire English department just float away into a nearby swamp.

The business professors all agreed and considering that all of their students end up becoming wealthy alumni who donate money to ensure that their buildings don’t go under, Naoya doesn’t care about the enraged comments from the English department.

All his rude remarks seem to ensure that he’ll be left alone, which is exactly how he likes to be. It seems that he’s the most hated business school professor and no one is willing to share a space with him.

Because you are the youngest and newest member of the faculty, you end up being the unfortunate soul paired up with Naoya Zenin, PhD. When you first step into the office, big box filled with your printed lesson plans and desk supplies, he refuses to lend you a hand.

Instead, he sits back in his seat, staring at you with such an intense look in his eyes that you decide to look at anything but him, and he watches you struggle to maneuver around the tight space. Because of the funding, the business school offices are spacious, but to maintain some semblance of privacy, minor renovations were made. Crammed in a corner is a new desk meant for you. If he keeps staring daggers into your very soul, you’re going to make a request to have a room divider put in place so you can cower behind them and avoid his glare.

While your side of the office is small, you make it as unique to yourself as possible. There’s a Cinnamoroll plushie sitting on your desk, a cup holding glittery gel pens, and inside your desk drawers are scratch-‘n-sniff sticker sheets with colorful words of encouragement because the world has already beaten down your students enough — you might as well give them back some of their childhood enjoyment.

Naoya’s desk is vintage mahogany and rarely has anything sitting atop it unless he’s inside the office and on his laptop. Hanging on the wall behind him is his doctoral degree that is forever put on display in a massive, ostentatious frame. Naoya Zenin, PhD from Keio University. Economics, you recall him telling one of his colleagues. Because finance is the poor man’s idea of a prestigious field.

It doesn’t take a degree to know how Dr. Zenin feels about a degree in the arts.

Upon your first awkward meeting with Naoya (where he let you nearly trip and spill all your meager belongings onto his pristine office’s floors), you immediately head home and look at your new office buddy’s RateMyProf reviews.

⅕ OVERALL QUALITY BASED ON 986 RATINGS | 0% WOULD TAKE AGAIN | 5.0 LEVEL OF DIFFICULTY

Professor Zenin’s Top Tags

#lotsofhomework

#getreadytoread

#lectureheavy

#skipclass?youwon’tpass

Review 1: i dropped my econ major because of him. this wasn’t even supposed to be a weeder class

Review 2: DR ZENIN IS THE WORST PROFESSOR FOR ECONOMICS. HE MIGHT BE THE WORST PROFESSOR IN THE BUSINESS SCHOOL. HE MIGHT EVEN BE THE WORST PROFESSOR IN THIS WHOLE DAMN UNIVERSITY!!!!!! DO NOT TAKE HIM! I regret not taking everyone else’s advice and going with Dr. Gojo instead

Review 3: only redeeming quality is being hot, but he’s still an asshole

Review 4: Misogynist, doesn’t believe women can be leaders in the business world, has God awful takes that literally no one sane would agree with, teaches what HE thinks is right and refuses to acknowledge any opposing viewpoints, talks down on students, and that’s all i can say about him from the TWO DAYS i attended his class. i immediately dropped his course LOL

Review 5: Dr. Zenin’s rigorous coursework and unforgiving grading has prepared me for graduate school, and I still believe all the courses I had with him provided me with a better foundation than my other peers in my doctoral program. However, he did make my undergrad experience a miserable one. His lectures are hard to follow at times, and he creates his exams with the intent of making it unpassable. He’s the professor that you wonder why he hasn’t been fired yet.

You search for any positive comments about him, but it appears that the students hate everything about him, to his tests, his teaching style, and his personality.

In all honesty, it’s kind of sad. What must it be like, you wonder, to be so hated by the very students you’re meant to teach and inspire? You’re willing to give Naoya the benefit of the doubt — you know how one student’s misconception against a professor can paint a bad picture overall. Maybe Naoya is just a difficult person to understand! An undercover softie, if you will.

There’s no harm in trying to be friendly with him. After all, the two of you are going to be partners for the foreseeable future. You don’t have the energy to remain constantly on your guard around him.

You start off with little things, like burning candles in the office to fill it with sweet, welcoming scents. You offer to let him borrow your extension cord so his charger doesn’t have to bend all awkwardly when he plugs in his laptop. You make an effort to ensure that the classroom is clean before his class enters because that’s a courteous thing to do. You notice that when he eats his lunch on campus, he’s always unwrapping a sweet treat afterwards.

You can’t be a truly bad person if you have a sweet tooth, you rationalize.

So, you bake him little goods and leave them on his desk. When a week goes by and he doesn’t acknowledge your actions but the goods are always gone by the time lunchtime is over, you think you’re making progress. You notice that he seems stressed and annoyed every time he storms into the office, and so you start adding tiny notes of motivation alongside the goods, too.

Written on a pink sticky note that’s in the shape of a heart (probably to match the fucking miniature cake you baked), Naoya’s eye almost starts to twitch as he examines every loop and curve of the letters you personally handwritten for him.

I hope you have a great day today! Look on the bright side, you’re done with all your lectures for the week!

Naoya angrily takes a bite out of the cake as he waits for his laptop to turn on. The sugary sweetness does very little to alleviate his annoyance, but he can begrudgingly admit that the cake is good. Delicious, even.

This makes his scowl deepen.

How annoying, he thinks, tossing your note in the trash bin (not having the heart to crumple it up like he used to do with your previous notes). What are you, some kind of a stalker? How is it any of your business to know that Thursdays are his last days for teaching since business schools don’t believe in having class on Friday? And why do you always do that? Saying I hope?

“I’m not going to tell you what to do, Momo,” he remembers you telling your blonde-haired student. “But I hope you consider sticking with your creative writing major. We’ll lose a very talented student if you choose to go, you know.”

Naoya had let out a little snort of amusement at this. Who the fuck cares about whether or not students drop out? If they can’t handle the coursework, clearly they’re not cut out for the real world. He finds it annoying that you practically hold their hands, coddling them, always tacking on an I hope because you don’t want to demand people to do things. So much damn consideration, he wonders how you even survive in this big city. You’re probably the type of person who apologizes when someone else gets in your way at a busy store. You probably let yourself get cut in line. You definitely give money to panhandlers who are only posing as the homeless and needy.

Naoya wants to take joy in the fact that you are the type of person who could easily be taken advantage of, but as he finishes the cake you made for him, the idea of people purposely giving you a hard time just because you’ll take it lying down makes him feel even more irritated than before.

He takes out his frustration on his students. A first-year student emailed him asking for an extension, so Naoya tells them either they get it done by the original deadline, or he is more than willing to just give them the zero right now. In the real world, your boss and your clients will not give a single shit that you are hospitalized after being hit by a truck. Perhaps, if you used the brain inside your head and the eyes on your face, you would know better than to cross the road when a speeding truck is heading your way.

Then, he thinks that you would probably gladly give your students an extension if they asked. You’d probably even visit them in the fucking hospital, like the saint you think you are.

You’re so helpful to the point of your kindness being detrimental to your own wellbeing. You extend deadlines, and then have to beg and plead with the dean and bust your ass to get final grades in by the required date. All that struggle could have been avoided if you just gave the zero. You hear out your students, letting them speak their minds, and it cuts into your lecture time. Nobody is paying tuition to hear another student’s ramblings. And how long does it take you to bake him these desserts? It’s something different every day, always fresh, always seemingly made with care.

He doesn’t even know how you know he likes sweets. Lucky guess, he tells himself.

You see, Naoya knows that he is respected (somewhat) and feared (most definitely). He knows that he is not loved, not by his colleagues (who are all intimidated by him), not by his family (who thinks becoming a professor at a prestigious research university is dogshit when he should have been a global economist), not by his students (the university-mandated end-of-the-term class surveys are always sent to him). So to him, despite the ego he presents to the public, he cannot fathom the idea of someone noticing little things about himself. He definitely can’t imagine someone noticing and caring — it would honestly make more sense if they used private information against him.

He doesn’t think about you noticing him, and he refuses to think about all the things he subconsciously notices about you. He can recognize you by your perfume alone; someone had passed him by in the hall, and his eyes searched for your figure, only to be greeted by a student who just happened to favor the same fragrance as you. (He had snapped at the poor girl, telling her to walk faster or get out of the way.) He’s certain he knows the fucking HTML color code for the specific shade of lipgloss you’re always constantly applying in the office. One time, against his better judgment, he saves the place you’re at in your book. You had fallen asleep at your desk, your finger pressed on the page you were struggling to read, and then your head banged on the desk, hand slipping away. He doesn’t know why he didn’t leave you alone in the office; he had no business staying that late since none of his students were brave enough to turn in any assignments to be graded. There was an on-campus police alert the day before, though. Naoya rationalizes that he just didn’t want any criminals or deviants breaking into his office and destroying it. That’s all.

He actively avoids any thought of you, not realizing the irony of how, in his vehement attempts to ignore your existence, he is very much acknowledging you.

Learning Objective Two: Have Meaningful Conversations With Your Partner

“Why do you do that?” Naoya snaps, breaking the silence in the office.

Naoya is the type of person who does not simply say things — he snaps, he sneers, he smirks. And he has the exact tonation, voice, manner of speaking, of someone who grew up and was never told to shut the fuck up. With his current position in life, it seems like no one ever will.

“Do what?” You look up from the papers you’re grading, staring at him all doe-eyed and genuinely confused that Naoya discovers the unfortunate fact that he does, actually, possess a heart. An annoying one that gets all tight in his chest and starts beating against his rib cage every time you look at him. He’d charge you with a hospital bill from a top of the line cardiologist, but he knows you get paid like shit in comparison to him. Also, because he doesn’t like the idea of women spending money on his behalf.

“Give out pity grades.”

It’s like you’ll do anything in your power to not fail a student. You’re just pulling out participation points straight from your ass! And the comments — don’t get him started on the amount of comments you waste time leaving on your students’ papers. There’s a reason why his grades always get entered before deadlines. He’s efficient.

“And ruthless.” You tell him, after hearing him tell you all about his “efficiency.” “We’re here to help cultivate their minds. Get them to think. College shouldn’t be about getting grades based on your professor’s mood.”

Was that somehow an attack on him? He should be annoyed. Instead, he finds this side of you less annoying.

“I’m always in the same mood every time I grade.”

“Oh, yeah? And what’s that, vindictive?” You’re teasing him, and he wouldn’t let just anyone get away with such a comment. He’s bored, he tells himself. That’s why he’s entertaining this. Unlike someone, he doesn’t have anything left to grade.

“Nah. Irritated. They’re all idiots.”

You frown. “No student is an idiot.”

He gives you a look. “You teach English.”

“Intro to Classic Lit.” You correct him.

“Right.” He says this slowly. “Idiots.”

“Maybe yours, but definitely not mine.”

“Let's compare our students’ majors and potential earnings after graduation.”

Now it’s your turn to give him a look. “There’s nothing wrong with pursuing your passions.”

“Great. Do you tell them that when the cashier tells them their card declined? Or, does the passion end up paying the total? Are grocery stores accepting passion as a form of payment now?”

“Don’t be as mean as people say you are.”

His signature smug air of superiority momentarily dissipates at this statement. It’s not often that someone can get Naoya to shut up. To be bested by someone who grades using pink gel pens is so humbling, the only thing keeping him on his pedestal is the fact that he knows he’s the youngest tenured professor in this whole entire university and an acclaimed researcher (he always makes the list for top five most cited economic researchers). You’re fresh out of a doctoral program, and even being tenure-track would be a pipe dream for you.

“There’s nothing mean about being honest.”

“You can be honest without being mean.”

“It’s the truth. Students are idiots.” He shrugs, because what the fuck is he supposed to do about it?

“Then why become a professor?”

“Sweetheart, professors that work here are researchers first, teachers… no, not second. Maybe third? If they’re that dedicated to shaping young minds, or whatever fantasy you’ve got going on.”

“Well, I believe that the students are here to learn. And before you call them stupid again, that’s the great part about learning. You don’t have to be smart to do it.”

Growing up, Naoya had to be a lot of things, smart being one of them. No one in his household was ever capable of producing an ounce of empathy, and considering all the people he’s been surrounded by since his prep school, university, and internship days have all been raised in similar environments. The world is unforgiving. Naoya lives by the ever-so-poetic motto of “sucks to suck.”

He will go home and lay in bed and stare at the crown molding on his ceiling, and he will recall your sunny disposition. He wants to shame and berate you for being so damn optimistic, for believing in those words, and he will think to himself wouldn’t it be nice for it to be true?

Instead, right now, all he does is huff. The truth is, Naoya is well aware that his students aren’t stupid, even if he tells them that they are every time they’re in class and every time they dare to come to his office hours to debate their grades. They aren’t stupid in the booksmart sense, but they are very dumb when it comes to the real world, and Naoya considers it a ruthless kind of mercy that he exacts on them. They’re idiots because they have all the potential in the world and would rather waste their time on stupid shit and procrastinate on their assignments instead of putting forth any real effort.

If they tried, he would give them an A.

Learning Objective Three: Be Specific and Sincere With Your Praise

You’re crying.

In his head, Naoya tries to force himself to roll his eyes but finds his body unwilling to comply with the demands of his mind. He’s annoyed, but the irritation isn’t directed at you.

It’s at the man sitting across from you. Dr. Kimura got his PhD from Cambridge and thinks he’s hot shit, but out of pure curiosity, Naoya found his dissertation online and still uses it as free melatonin. Two paragraphs in knocks him out faster than a whole bottle of sleeping pills.

Dr. Kimura asks him to leave, into which Naoya reminds him that this is technically his office, and that Dr. Kimura is an intruder. Too much time spent with you in such a confined space has some of your little lessons rubbing off on him. Words are so important to you. Naoya decides that visitor and guest are too kind, too euphemistic, for Dr. Kimura. Call it like it is.

Kimura’s business for being here is to give you your first ever teaching evaluation. It’s actually just a poorly disguised attempt at trying to lowball professors’ salaries, but this is the type of schtick that only works on pushovers like you. Naoya leans back in his desk chair, arms crossed, and it’s obvious that he is going to be listening in on the whole entire ordeal. You’re embarrassed to be put on display like this, not knowing that he isn’t here to scrutinize you (for once), but rather he’s your backup.

Before things take a turn for the worse, you’re actually all smiles and sunshines and rainbows.

Stop smiling at him, Naoya thinks. He hates your smile. Hates it the most when it’s directed towards anyone but him.

Kimura begins with a compliment. That’s how all the professors in the arts are taught. Compliment sandwich! Praise, constructive criticism, more praise! What a fucking joke. Naoya thinks his way of handling things is much more efficient. Talk about all the stuff they need improvement on, and whatever isn’t corrected clearly is okay. Don’t you people know how to read in between the lines? Context clues ring any bells? Fuck, what did you all go to school for?

Disaster strikes, just as Naoya predicts.

“Listen, we know that this is your first year of teaching, and you’re still getting settled into your role of professor and not student, but clearly there’s some leniency when it comes to your grading…”

Kimura’s listing all sorts of shit. Grade inflation is what he claims one second, next he’s claiming you have subjective grading criteria. No other Intro to Classic Literature course has a similar class average to yours.

Kimura shakes his head, like he’s disappointed in you. Another tactic that would only work on someone as sweet as you.

“If this continues to be an issue, we may have to reconsider renewing your contract.”

And there are those waterworks Naoya is expecting.

The thing is, Naoya knows a bully when he sees one. Naoya knows all about being cruel just for the sake of being cruel. As cold, shriveled up, and worthless as it seems, Naoya does have a heart.

“That’s bullshit.” He inserts himself into the conversation. You’re staring down at your lap, twiddling with your fingers. Kimura turns to look at him.

“This is a private matter—”

“If it was private, you would have done it in your own office instead of mine.”

“This is a matter that concerns the English department, not yours, Dr. Zenin.”

He’s right. And yet—

“Have you even read any of her students’ papers?”

—Naoya is your backup.

“How is this relevant?”

“Read their papers. Read their first one versus their most recent one. Hell, read every single essay a student has turned in over the course. I guarantee you they deserve the marks she’s given them.”

“Their papers are filled with corrections and questions, and yet, she gives them an A.” Kimura knows all about Naoya’s reputation. He’s infamous. He’s the reason why everyone’s scared of majoring in economics. Naoya Zenin is the toughest grader there is.

“I’ve seen the mental state of your department’s students. She’s doing them a favor by not crushing them.”

“You’re saying they deserve those grades?”

“She lets them redo all their papers within a reasonable period of time and grades based on the overall improvement.” Naoya shrugs, like it’s just that simple. “I don’t see an issue.”

“She’s manipulating grades.”

“She’s giving them a second chance. I personally find that to be admirable.” Naoya is not lying. This is what makes you look up. “And she cares. I think she’s the only one of your faculty who gives a damn about whether her students are learning or not.”

Naoya doesn’t hate a lot of things because he doesn’t like giving certain things so much special attention, but he does dislike insincere people. People like Kimura are the worst because they hide behind fake niceties and table manners, but if you peel off their skin, they’re secretly lizards in disguise. At least in Naoya’s case, no one ever has the luxury of being shocked when he says something very mean and unpleasant because he will never filter himself or put on a mask that gives off the vibe that he practices civility.

As a matter of fact, Naoya has a nasty, serpent-like grin on his face as he locks in on Kimura, caging him in.

“After all, isn't that the point of becoming a professor, Dr. Kimura?”

Gotcha, you slimy bastard.

Learning Objective Four: Be Vulnerable, Put Yourself Out There

“Would you say I’m an asshole?” Naoya brings this up as he helps you pack up your belongings. He claims that it’s because he can’t wait to have his office all to himself again, but really, he’s starting to realize that lending a helping hand every once in a while can’t hurt. He hisses when a sharp edge from one of the many stacks of paper you possess cuts his finger.

That’s the last time he’ll ever help someone, he thinks bitterly.

“Not to your face.” You reply back, giving him a grin. He wants to take your smile and store it in a moving box and then keep that box underneath his desk and have it be one of his most prized possessions.

“Hm.” Then he tells you, “A student called me that.”

“To your face?” You look equal parts shocked, amused, and delighted. It’s a good look.

“No. RateMyProfessor.”

“Oh, I think I saw that one. They called you hot, right?” You’re busy packing up your sticker sheets and binders. Naoya wonders if he’s reading too hard into what you’re telling him.

“You’ve seen my reviews?”

“Of course I did. I looked you up on the Internet the day we became office roomies.” You throw this information out so nonchalantly that Naoya almost feels like he’s the weird one to have a reaction from it.

“You looked me up on the Internet?”

“Duh. Naoya, we live in a world where AI is writing essays for students. Of course, I would look you up online.”

“But why?” He presses you, latches on to the idea that there is a world where someone wants to look him up online and it’s not to find his home address so they can get revenge on him failing them.

“Because I wanted to know more about you, silly.”

It would be nice to be known. It’s already nice to have someone who wants to get to know you. Naoya Zenin does not settle in life, but he thinks he could settle for this and be content for the rest of his days.

Of course you would. He would say this, all snarky and egotistical, but he knows better. He won’t have an excuse to see your four times a week, won’t be cooped up in this office with you late in the night, won’t get to smell the remnants of your perfume when he’s up at the podium, lecturing his class. But there’s a chance that he could see you in different settings, too. Getting coffee together in between classes. Sitting next to each other during university-wide faculty meetings. Taking you out to dinner, because he’s reviewed your contract, and he’s not sure how you’re surviving financially.

“I would like that.” The words come out rushed, all jumbled and smushed together. He’s a grown man. He doesn’t blush. This is what he tells himself when he feels heat rise to his cheeks. “I would like for you to get to know me. And to learn more about you, too.” He swallows. Hard. “I sound stupid, I meant to—”

“It’s okay, Dr. Zenin.” You have the prettiest smile in the world. His dissertation should have been on that. “The fun part about learning is that you can still do it, even when you’re being stupid.”

#naoya zenin x reader #naoya x reader #naoya zen'in x reader #jjk x reader #fluff #drabble #one shot #college au

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atlasthegreatest · 1 month ago

Text

A Spark in the Chaos / Choi Nam-ra x Gender Neutral! Reader

Choi Namra, the disciplined and composed class president, crosses paths with Kang Y/n, the carefree troublemaker, during an after-school detention she’s tasked with supervising. Their first interaction is a clash of personalities—Namra’s strict adherence to rules contrasts sharply with Y/n’s irreverent charm. Despite their differences, a spark of intrigue ignites when Y/n surprises Namra with their unexpected wit and sincerity.

Warnings: None. No zombies au.

Word count: 2944

Choi Namra was the epitome of perfection. Straight As, class president, and effortlessly cool, she carried herself with a quiet confidence that left her classmates in awe. Her uniform was always immaculate, her dark hair framing her face in a way that felt almost too perfect to be accidental. Namra was the kind of person who never let her emotions waver, her serene demeanor was often mistaken for aloofness.

Then there was Kang Y/n. The exact opposite of Namra in every way. With their messy hair, perpetual smirk, and uncanny ability to attract trouble like a magnet, Y/n was a walking disruption. They were the person teachers dreaded, always late, always pushing the rules just enough to not get expelled. Yet, their charisma was undeniable. Whether it was their knack for turning punishments into stand-up comedy routines or their way of spinning wild stories, Y/n had a way of drawing people in—even Namra, much to her dismay.

It started with a detention.

Namra had been tasked with supervising after-school detention for the first time. The classroom was dimly lit, the atmosphere heavy with the sound of distant basketballs bouncing in the gym. Y/n, predictably, was the sole occupant of the room. They lounged at the back, feet on the desk, spinning a pen between their fingers.

“You’re late,” Namra said, her voice clipped.

“And you’re predictable,” Y/n retorted, not bothering to move. “What’s the point of detention if it doesn’t start on time?”

Namra didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, she handed them a worksheet. “Finish this.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “What are we, in middle school?”

“Yes, and you still can’t follow rules,” Namra shot back, surprising even herself.

For the first time, Y/n seemed taken aback. Then they laughed—a low, genuine chuckle that caught her off guard.

“You’ve got some bite, Class President,” they said, leaning forward, their eyes twinkling with mischief. “I like that.”

Namra ignored the sudden flutter in her chest and sat at the teacher’s desk, pretending to focus on her book. She wasn’t going to let Kang Y/n, of all people, rattle her.

As the weeks passed, Namra began noticing Y/n more. Not because she wanted to—of course not—but because they seemed to be everywhere. Cracking jokes in the hallway with Su-hyeok, sneaking into the library to borrow books without checking them out, or skipping class to nap under the old tree behind the school. It was infuriating how effortlessly they ignored the rules she upheld.

But then she started seeing the cracks in their carefree facade.

————————-

One afternoon, Namra caught them sketching in the art room during lunch. She’d only gone there to retrieve a forgotten notebook, but the sight of them hunched over a sketchpad, utterly focused, stopped her in her tracks.

“You draw?” she asked before she could stop herself.

Y/n startled, quickly closed the sketchpad. “And you snoop?”

Namra crossed her arms, unimpressed. “It’s not snooping if you’re doing it in plain sight.”

They smirked but didn’t reopen the sketchpad. “What do you want, Class President?”

“I wanted my notebook,” she said, pointing to the table beside them. “But now I’m curious.”

Y/n hesitated, their usual bravado flickering. For a moment, they looked… vulnerable. Then they slid the sketchpad toward her.

The drawings were breathtaking. Detailed cityscapes, expressive portraits, and abstract pieces that seemed to hum with emotion. Namra’s breath caught as she turned the pages.

“These are amazing,” she said, her voice softer than usual.

Y/n shrugged, leaning back in their chair. “Just a hobby.”

“You’re seriously underselling yourself,” Namra said, glancing at them.

Y/n didn’t respond, but there was a faint blush on their cheeks.

It was moments like these that began to shift Namra’s perception. The more she saw of Y/n, the harder it became to dismiss them as just a troublemaker. Beneath the smirks and snark was someone complex, someone passionate, someone… kind.

It wasn’t a grand, sweeping realization. It was a series of small moments. Like when Y/n helped a freshman find their classroom, pretending it was no big deal. Or when they volunteered to fix the broken greenhouse door because “it’s faster than waiting for maintenance.”

Namra found herself lingering in places she knew Y/n frequented, her calm facade cracking as she looked forward to their banter. And when Y/n caught her staring one day in the courtyard, their grin was so disarming that she had to look away, her heart racing.

“You’re starting to like me, aren’t you?” They teased.

Namra scoffed, refusing to give them the satisfaction. But the blush creeping up her neck betrayed her.

Y/n leaned closer, their voice low and teasing. “Don’t worry, Class President. I’ll wait for you to admit it.”

And for the first time, Choi Namra didn’t have a retort.

————————-

Choi Namra hated distractions. She had a meticulously planned schedule, from her morning study routine to her evening walks home. Every minute had a purpose, every action a goal.

So why, for the past week, had she found herself glancing out the window during class, searching for the familiar figure of Kang Y/n lounging under the old cherry tree? Why did her fingers linger on her notebook, her mind replaying the teasing lilt of their voice?

Namra scowled at her reflection in her locker mirror. This wasn’t like her. She wasn’t the kind of girl who let her thoughts drift toward people—especially people who treated life like one long joke.

“Thinking about me again?”

The voice startled her, and she whirled around to find Y/n leaning casually against the locker next to hers, their trademark smirk firmly in place.

“You wish,” she said, slamming her locker shut.

“Come on, Namra,” they said, falling into step beside her as she started walking. “You’ve been staring at me a lot lately. Not that I mind, but I’m starting to think you might actually like me.”

“You’re delusional,” she said, quickening her pace.

Y/n easily matched her stride, hands shoved into their pockets. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re just bad at hiding it.”

Namra stopped abruptly, turning to face them. “Do you ever take anything seriously?”

Her tone was sharp, but Y/n didn’t flinch. Instead, they tilted their head, studying her with an expression she couldn’t quite place.

“Sometimes,” they said quietly. “But it’s easier not to.”

Y/n’s honesty caught Namra off her guard, and for a moment, they just stood there, the noisy hallway fading into the background.

“Why?” she asked before she could stop herself.

Y/n’s smirk returned, but it was softer this time, almost wistful. “You wouldn’t get it, Class President. Your world’s all rules and order. Mine’s… not.”

Namra frowned, their words stirring something inside her. She wanted to understand them, to peel back the layers they kept so carefully hidden. But before she could say anything, Y/n’s grin widened, and they leaned in just slightly.

“See you around, Namra.”

And just like that, they were gone, disappearing into the crowd with an infuriatingly casual wave.

—————————

That evening, Namra found herself at the old cherry tree. She hadn’t planned to go there, but her feet seemed to have a mind of their own. The air was crisp, the soft rustling of leaves the only sound.

“Looking for me?”

She spun around to find Y/n perched on one of the lower branches, a mischievous glint in their eyes.

“How long have you been up there?” she demanded.

“Long enough to wonder why the perfect Choi Namra is out here instead of studying,” Y/n said, jumping down effortlessly.

Namra crossed her arms, glaring at them. “I needed some air.”

“Right,” Y/n said, not buying it for a second. “And you just happened to come to my spot.”

“It’s not your spot,” she snapped, feeling her cheeks heat.

Y/n stepped closer, their usual smirk replaced by something more genuine. “Relax, Namra. I’m just messing with you.”

Namra didn’t reply, her gaze dropping to the ground. She hated how easily they got under her skin, how effortlessly they made her lose the composure she worked so hard to maintain.

“Hey,” Y/n said softly, their tone uncharacteristically serious. “You okay?”

Namra looked up, startled by the concern in their voice. For the first time, she saw them without their usual mask of bravado, and it made her chest ache in a way she didn’t understand.

“I don’t know,” she admitted quietly.

Y/n blinked, clearly not expecting her honesty. Then, to her surprise, they smiled—a small, genuine smile that made her heart stutter.

“Want to talk about it?” they asked, sitting down under the tree and patting the ground beside them.

Namra hesitated, then sighed and sat down, leaving a deliberate gap between them.

“I just… don’t get you,” she said finally.

Y/n chuckled. “Fair. I’m a pretty complicated person”

“I’m serious,” Namra said, glaring at them. “You act like nothing matters, but then you turn around and do something that… does.”

“Like what?”

“Like fixing the greenhouse door. Or helping that freshman. Or…” She trailed off, realizing she was listing moments she wasn’t supposed to notice.

Y/n leaned back, propping themselves up on their elbows. “Guess I’m full of surprises.”

Namra rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smile. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” they said, their grin returning.

Namra shook her head, but for the first time, she didn’t mind their teasing. Maybe Kang Y/n wasn’t as impossible as she thought. Or maybe she was just starting to realize that chaos wasn’t always a bad thing.

————————-

The days after that shared moment under the cherry tree were different. Namra still tried to focus on her studies, her responsibilities, and her perfectly ordered life—but Kang Y/n had a way of slipping into her thoughts at the most inconvenient times.

They didn’t make it easy to ignore them, either. Y/n started showing up more—leaning on her desk before class, cracking jokes during group projects, and occasionally walking her home under the pretense of “patrolling the neighborhood for delinquents like themselves.”

Namra pretended to be annoyed, but her heart betrayed her every time Y/n flashed her that infuriating grin.

One rainy afternoon, the two found themselves stranded in the school library after the last bell rang. The storm outside was unrelenting, and Namra, ever-prepared, had forgotten her umbrella in the rush of the morning.

“Looks like we’re stuck,” Y/n said, plopping down across from her at the study table.

“You don’t have an umbrella either?” she asked, surprised.

They shrugged. “Didn’t check the weather. Figured if I got wet, it’d just add to my bad-guy image.”

Namra rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smile. “Your ‘image’ could use some work.”

Y/n laughed, the sound warm and unguarded. “Harsh, Class President.”

They sat in silence for a while, the sound of raindrops tapping against the windows filling the air. Namra tried to focus on her textbook, but Y/n’s presence was a distraction she couldn’t shake.

“What are you working on?” they asked suddenly, leaning over the table to peek at her notes.

“Advanced calculus,” Namra said, pushing the book closer to them.

Y/n squinted at the equations, their nose scrunching adorably in concentration. “Yeah, no. I’ll stick to doodling, thanks.”

Namra chuckled, the sound surprising both of them. Y/n raised an eyebrow. “Did you just laugh? At something I said?”

“I have a sense of humor, you know,” she said, smirking.

“Could’ve fooled me,” they teased, leaning back in their chair.

Namra rolled her eyes again, but there was no heat behind it. Instead, she closed her textbook and rested her chin on her hand, studying them.

“What?” Y/n asked, their playful tone faltering under her gaze.

“Why do you do it?” she asked softly.

“Do what?”

“Act like nothing matters. Like you don’t care about anything.”

Y/n’s smirk faded, and for a moment, they looked like they might brush her off. But then they sighed, running a hand through their messy hair.

“Because it’s easier that way,” they admitted. “If you don’t care, you can’t get hurt.”

Namra’s chest tightened at their words. She had always thought of Y/n as carefree, but now she realized it was a shield—one she was starting to see through.

“That’s a lonely way to live,” she said quietly.

Y/n looked at her, their eyes unreadable. “Maybe. But it works.”

“It doesn’t have to,” Namra said, surprising herself with the conviction in her voice.

They sat in silence again, the storm outside mirroring the swirling emotions between them. Finally, Y/n spoke, their voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re different, you know that?”

Namra blinked. “Different how?”

“You care. About rules, about people, about… me.”

Namra’s heart skipped a beat at their words. She opened her mouth to deny it, but the look in Y/n’s eyes stopped her. They weren’t teasing this time.

“I guess I do,” she said softly, her voice trembling just enough for Y/n to notice.

They smiled then—a real smile, not the cocky grin they usually wore. “That’s dangerous, Namra.”

“For who?” she asked, tilting her head.

“For me,” Y/n admitted, their voice raw and unguarded.

The air between them felt heavy, charged with something neither of them could name. Namra’s hand twitched as if considering reaching out, but she stopped herself.

“I don’t think you’re as dangerous as you pretend to be,” she said, her voice steady despite the chaos in her chest.

“And I don’t think you’re as untouchable as you pretend to be,” Y/n countered, their gaze locking with hers.

The rain outside continued to pour, but at that moment, it felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of them. Neither of them said anything more, but something unspoken passed between them—a fragile understanding, a tentative connection.

For the first time in her perfectly ordered life, Choi Namra felt like she didn’t need all the answers. And for the first time, Kang Y/n felt like maybe, just maybe, caring wasn’t so bad after all.

Bonus Chapter:

The cherry blossoms had begun to bloom, their soft pink petals drifting lazily through the air like confetti. It was Namra’s favorite time of year—quiet, serene, and orderly. But as she walked toward the old cherry tree after school, her sense of peace was immediately disrupted by the sight of Kang Y/n.

They were sprawled on the grass beneath the tree, their blazer discarded, one arm draped over their eyes as if the sunlight were too much to bear. A small notebook lay open on their chest, the pages fluttering in the breeze.

Namra sighed, a mixture of exasperation and something else she refused to name. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

Y/n peeked out from under their arm, a lazy grin spreading across their face. “Nope. Thought I’d wait for you.”

Namra narrowed her eyes. “Who said I was coming here?”

“Call it a hunch,” they said, sitting up and patting the ground next to them. “Come on, Class President. You’ve got five minutes to spare, right?”

Namra hesitated. Spending time with Y/n wasn’t part of her carefully planned schedule. But then again, her carefully planned schedule had felt a little emptier lately without these moments of chaos.

With a resigned sigh, she sat down, keeping a respectable distance between them.

Y/n held up the notebook on their chest. “Want to see what I’ve been working on?”

“Is it another one of your doodles?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Not this time,” they said, flipping it open. “Poetry.”

Namra blinked. “You write poetry?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Y/n said, feigning offense. “I’m a person of many talents.”

Namra rolled her eyes, but her curiosity got the better of her. “Let me see.”

Y/n handed her the notebook, leaning back on their elbows as she read. The handwriting was messy, the lines uneven, but the words themselves were raw and beautiful.

“In the chaos, I found calm.

In the rules, I found freedom.

And in her, I found everything I didn’t know I was looking for.”

Namra’s breath caught, her cheeks flushing. She glanced up at Y/n, who was watching her with an expression that was equal parts smug and vulnerable.

“Who’s it about?” she asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Y/n shrugged, but their grin widened. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Namra’s heart raced, but she refused to let Y/n win. Instead, she closed the notebook and handed it back to them. “It’s… not bad.”

“Not bad?” they echoed, clutching their chest dramatically. “That’s the highest compliment you’ve ever given me.”

“Don’t get used to it,” she said, standing up and brushing the grass off her skirt.

But before she could walk away, Y/n stood too, stepping closer.

“Namra.” Y/n’s voice was softer now, all traces of teasing gone.

She looked up at them, her usual composure slipping under the intensity of their gaze. “What?”

“I meant it,” they said, their hand brushing against hers. “You make me want to be better. For you.”

Namra felt her pulse quicken, her carefully constructed walls threatening to crumble. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out.

Y/n smiled, their touch lingering for just a moment before they stepped back, their usual grin returning. “That’s enough sappiness for one day. See you tomorrow, Class President.”

And with that, Y/n turned and walked away, leaving Namra standing under the cherry tree, her heart a tangled mess of emotions.

As the petals continued to fall around her, she realized something: chaos and order weren’t opposites. They were two sides of the same coin, and somehow, they had found a way to coexist.

#all of us are dead #netflix #gender neutral reader #choi namra #choi namra x reader #all of us are dead x reader

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lets-try-some-writing · 10 months ago

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Okay, I was reading the Mr. Pax Teacher Au and this idea popped in my head. So basically Optimus is finishing up a work day and a staff member comes up saying someone is here claiming to be his ‘wife’. Optimus questions the staff for a bit and then they reveal they have “pink hair”. Optimus then goes outside to see someone patiently waiting for him with a smile. (I’m a sucker for OptimusxElita, sue me!) Also Elita going “Yeah, you would.” Cause she just knows him. Hope this idea is fun for you!

Well I can't NOT write a snippet for this thank you. I have exactly two ships that I will devour without hesitation and Optimus/Elita happens to be one of them.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

Optimus's digits tapped on the desk along to the beat of a simple tune he hummed to himself as he looked over the day's papers. There were quite a few interesting pieces from his young archivists- students. His dear students. They showed such interest in the history he taught them. It was a joy to watch them grow and thrive under his tutelage.

"Abigail, you impress me yet again." He smiled as he looked over the girl's artwork. The assignment for the week had been to compose a model of something Cybertronian. Abigail, one of his more artistic students, had created quite the work of art. Despite having never seen any actual images of Optimus's fallen world, she managed to capture an admittedly quite accurate, if a tad abstract, vision of Uraya. It prompted his spark to flare in joy within his true frame.

"Mr. Pax, apologies for intruding." A feminine voice broke him from his work, prompting Optimus to place down his pile of paperwork and look up. Mrs. Glass, the school nurse, stood in the doorway nervously. She patted down her knitted sweater in what Optimus could only assume was anxiety considering the lack of any noticeable contaminant.

"Can I help you Mrs. Glass?" The nurse shifted uncomfortably before she nodded. Optimus stood up slowly, concern growing in his processors as he ran through the possible issues that might have arisen while he was working. Was the headmaster trying to tamper with affairs again?

"There is a woman outside who is claiming to be your wife." Optimus froze, his expression shifting as he tried to parse out what was happening. Arcee had already taken on the role of "aunt" for Jack. Being Optimus's wife would break her cover. It couldn't be June either for similar reasons.

Was he being stalked?

"Does she have any distinguishing features?" His expression settled into something firm as he readied himself to have to politely tell a confused woman that she had the wrong individual.

"She has pink hair and bright blue eyes. I think she might be wearing colored contacts." Whatever worry was settling into his spark halted the moment he got out the door and heard the nurse's explanation. Instead, faint hope grew steadily as he increased his pace and Mrs. Glass continued.

"She stated that her name was Ariel of Iacon. Although I am not sure where that city is-" Optimus stopped listening and broke into a sprint as he forced his holoform to go faster than it should have been able to according to human biology.

She couldn't be here.

He sent her away after the Allspark was taken from its place.

There was no way his Conjunx was on Earth after so many millennia apart.

"Being a teacher suites you." It was not the voice he knew, not entirely. There was none of the underlying glyphs or tones of their homeworld, but he knew her voice anywhere. He could never mistake her.

"Elita." He stepped out, his holoform momentarily flickering as Elita-One waited for him patiently, her arms crossed over her chest and a font smile on her face. He could almost see the mighty warrior that was his Conjunx through the veil of her disguise. He could hardly wait to wrap her in his arms properly as soon as they were away from prying optics.

"I missed you." She was the first to wrap her arms around him, organic as they were. Their forms melded in places as their holoforms struggled to maintain the illusion alongside their raging emotional states. However, Optimus found he didn't care as he looked into oh so human eyes and saw the spark of a Cybertronian hidden behind them.

She was here. He didn't know how or why, but Elita was here with him once more.

"I stopped by your base before I came here. I wanted it to be a surprise." She laughed as she nuzzled against his neck, searching for sensory lines that where not there. Optimus wrapped his limited EM field around her as he processed her presence and relished in it.

"It has been a most pleasant surprise to see you here after so long." Distantly, he noted Mrs. Glass watching from the school entrance. Optimus didn't bother looking back as he pulled away and took Elita's hands in his. The paperwork could be dealt with later. For now, there were bonds to be reforged, memories to share, and many long cycles apart to make up for.

"To base then?" Elita smiled up at him. Optimus could almost imagine her antennae perking up as he grinned in response.

"If that is what you want love."

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #optimus prime #elita one #alternate universe #teacher au #mr pax strikes again #now with his wife mrs pax #optimus x elita #oplita

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yes-i-write-fanfiction · 7 months ago

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Prayer AU idea combined with my own play about with Primus design. But like, going off your point of "divine glow, echoey voice, a fucking halo" what if it was a gradual "return" to a Primus-esc form.

Through drunkin ramblings of students at bars and whispered conversations in dank alleyways, the word of twink teacher god is spread about. People aren't all praying per-se, but they are believing. Esp those who believe they are abandoned by Primus, not knowing that Primus is the twink teacher.

I'm just thinking, there's a strange glow to his eyes but Rung doesn't think to much about it, he wears glasses and doesn't really see it (I have atrocious vision and can't distinguish well without my glasses). Although overtime his vision does start to get better but like at this point he likes the anonymity the glasses give.

But all the new believers, praying, but not wishing or at least something not easily solved through a miracle... he can't rid of the excess. Then one day he wakes up and suddenly he's got these new bits to his body, maybe that short train (I just like flowy bits even on bots), something like a split skirt, maybe its like that Coralus art with the cape and the thing at the audials, ect just a change thats hard to write off--still mostly Rung, but with a bit of that "return.

Not sure where to go but I have the funny thought of maybe the students try to sneak Rung out for some reason.

Rung, seeing his frame slowly change: Huh, bet that's nothing.

Student A: Fuck, we gotta cover this up somehow! But how?

Student B: I may have an idea...

Queue all the students adding stuff to their armor that looks similar to Rung's changes. Now everyone believes that it's just some kind of trend. Rung is like "Wow, I've never been a trend setter before" and feels honored that his students like him so much that they would emulate his appearance.

#transformers imagine #prayer au #rung

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valeriianz · 7 months ago

Text

Model Student

nearly 4k of PWP crazy inspired by this and THIS super steamy art by @abyssalcryptid that seized me by the back of the neck and wouldn't let go until i caved and ;akgjkafhgaghj

CW: human au, trans Dream, words 'cunt', 'clit', and 'hole' used for Dream's bits, student/teacher relations, age gap, consenting adults, oral sex, penis-in-vagina sex.

------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hey, professor?”

“Hm?”

Hob looks up from the paperwork he’d been pouring over, finding Dream Endeleas standing at the entrance to his office, and immediately forgets where he is.

Dream is leaning– draping– himself on the door frame, wearing a tiny black short sleeve button down that looks two sizes too small, tied around his firm stomach, the buttons open and revealing a lacy bra underneath. Hanging low on his hips is a dark, plaid skirt plucked straight out of a school-girl porno, and– Hob swallows roughly as his eyes trail further– stockings that travel for miles down Dream’s legs to the cute pumps on his feet.

Hob’s mouth hangs open, panting by the time he looks up again, struck down by the slow smirk Dream’s face splits into.

“Fuck me?”

Reality slams back into Hob and he vaults from his chair, causing it to roll backwards as he stomps around his desk.

“Dream!” Hob hisses, not missing the devious way the student’s eyes narrow as he casually side-steps Hob on his way to look out into the hallway before all but slamming the door shut.

“Can you not? With the door wide open?” Hob pulls the little curtain down over the window and, for good measure, flicks the lock secure.

“Something wrong?” Dream asks, coy, his low voice cutting straight through Hob.

Hob huffs, casting his eyes heavenward, praying for patience… before looking back at Dream, the devious spark in his eyes, the way his fingers lazily drag up his thighs all the way up to the lines of his stomach and dipping in between the folds of the blouse to touch the black lace hidden beneath. He arches off the wall, back bending like a bow, all while staring intently at Hob.

Hob knows no one in heaven is listening to him. He didn’t deserve any kind of holy interference for what he was doing with his student. If anything, he would be entitled to some righteous judgment.

They had been sneaking around for a while, ever since Dream came by during office hours, maybe three weeks into the semester, and unashamedly– determination flashing behind his eyes– crawled onto Hob’s desk and grabbed him by the face for their first kiss.

Hob had a feeling his student had a little crush on him, day one, if the heated glances during lecture were anything to go by. Or the way Dream would always sit in the first row, legs sprawled out wide– in jeans or a skirt– sticking the end of his pencil in his mouth, blue eyes sharp and confident and so… so alluring.

He was a good student too, one of the best in the class. Hob had no idea how Dream managed to pay attention to the material when he himself would lose his train of thought constantly, being in the same room with the man who was ten years his junior.

Dream could see it too, surely, the way Hob would stutter or blush in his presence. Hob could always tell when a student liked him a little too much. Could see the way freshman girls would bat their eyelashes or curl their hair behind their ear with a cute smile during talks of homework or asking Hob personal questions. It wasn’t something new, and Hob was good about keeping it strictly professional and never reciprocating, even on accident.

But there was something about Dream that refused to take no for an answer. He was persistent… though he was never pushy, not in a creepy way. And unfortunately, Hob liked Dream, too. He was smitten since the student first walked into his third year lecture hall and barely made an effort to keep his interest at bay.

And, inevitably, Dream began to see the way Hob barely held himself back, leaning into Dream’s advances little by little; standing too close after all the other students had left and Dream would approach him after class, a question on his tongue that Hob knew Dream had the answer to already. Giving his smile with more and more frequency to Dream’s awful jokes and attempts at flirting… never dissuading them– but also not encouraging, just letting it be. Soon Hob found himself eagerly awaiting their alone time, even if for a moment. Finding each other at the campus cafe and naturally sitting down together to talk. That eventually moved onto meeting up off-campus, under the pretense to discuss, say, internships or Dream’s ambitions for the future… which would always devolve into personal life and get Hob talking about himself more freely.

It was a little terrifying, Hob had to admit, sleeping with a student (or were they dating?). He was putting his job on the line– his reputation– but fuck, it was so worth it. And Hob would be lying if he didn’t admit to how all the sneaking around only amplified the sex. The forbiddance of it all. Dream got a kick out of it too, Hob knew. Smug satisfaction written all over his face after each successful affair. Even playing up their roles in the bedroom and full on calling Hob “professor” instead of his name and teasing about how he could get some “extra credit.” It was ridiculous and depraved– Hob had never felt so alive, never felt like this before– falling into bed with his own student.

Despite how physical their relationship was, Hob couldn’t deny the other chemistry between them, how they’d connected emotionally– more than what happened behind closed doors. Hob felt himself looking forward to even the mundane dates with Dream, learning about his family, what his favorite food was, charmed in the way Dream would steal Hob’s clothes in the morning and wake up first to make terrible coffee. It would probably be easier if their trysts were purely physical… but Hob knew this was turning into something he couldn’t control. His heart getting in the way, as usual.

They’ve never done more than kiss in Hob’s office, though. It felt especially dangerous to fool around on campus grounds. Most of their nights spent in intimacy were at Hob’s house, sprawling Dream onto his king size bed and fucking him so hard he’d come into class the next day with a limp.

Now, however, Hob has to wonder if he’d been too lenient with Dream. Too indulgent. What else would prompt him to arrive in his office like this? Shameless and almost uncaring of anyone around.

“What if someone heard you?” Hob asks after picking his jaw off the floor.

“No one did.” Dream says simply, stepping up to Hob and tugging on his tie, his eyes low, considering. “You haven’t answered my question yet.”

“Didn’t sound much like a question to me.” Hob feels a grin stretch across his face despite himself.

“Mm… it wasn’t.” Dream looks up at Hob, eyes dark and wicked. His smirk sharpens as he wanders over to Hob’s desk, turning and leaning back against it.

“Come here.”

Hob swallows, and knows his fate is sealed. He can only obey, walking up to Dream as if in a daze, his eyes never leaving those crystalline blues.

Once in front of him, Dream takes off Hob’s glasses, folds them, and sets them off to the side before reaching up to kiss him. Hob gets his hands on Dream as he kisses back, matching his energy, resting them on his narrow hips and sliding them up. He gets his fingers around the knot of the blouse, working it open, his hands dipping past the fabric over his flat chest once it falls open, thumbs brushing his nipples through the lace bra.

Dream hums in satisfaction, the gorgeous purr pouring down Hob’s throat and encouraging him to push the shirt completely off.

Once the blouse hits the floor, Dream takes Hob’s hand and shoves it under his skirt.

“Oh, fuck,” Hob moans into Dream’s mouth, his hand automatically moving against the velvety warm folds of Dream’s cunt through the mesh of the stockings he wore.

“You feel that? How wet I am for you?” Dream breathes. Their lips brush together, hot and teasing and making Hob’s head spin.

Hob presses harder, his palm rubbing and catching the friction of the material against it. Dream throws his head back with a bitten off groan, bucking up into the sensation.

Hob almost blacks out thinking about how Dream walked up here, crossing the quad, wearing nothing under this skirt but air– this flimsy excuse for fabric– dripping slick on his way to him. Leaking down his thighs and– fuck, it turns Hob on so bad. Dream knows exactly how to wind him up and it drives Hob crazy.

Hob watches– enraptured– Dream’s face as he slides his middle finger roughly into Dream’s sopping wet hole, not getting far against the tight stockings, while closing the remaining distance between them so Dream can wrap his arms around him, hiking a knee up and hooking it around Hob’s waist, thrusting inelegantly against his hand.

With his free hand, Hob takes Dream’s face, pulling him into another sloppy kiss that is mostly teeth and tongue. Hob groans, frustration coating his tone– with the sudden urge to taste him. The scent of Dream’s sex is wafting in the air between them and it’s making Hob delirious, all his focus narrowing into one singular need.

Without warning, Hob breaks off, their lips separating with a lewd smacking noise, and dropping to his knees. Dream’s protest at losing Hob’s warmth transitions to a low sound of approval as Hob plunges his face under the skirt.

Hob hears the sound of Dream’s hand slapping over his mouth, muffling his own cries of pleasure while Hob latches his mouth over the rough material of the stockings. He lays his tongue flat and grabs onto Dream’s ass, encouraging his thrusts against his face. Hob moans long and low as the scent and taste of Dream fill his every sense, closing his eyes and working his jaw and tongue exactly how he knows Dream likes.

It’s exquisite, Hob could stay here for hours, eating Dream out. The helpless mewls that tumble past Dream’s lips encourage Hob to feast, taking what he can manage without actually getting his mouth directly where he wants it most. The thin fabric adds a delicious friction that is almost painful on Hob’s tongue, swapping between licking and sucking before he growls and bites at the mesh gently, tugging it away from Dream’s body.

“Rip it,” Dream pants, he sounds a wreck and Hob’s barely gotten started. His fingers in Hob’s hair tighten with no intention to release him.

Hob pulls the fabric again to rip a hole with his teeth, the sound of the material tearing tickles Hob’s ears. It sends goosebumps down Hob’s arms before immediately plunging his tongue inside the velvety wet heat of Dream and– yes, this is exactly what he needed, what they both needed.

Dream howls, muffled behind his hand, and gets a leg up over Hob’s shoulder, pitching his hips forward again and again. Chasing his pleasure and wiping Hob’s brain clean of anything except Dream, Dream, Dream.

Hob gets a hand up, trailing the underside of Dream’s thigh up to his ass and gropes, pulling him with more force against his face until he knows he’s gonna have a bruise on his nose tomorrow. He can hardly breathe, but he’s moaning in delight at the absolutely unrestrained way Dream selfishly takes and takes, fucking Hob’s face with reckless abandon, getting faster and faster, more uncoordinated until–

Dream comes with a long, low wine, his hips stuttering with it and Hob unlatches his jaw to catch all the slick in his mouth, humming pleasantly, like he’s just taken a bite from an extravagant meal.

But Hob doesn’t relish in the taste for long, his own cock is throbbing in his pants and after thoroughly licking Dream out– sensing Dream’s thighs shake from the stimulation– he stands up, grabs Dream by the jaw, and kisses him. Hard and messy and Dream licks inside of his mouth like he intends to crawl inside.

“Fuck me,” Dream reminds Hob in a puff of hot air, and Hob is all to willing to give him exactly what he wants.

Hob leans past Dream to swipe an arm over his desk, pushing things– inconsequential really– off and onto the floor in a loud clatter.

He doesn’t miss the fucked out, satisfied smirk on Dream’s face before Hob then turns him around, one hand flat on Dream’s back to push him down onto the desk. Dream goes willingly, pliant and with a breathy “Oh, yes…” muffled against the polished wood. Keeping his hand on Dream’s lower back, Hob struggles unbuckling his belt with wet, slippery fingers.

Dream’s ass wiggles temptingly before him, distracting Hob enough to get his hand under that sinfully short skirt and fondle the flesh there, spreading one cheek out and pushing his thumb against the tight material of the stockings to get at Dream’s asshole.

Dream arches his back and pushes into Hob’s hold with a soft whine that goes straight to Hob’s cock. He’d love to fuck Dream’s ass. He presents it so willingly… but Hob is too impatient for prep. And with Dream’s cunt already slick and loose– Hob’s mind is made up.

His fingers trail down to the small slit in the stockings and tear it wider, so Dream’s entire sex is exposed, all the way up to his pretty asshole. Hob hears Dream hum in delight as he pushes his hips back expectantly.

Hob finally manages to get his cock out, his pants barely hanging onto his hips, and gives it a few strokes to take the edge off.

Dream is panting beneath him, spreading his legs, his ass out and god– Hob is obsessed. He’s probably in love too but he’s not going to think about that.

Hob slots his pelvis flush against Dream’s rear, slipping his erection in between the scant flesh there and breathes deeply, taking a moment to look down at the vision before him. Dream’s strong shoulders and slim back, the bra still hooked on with one strap threatening to slip free. His elbows bent at his sides, anticipation clear in his posture and the way his ass pushes now against Hob’s throbbing member, becoming impatient.

“Hob…” Dream’s protest is breathy, probably not as commanding as he’d anticipated but it makes Hob smile all the same, one hand roaming up Dream’s back and down again, resting his hold once more on his rear.

He gets in cock in the other hand and lines himself up with Dream’s soaked hole, almost glistening, sliding into Dream in one long, slow glide, moaning in relief and agony, because Dream is so deliriously tight.

“Fuck, baby…”

“Move,” Dream demands, but his voice sounds broken, desperate.

“So needy…” Hob grunts, sliding out and relishing in the leisurely drag. He starts at a slow pace, biting down another moan that bubbles up from his throat. “Fuck you feel incredible. You dressed like this for me?”

“Do you like it?” Dream looks over his shoulder and Hob gasps at how Dream already looks so debauched. “I was going to surprise you in class with it first– ah!” Hob smirks at the cry, having given in momentarily with a hard thrust. “But I couldn't wait that long.”

“You little shit,” Hob pants, picking up the pace. His hands are tight around Dream’s hips. “Are you gonna get changed before lecture?”

“What do you think?” The grin Dream throws over his shoulder is vicious and drives Hob absolutely mad.

Hob can see it already, how Dream will squirm in his seat, displaying himself, immodest and shameless as he always is. How the hell is Hob supposed to focus on the lesson plan knowing how brutally he’d fucked Dream just an hour prior.

He fucks him faster. “You’re going to leave cum all over the seat.” Hob means for the words to come out admonishingly, but it sounds like a revelation in his own ears, excitement coloring his tone and it only quickened his pace, snapping his hips and tearing out a choked off cry from Dream’s lips.

“And I’m gonna spread my legs and make sure you see what you’ve done to me during the. Entire. Lecture.” Dream seizes up, his head snapping up as if on a string. “Fuck! Hob! Right there–!”

Hob nearly growls as he sets up a brutal pace. His hips pistoning as he strikes that spot in Dream again and again and again. Dream’s hands flailing to grab onto something, his nails scratching the surface of Hob’s desk while another holds onto the edge of it, his entire body bouncing with each contact. The slick slap, slap, slap coupled with Dream’s ragged, hitched breaths echo around Hob and coil deep in his gut, the tension there coiling tighter and tighter…

Hob throws his head back to stare at the ceiling, keeping himself in check as he slows, his hands clawing at the skin of Dream’s hips, holding him firm. Dream groans, despairing at the slowed pace and begins to squirm in his hold.

“Hob–”

“Oh, my sweet Dream…” Hob breathes, his voice hoarse, pitched low as he looks down again, transfixed at the sight of his cock disappearing into Dream with easy, heavy thrusts. He slips it out just so his cockhead is visible, taking himself in hand to trace around the rim of Dream’s entrance, forcing a full body shudder from the student, before easing back in.

“You take me so well,” Hob slips his hands down to get Dream’s delicious ass in his hands, pushing the skirt up over his sharp hip bones to fully put him on display. “Your body was made for me, sweet thing. So good for me.”

Dream keens under the praise, his body rolling helplessly on Hob’s cock, riding desperately for friction that Hob barely has a hold on, his arousal screaming at him to take, it nearly hurts Hob to force himself to slow down. But he wants to make this last, wants to keep Dream here, sprawled out on his desk and behaving oh so patiently until Hob can get himself back under control.

“Hob–” Dream sobs again, pushing his hips back once more and Hob pulling out just in time, denying the pleasure and Dream’s fingers claw at the desk. “Hob please–!”

It’s the please that finally makes Hob snap, he could never deny Dream for long. He wants to spoil him rotten, wants to give him everything. The revelation is enough to send Hob spiraling, how much his chest aches with the desire to do anything to keep Dream close, always. So he does, his hands sliding back to his hips and holding on as he yanks him back, spearing Dream on his cock again and again, ripping out strangled cries that get caught in Dream’s throat, finally getting what he wants and delivering it at a punishing pace.

“More, more! Oh, fuck! Hob–!”

“Shh, Dream. I got you,” Hob grunts, he watches Dream slap a hand over his mouth again. Hob’s hold is nearly slipping– Dream’s skin shines with sweat, exertion out of every pore. “So close– fuck!”

Dream is close too, Hob can feel how his walls tighten around him like he intends to pull his cock deeper inside. He reaches a hand between Dream’s legs, where they are coupled, and all it takes is a fluttering touch of Hob’s fingers against Dream’s clit and Hob knows he’s coming, his scream barely muffled behind his hand.

Dream’s head falls, his forehead hitting the desk with a dull thunk as he desperately grinds his hips back, milking it for all it’s worth before he finally collapses, boneless, against the solid wood surface.

Hob drapes himself over Dream’s back, finally allowing himself to give in and fuck relentlessly into him over and over, his hands finding Dream’s and lacing their fingers together tightly as Hob moans into Dream’s skin, coming so hard he nearly slips out and definitely sees white for a moment there.

His thrusts turn shallow, ears attuned to Dream’s happy sighs as Hob pumps his seed into him, slow but unrelenting, even as he feels himself going soft.

“Oh, Dream. My Dream,” Hob praises, breathless, kissing up the knobs of his spine to the nape of his neck.

“Mm… yours.” Dream’s voice rumbles like thunder, satisfied.

Hob dips his head, his damp brows touching Dream’s back as he collects himself, and remembers where they are. Shit, he really hopes no one heard them. This is why he’d made a hard rule about fucking on campus; Dream was always so vocal. And as they sit in silence, Hob realizes how loud they had been, despite Dream’s best efforts to stifle his cries.

He finally peels himself off of Dream, pulling out and his cock giving a valiant twitch of interest with the way Dream makes a pathetic sound of loss, his knees bending slightly as he properly hangs onto the desk now.

Hob’s cum immediately begins to seep down Dream’s thighs, Hob can see how it soaks into the black mesh and… lord have mercy– Hob is truly going to hell– how it drips onto the floor.

“Dream…” Hob doesn’t know what he wants to say, maybe ask Dream to sit on his face, to lap up their combined spend so he can smell it on his skin for the rest of the day. God he’s so well and truly fucked.

Instead, he helps Dream off the desk and curls them down onto the floor, Dream seated on his lap and wrapping his arms around Hob’s shoulders.

“You keep surprising me,” Hob says, his thumb caressing the line of Dream’s jaw and up to his cheekbones. “Devious, sexy thing.”

Dream smiles and leans in to tap their noses together.

“I actually don’t want to go to class anymore.”

“No?” Hob grins. He hasn’t checked the time in a while, but he’s sure they still have maybe an hour at least.

“You should cancel it.”

Hob laughs, his arms coiling around Dream’s middle, hands moving up his back.

“I’m not going to cancel it,” he smiles at the despairing way Dream grumbles. “But how about this: you go home, get some rest, and I’ll be there after to give all my attention to you.”

Dream stares at him, his eyes searching. It’s not the first time Hob has said “home” for the both of them, indicating his own house, which of course Dream has the spare keys to. He’d like to make it their home… Hob wants Dream to think of anything of Hob's as Dream’s as well… he hopes he can convey it without being explicit… how he wants to share his life with Dream.

And wonderfully, Dream seems to understand, tipping his head forward for a kiss.

“I’ll be waiting.”

#dreamling #hob x dream #nsft #this is very raunchy ahhh #what have i done lmao #no regrets though i hope you like it Vi!#i love your art it always inspires!#my writing #student teacher dreamling #spreading the Hob pussy eating champion agenda as one does

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ioniansunsets · 1 year ago

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✖ Hwei Painting Reader ✖

✖ Word Count: 1.5k

✖ Tags: Established R/S

✖ A/N: I've seen all the voicelines and read his content we ARE HWEI LUKAI SIMPS NOW LETS GO BABES!!!!!!!! I still can't believe this took 3 days to write because I kept re-reading and re-writing things to try to make it less OOC.

I also super kin him as a college student in an arts school. Yes my love, lets stay up to 11am rushing an uninspired assignment together surviving off coffee and instant noodles. Oh no am I triggering a school au thought for Hwei.....maybe......

Oh more art student thoughts, I headcanon his paintings to be like Henri Matisse! He is a Fauvist! I know for a fact !This man will use every single color that exists to paint his world just as he imagines it, who cares what his teachers say! That green stripe on his lover's forehead is meant to be there! Fuck the critics!

----

You had been sitting here for an hour by now, Hwei telling you how badly he wanted to- No. Needed to capture your beauty in the orange hues of the setting sun.

How inspired he was seeing you walk past the window in his studio as you two returned from a walk. The way the light glows as it hit your hair, how your body silhouetted against the glass, the way the shadows cast on the floor just was so perfect in framing sanctity of the moment.

Slowly Hwei walks over, hands soft as they feel your face. Gently, the tips of his fingers trail down from your eyes to your cheeks and finally stopping at your lips. His three favorite parts of your face, all so important in showing him your emotions. An almost lamentable smile crossing his face as he looks down and walks back to the canvas situated slightly further away. You could usually understand him but, sometimes you wish you could understand what darkness held him back.

" I'm always blessed to have such a masterpiece like you love me. How such beauty flourishes besides my despair."

Hwei pauses, thinking of the right words. His hand rising to rest on his chin as he looks around, everywhere but you.

" It eludes me. Yet, it fills me with such honor at the same time."

Hwei speaks to you soft, voice trailing off as he thinks, slowly nodding. The lightest of pink undertones suddenly rising to his cheeks as he thinks again about what he just said.

Oh how he so dearly appreciates your bright existence in his life. Eyes not daring to meet your own for his heart is already threatening to explode just from that brief touch earlier. Emotions were always such an important part of art, he cherishes how you inspire him this way, just seeing your beauty in the world fills him with image after image to paint and bring to life.

You however, notice anyway, his feelings that he tries to hide away from you. The way the colors in his eyes change, another telltale sign of the way you affect him. Your own cheeks now dusted with the same soft pink on his.

You smile, sitting still on the window sill, a soft glow from the setting sun illuminating you from behind as you watch your lover paint. A sight that never stops amazing you, the way his magic throws colors onto the canvas, mixing together to create such visually stunning images, you were so sure those purples and greens don't exist in shadows yet somehow you know he would make it look like the rainbows were there all along.

" You know I only shine this bright because you care for me so, Hwei."

" Ah... Don't flatter me this way, your beauty is your own. I can never make something that really captures your brilliance on a canvas like this. But alas, I believe I have the skills to at least capture my emotions for you down in this one."

You watch on, another hour had passed. The sun had long set, instead, the moonlight and soft glow of the lamp overhead lights up your partner's features as the corners of his lips curl up into a smile. Unable to hold back his excitement as the empty canvas slowly fills up with color and form. His hands gracefully gliding across the scene, you watch how his clothes move around him, how the shadows move on his exposed collar as his arm raises to work. His hair bouncing behind him as he paces around, making sure he views you from every angle, catching all the important details to this moment. His eyes darting back and forth from your form to his canvas. After a while, the finishing touches finally placed, he steps back and gives a relieved sigh. He was usually so hard on himself to create perfection, but when it comes to a portraiture of you, he can't help but agree he made a masterpiece. You were stunning, so anything made in your image was stunning to him too.

" Take a look."

Hwei walks to your side, hand out for support as you held onto it and hopped off the windowsill. He guides you to the canvas, hand gently resting on the dip of your lower back. Eventually he moves to stand behind you, resting his head on your shoulder, arms now around you in a hug from behind. You can feel his anxiety, the silence in the air heavy as you carefully consider his work, a slight tremble in his grip around your waist. Of course, you only have good things to say about it, he's an art prodigy if you've ever seen one. Avant Garde work but undeniably breathtaking. As you finally look at the completed work in front of you, you were pleasantly surprised to see how once again, he left your breathless with just how he sees you.

" I can't lie Hwei, this is amazing. Everything you make is amazing to me I could never wield colors the way you do. To think that this was how you saw me."

As you speak you can feel him heat up against your back, his head slowly tilting down as he hides his face into the crook of your neck. His art of you was just one of the small ways he tries to show you his love.

" Thank you."

He whispers softly into your skin. You giggle softly, reaching up to rest your hand against his. After placing a soft kiss on the corner where your clothes meet your skin, he pulls away to stand in front of you, eyes finally meeting yours as you catch sight of gold flecks floating across his irises. He was so visibly happy to just be here, to see you happy with his work. Hwei takes a deep breath. Calming himself as he looks at you, taking in the sight of you in front of him, you can tell how his thoughts were flooding him as the two of you stood there in comfortable silence before he finally speaks.

" My dear, you bring out the light in me no matter how much it dims.

How you seem to quell that darkness is beyond me. I see so many colors when I'm with you...

The reds of your passionate love, the soft yellow of your happiness when were together, the lingering orange of comfort that you have around me all the time. And that is not even touching the blues and purples when you watch me work with amazement."

Hwei reaches out to you, one hand caressing your cheek while the other reaches around your waist to pull you in. You laugh, watching how his eyes swirl, reds fading into yellows briefly before oranges transform before your eyes into cool blues and purples as he describes you, his usually melancholic smile warping into a warm bright one.

Your heart begins to race, something about how the shadows on his face visibly lighten with his smile, paired with the excitement bubbling out of him as he exposes his precious thoughts to you. How you wish you had a way to capture this moment just as he did by painting you.

He leans forward slowly, resting his forehead against yours as his gaze casts downwards, watching your lips, taking in the curve, the way it moves as they part to breathe. He was just so taken in by you.

" May I kiss you?"

He asks, barely a whisper, somehow still seemingly uncertain in this partnership that you two have had for so long. His gaze slowly moving back up to your eyes as he awaits your answer.

" I am forever baffled by how you always ask first. You know I'd always welcome your love."

You offer him a soft chuckle, the sparkle in your eyes further reassuring him of your sentiments.

You could never say no to his sweet affections, he was always so careful with you, so gentle, so soft. You were but the most precious thing in his life after all, a blindingly bright beacon of hope in his darkest hours. A stunning jewel of ever changing colors in the light of his mundane existence. If the painting that sits at arms length from you is a testament to anything, you knew he was oh so in love with you.

Hwei lets out a small laugh of his own.

" I just like the reassuring comfort of your answer."

As he finishes his sentence, he leans forward, closing that tiny gap between your lips. You smile into the kiss, you can't help it, the feeling of his dry, chapped lips against yours was so endearing. You note to remind him to hydrate later, almost forgetting how he just spent two hours non-stop painting you with fervent passion.

As he pulls away, Hwei holds you closer to him, pressing your body against his in a tight hug. A satisfied sigh escaping him.

" I love you."

" I love you too."

#IonianSunsets #Hwei Lukai #Lukai Hwei #I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM #lets love him together xoxo #Hwei x Reader #Hwei League of Legends #SCENARIOS #so soft so soft i love him #Hwei LoL #Hwei League #I WILL GO BACK TO ANSWERING ASKS #just needed to get the brainrot out #give thsi sweet little man a little kith #i couldnt sleep and had to get up and write this its 11am now LMFAO im so hungry #same hwei i kin u teehee #Hwei

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ktwritesstuff · 2 years ago

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The Professor (Pedro Pascal smut inspired by SNL)

Title: The Professor Fandom: RPF: Pedro Pascal, Hot for teacher AU Rating: Explicit Characters & Pairings: Pedro Pascal (professor of Latin American Studies) x Reader (bedraggled PhD candidate) Word Count: ~2000 Summary: As if that SNL skit wasn't going to launch a thousand smut fics... As always, lovingly beta-read by @bs-fangirl. Additional notes below the cut.

Notes: This is my first "real person fic," may God have mercy on my soul. Additionally, my Spanish is virtually non-existent; I've relied heavily on Google Translate and asking my coworkers questions on the sly, my apologies for any errors! As we all know, this is not a story about actual human Pedro Pascal, but the fictionalized version which lives rent free in our heads. And as proper fan girl culture dictates, we keep this shit locked down. But just in case:

This note is for actual human Pedro Pascal and Pedro Pascal only. I don't know why you would click "Read More" on a post clearly labeled "Pedro Pascal, Hot for teacher AU" but if you have, I beg of you LOOK AWAY, SIR. LOOK AWAY. If you choose to proceed, I will not be responsible for any trauma you may suffer as a result. Thank you.

For everyone else, I give you:

The Professor

Professor Pedro Pascal was the head of the Latin American Studies department at your small college. You had never been in his classes as an undergrad–Latin American Fiction and Poetry, and a special seminar on the Magical Realism of Isabel Allende–but it was well known around campus that his family had fled Pinochet when he was a child, which granted him unsurprising street cred among your communist-leaning circle of friends. He had been appointed the interim director of the campus’s Literary Center–after his predecessor was ousted for exposing himself in a virtual meeting.

As the Center’s Graduate Assistant Director, it meant although he wasn’t technically your boss, you were suddenly spending an annoying amount of time working around the throngs of freshman girls who flocked to his office hours. You couldn’t really blame them. He was, if not an outright heartthrob, a reasonably good-looking college professor. A strong face, with a short, rugged beard, a striking Roman nose, and deep brown eyes with the most charming crow's feet. He had a lean physique, with a hint of softness at the belly, just this side of a “dad bod.”

His modest good looks combined with a cheerful disposition and a penchant for quoting the love poetry of Pablo Neruda were like catnip for liberal arts majors. And although you were a card-carrying bra-burning feminist, you weren’t entirely immune.

“Professor,” his office door was open, but you knocked on the frame.

Pedro looked up from the stack of resumes you had been sent to review before the selection panel for a new director.

“Coffee?”

“Mi angelita,” he sighed, rising from his desk to graciously accept the warm cup from your hands. “What time is the first candidate arriving?”

“Noon,” you said. “You, me, Dr. Monroe, the Provost, and Assistant Dean are sitting on the interview panel.”

Pedro looked at his watch.

“Shit,” he sighed. “I have Intro to Creative Writing at 9:30.”

“I’ll set up the conference room,” you said as he shoved his papers into his messenger bag, slinging it over his shoulder, still carrying the open mug as he raced down the stairs.

“Thank you, Angel. Thank you!”

It was a six month process to find a new director. Six months of staring across the conference table, chewing on the end of your pen, pretending not to be affected by the way he leaned in when you spoke and stroked his thumb across his lower lip in concentration. Or the obscene way he spread his legs in a comfortable chair while speaking with candidates in front of a panel of students.

And having to do it all over again when your first choice–a student favorite–declined the position, to stay in New Jersey of all things. You knew Pedro was relieved to have reached a conclusion; he didn’t care for the administrative duties or politics. He wanted to teach, to be with his students. You admired that about him, he appreciated your organizational skills (and the fact that when you made coffee it counted as a meal.) You worked well together, but now that was coming to an end.

It was past 9pm and you had already closed up the Literary Center for the night, but Pedro was still in his office, reviewing students’ papers.

“I’m done for the night, Professor,” you said. “Is there anything I can do to help you get out of here?”

“That depends,” he said, with a wry smile that had you convinced he was only half-kidding. “How’s your Spanish?”

“Hmm,” you said, stepping into the light of the desk lamp. “¿Dónde está la biblioteca? ¿Como estas? Bien, gracias. ¡Qué lluvia! And that’s all I’ve got.”

Pedro chuckled. “I’ve heard worse.”

“That and un tequila, por favor.”

“Tequila,” Pedro repeated, intrigued. He reached into the bottom drawer of his desk, pulling out a bottle of Patron. “That I can help you with.”

Your mouth fell open in surprise.

“Professor,” you deadpanned. “I don’t know if you knew this, but alcohol is not permitted in academic buildings.”

"Lucky for me," he said, picking up the bottle. "I have tenure."

You laughed and Pedro laughed; you offered to run downstairs to retrieve a pair of glasses and a salt shaker from the kitchen while he finished grading papers in record speed.

“I worry about these kids,” Pedro said, three shots deep. “I do! The moment they hear something the least bit troubling, they refuse to engage with the material. Our world exists in shades of gray. They want things to be ideologically pure, when what they need is to learn to discern. To question. To decide!”

“I understand what you’re saying, Professor,” you said.

“Pedro, please,” he interrupted you. “Pedro.”

“Pedro,” you repeated. “I agree, but there’s no reason we need to elevate and spotlight the same tired canon of bigots, abusers, and dead white men year after year when there is so much more out there.”

Pedro downed another shot and pointed an accusing finger at you.

“Look who’s talking,” he said. “Your PhD is in Shakespeare Studies!”

“I know,” you laughed, pouring yourself another glass. “I know, I’m a terrible person.”

“You are not,” he said, suddenly serious. “You have an incredible mind and the most beautiful way of looking at the world.”

You felt languid and relaxed and warm. You liked the way Pedro looked at you. There was something undeniably romantic about getting drunk in the richly furnished office, with its leather armchairs and oak bookshelves, debating the merits of Nietzsche and bell hooks.

“Okay,” you broke the silence. “Okay, here’s a fun fact you can pass along to your successor. There are 3 prints signed by Allen Ginsberg in this building, and you can see them all from this desk.”

“There’s the one on the wall,” Pedro said, pointing to the framed portrait hanging above the bookshelf.

“Yes,” you said, rising from your chair and moving to the other side of the desk. “And there in the hallway, on the right, that's an excerpt from "Howl" they set in the printshop downstairs.”

You perched on the arm of his chair to get closer to his eye-level, pointing through the open door. You slipped, nearly falling into his lap and he placed a hand on your back to steady you. He smelled amazing, like old leather and warm spices.

“And there, in the stairwell, you can just make out the top of his head on that linotype,” you explained. “Do you see it?”

“I do.”

When you turned your head, Pedro was looking at you. Perhaps it was the tequila, but you were almost certain he was staring at your lips, his eyes heavily lidded, smiling lazily.

“You look tired,” you warned. You should have gotten up to leave, but you didn’t want to. You didn’t want this warm, lovely feeling to ever end.

“Just thinking,” he said.

“About what?”

“Kissing you,” he said.

You were almost surprised; you had spent so much time trying to convince yourself that your semester-long flirtation was a one-sided puppy crush. You had been so busy with your research and recruiting and planning, you had forgotten somewhere along the way that you were a stone cold fox with tits and ass for days and enough sex appeal to blow the top off Mount St. Helens.

“You can,” you said, turning your body toward him. “I don’t mind.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“Fine then,” you turned to stand.

Pedro seized you by the waist, pulling you back into his lap and into a long, slow kiss. His lips were surprisingly soft and his mouth tasted like salt and lime as his tongue brushed into yours with careful, confident strokes.

“That was nice,” your eyes fluttered open as Pedro finally pulled away. “You’re a good kisser.”

“You, too,” Pedro said. “Again?”

You tilted your chin, touching the point on your neck, just below your ear. As Pedro leaned in, working the beginnings of a hickey into your neck, you guided his hands from your waist to your breasts. You pressed against him, moving to straddle his thigh.

“More?” Pedro asked.

“Yes,” you panted. You braced yourself on the back of the chair, one hand on either side of his head, grinding against his leg, feeling hot and wet as he kneaded your breasts with reverent appreciation.

“Mi amor,” he breathed.

“Pedro,” you held his face, nipping at his bottom lip.

“Dime, lo qué quieres.”

“Fuck.” His accent went straight to your cunt. You ran one hand up his thigh, groping at the crotch of his chinos.

Pedro let out an obscene moan and hoisted you up onto his desk. He slid his hands up your thighs, fingers slipping into your panties. He ran his fingertips through your folds, tracing circles around the swollen nub of your clit with an absolute shit-eating grin.

“Qué lluvia.”

You howled with laughter. “I know that one! I know that one!”

“A huevo.”

Pedro rose from his chair, bunching your dress up around your waist. You pulled his shirt free from the waistband of his pants, running your hands up the warm skin of his back.

“Want you,” you sighed. “Want you inside me.”

“Whatever you want, Angelita.”

Pedro pulled your underwear down to your ankles, pausing to retrieve a condom from the wallet in his back pocket, like an over-eager undergrad, pulling down his pants to roll it on. He pressed the head of his cock against your clit. You grabbed him by the ass, wrapping your legs around him to guide him into you.

Pedro flicked his hips into you with short, quick strokes, sending jolts of energy through your core.

“More,” you pleaded breathlessly. “Deeper.”

Pedro lifted your ankles onto his shoulders, pressing into you long and slow until you could feel him bumping against your cervix. You gasped, reaching behind you, scrambling for leverage, knocking the computer monitor off the desk.

“Oh no!” You turned, trying to catch it before it crashed to the floor.

“It’s okay!” Pedro said, taking your face in his hands to guide your gaze back to his eyes. “It’s a shitty computer. It’s fine.”

You moaned, letting your head fall back, grabbing for his chest with one hand as he fucked you.

“So soft,” he moaned against your ear. “So fucking good for me, Angel.”

“Give me your hand,” you said, guiding his fingers back to your clit. “Up and down, right there. Oh God.”

You grabbed Pedro’s shoulder to brace yourself.

“I’m close,” he warned.

“Not yet,” you pleaded. “Just a little more.”

You could feel your own climax building inside you. You just needed a little more to push you over the edge.

“Oh God!”

Pedro came inside you with a gasp as your inner walls clenched around him. He slowly withdrew, supporting your legs, and easing you onto your back, scattering papers and pens onto the floor. He kissed your neck and your breasts as his hands explored the curves of your body.

You woke the next morning on the couch in Pedro’s office. You were lying on top of him; your head on his chest. He had his arms around you, your head was pounding as you squinted into the daylight.

“We got fucked up last night?” you said.

“Yup.”

“It was nice."

"It was," Pedro agreed, kissing the top of your head as you blinked sleep from your eyes.

"What time is it?”

You grabbed his forearm, turning it so you could look at the face of his watch.

“Oh shit,” you gasped. “I have Freshman Seminar in half an hour.”

“I already missed my morning classes,” Pedro moaned, letting his head fall back against the armrest.

“Do you want to explain to Dr. Monroe why I can’t teach her class?” you said, rising from the couch and searching the office floor for your underpants.

“No,” Pedro said. “She scares me.”

You pulled your underwear back on, finding your bag, you used the satin scarf tied around the handle to cover the love-bites blooming on your throat and chest. You dabbed concealer under your eyes and added a fresh coat of red lipstick.

“Would you like to have lunch together? Not at the Caf. Somewhere nice, like a date.” Pedro asked, sitting up. He looked endearingly child-like with his bedhead and giant brown eyes.

You paused, checking your reflection in your compact mirror.

“Can we do that?” you asked.

“I don’t see why not,” he said. “You were never my student and after this week we won’t even work together any more.”

“Oh,” you nodded. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

“I’ll pack things up here and meet you after class.”

You smiled. “I’ll see you then.”

#rpf: pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #hot for teacher AU #mr. ben has us in a chokehold #mr. ben snl #pedro pascal x you

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black-flames-and-cherry-flowers · 11 days ago

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Modern AU (Robb x Daenerys)

When Robb is 13, the Stark family goes into a museum, it's a day nothing out of the ordinary, except Robb ends being fascinated by an old drawing of the queen Daenerys, that according to info in the small plaque next to it, it's done with charcoal and attributed to her husband, the mythical King Robb, comparing it to the great portraits in the room, is not that impactful and most people pass next to it barely sparing it a glaze, but Robb finds himself transfixed, unable to take his eyes off the young woman drawn on it, feeling an strange of connection to her. It takes a boring Rickon crashing into his leg, to take him out of his daze and make him move to the next room.

After that, Robb starts to being more interested on art, particularly learning how to draw, his intention to be able to recreate the drawing by himself. From time to time he goes to the museum, sits on the bench and tries to replicate the drawing, feeling frustrated that each time he failed to do so. It's in those times when his mother appears to remind him gently, that he is making progress nevertheless, and he shouldn't be so hard on himself.

Time goes by, and Robb is 17, and in his history class, they go with more depth about King's Robb kingdom, of course the teacher reminds everyone that most of his rule has being embellished by popular songs and stories as time passed, which makes difficult to know what was real and what wasn't, since archaeological rests are scarce from that period and a big part of the chronics about that time frame were written a long after King's Robb death. But the most disappointing part for Robb it's the lack of content about the queen Daenerys. Who was she? How did they marry? How many children did they have? On what did she contribute to her husbands kingdom? And most important, did time forgot about her or was she erased from history on a time were only men were expected to be important.

Life keeps going, but still, the drawing of queen Daenerys haunts Robb, an ever growing collection of the same draw over and over again, Theon likes to tease his friend about it, joking that he has spent so much time drawing it, that he probably could do it with his eyes close or sleeping. The truth is that he has mastered the drawing a long time ago, he is able to recreate it perfectly, and yet… is so wrong, something is missing from his drawing that was captured in the original, maybe it's missing sparkle on her eyes, or it's that soft gaze dedicated to the person that was drawing her it's what he is unable to capture, whatever it is, evades him over and over again.

He is 25, when he finds himself in that same bench in the museum in front of the drawing, he still is nursing a heartbreak, the ache is getting duller by the day, but Jeyne's cheating still hurts, so he finds solace in the mysterious queen that enraptured him when he was thirteen. He has being there for a couple of hours lost in his thoughts, not wanting to draw this time or maybe unable to do so, when a voice behind him asks him where the portrait of King Robb it's located since there is barely anyone in the museum and she has no one else to ask for directions. When Robb turns, he is astonished to find the living and breathing version of the woman in the drawing, except she is in full color in front of him, with her pale blonde hair, a polite smile in her pink lips and vivid purple eyes. Swallowing the lump of nervousness that it's suddenly in his throat, he returns the smile and says "It is in the room next to this one, If you follow me I can show it to you, my name is Robb by the way" with a small laugh that makes her eyes shine brighter, she answers "Daenerys, nice to meet you" Maybe the only thing that was lacking all this time from his draws, was color.

I read once on a fanfic, I don't recall if it was ever finished or it's name, that Robb liked to draw and showed some of his drawings of Winterfell to Daenerys, since that the idea of Robb capturing Danny on drawings was stuck on my head.

#au #modern au #short off reincarnation au #robb stark #daenerys targaryen #robbnerys #robb stark x daenerys targaryen #daenerys targaryen x robb stark #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #game of thrones #got #fanfiction #ship: heavy is the crown

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thehollowwriter · 13 days ago

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No Yan Sim Au Questions with Finn!

1. Does your OC have parents or family in the AU? If not, what is their current living situation?

Finn lives with his dad, Silas, and his adopted big brother Timo down in the poorer parts of town. I'm not too sure how to handle the sibling thing here? Maybe Finn had a twin who died a bit later idk 🤷‍♀️ Silas' butchery staff are, like in canon, basically Finn's aunts and uncles. Silas in this au would've been shot in the lower back during a gang war rather than being shot with a harpoon in the tail like in canon. He's an ambulatory wheelchair user and honestly getting around in their tiny house is a bit of a pain but it's fine (it isn't) he's managing (he's not)

Morrigan got killed just before Finn was born, and Morrigan's family frequently tries to contact Finn (they are failing lol). Finn's godfathers, Ezra and Alastair, live in a different city but come visit when they can and help pay for Finn's supplies and tuition.

2. What are their thoughts on Quartz?

Suspicious. Irritating. A threat. Finn is astounded that students including Azul keep falling for Quartz's little shy crush act. He doesn't like her and knows she's planning to hurt Azul somehow.

3. What are their thoughts and relationship with Azul? How did they meet Azul?

Finn met Azul in middle(?) school when they were paired for an assignment, and although he simply admired him from afar at first after that, they did start interacting. They've never called each other friends but that's kinda what they are in a weird way. They're unconventional XD Finn cares deeply for Azul and is protective of him, but sometimes his internal thoughts are just "Azul you fucking idiot" (the lovable bastard is stupid af in this au it seems/lh)

4. What are their relationships with other characters/OCs?

I haven't been able to talk with others about ocs much but Finn is oddball friends with @inotonline 's Chiyo!

Finn does get on with the tweels although he isn't often seen talking to them like he is Azul (he's got a thing for them too XD.) He and Riddle aren't really friends but they've had pleasant interactions.

5. What grade/year is your OC?

Okay so by my country's school system Finn would be in Grade 11, the third and second last year of high school. In the US I think he's a junior/second year? He's 17

6. What is your OCs goal for the school year or in life?

Finn mostly just wants this year to be over with, but he would like to go into medicine (he becomes a vet. Tbh au Finn is really similar to canon Finn lol)

7. Your OC is being framed for murder of another student by Quartz, how does your OC react to that? Does your OC know it's Quartz?

Oh he knows it's Quartz and he's so fucking pissed because this will ruin everything for him and his family. Quartz will be lucky if she doesn't leave the school grounds in a body bag. ...Okay maybe that's an extreme reaction. Maybe he'll talk to a few uhhh friends and hope she disappears/j

8. Your OC notices Quartz carrying a weapon in her skirt pocket. That's strange since the female school uniforms don't have skirt pockets. Does your OC report this?

Nope. Finn doubts he of all students will be believed, and he knows a report will tip Quartz off that someone's paying close attention to her. He's not above attempting to get a teacher to notice without actually reporting anything, though

9. Where is your OC usually with or at during school? Classes? With Azul? Skipping class? Where do they eat lunch?

Finn almost never misses a class, and he spends lunch either with Azul and the tweels or in the garden or art room (depends on his mood.) When he starts noticing Quartz, though... he either walks with Azul to Azul's classes or quietly follows behind to make sure he's alright. He insists Azul comes with him during lunch too.

10. How are your OC's grades?

Finn's grades are pretty good? Not exactly mind-blowing, but good!

(Thank you @quartztwst for the questions 🥰)

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valeriwa · 1 year ago

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conjuring romance

iwaizumi hajime x fem!reader

hogwarts!au

entry for the amazing @a1sh1teruu's stuck in summer collab

wc: 3.2k

"i don't think this is a good idea," akaashi said as he watched you and bokuto take out your wands. the grounds were lush and green, with the heavy sun beating over it. summer is a terrible, terrible torture.

"liven up, 'kaashi! besides, all we're trying to do is conjure a bit of snow, right?" you replied, a bright smile on your face as you read the spell from the book bokuto is so graciously holding open for you. the trees swayed in anticipation as if relieved to be nearly rid of the unthinkable heat.

akaashi muttered words of disapproval under his breath before ultimately deciding to help you out. you grinned when you noticed him coming over. he couldn't resist the possibility of snow and after all, he always was swept up with your and bokuto's antics.

"warmed up to the idea, eh?" you winked and nudged him with your elbow. flicking your wrist at what was hopefully the correct angle, you vocalise the incantation and wait. and keep on waiting.

"did it not work?" bokuto shook the book as if snow would fall out of it.

"delayed magic?" you didn't think that existed but the possibility hung in the air.

"there's no such thing as delayed magic."

"way to ruin our hopes and dreams, 'kaashi."

you stood there, with bokuto (still shaking the book, albeit less vigorously) and akaashi. you pursed your lips, wondering if you should try it one more time.

"maybe the magic was... postponed?" bokuto offered hopefully, now having discarded the book. akaashi sighed, tipping his head towards the sky before immediately looking down again because the sun was too bright to even admire the blue, cloudless sky.

"like a postponed train?" you added, trying to cling to the weak thread of hope bokuto provided. you looked around, trying to see if there were any fallen snowflakes you hadn't noticed but instead you just saw a figure in the distance.

"is that... a teacher?" you murmured, as he wasn't wearing hogwarts robes but it could've been a student as well. you weren't sure.

"that is not a teacher." akaashi squinted, not recognizing the man as one of the faculty members. he kicked the discarded book with his heel just in case though.

the man kept coming closer, and it was clearer to see his face now. short, dark hair, but it suited him. as well as a strong frame, not big like bokuto but firm and sturdy. tan skin, olive green eyes that glinted golden in the sun.

your eyes widened, who was this man? bokuto stepped in front of you as the man started going right up to you.

"what's your problem buddy?" bokuto was taller and larger, but somehow this stranger seemed more intimidating. his eyes shifted to you, partially obscured by bokuto.

"she's the one who called me." your jaw dropped at his statement, what the heck did that mean?

akaashi's eyes slid to yours, then to the book he kicked away. he hesitated before picking up the book, opening the first page. there it was, in big bold letters, RESTRICTED; NOT FOR STUDENTS.

"are you kidding me?" akaashi had targeted the question to you, making you spin around in confusion at his harsh tone. you winced when you saw him holding open the first page.

"well, you see. um, about that..." you trailed off, because you had really no explanation. i mean, yes, akaashi was a stickler for the rules but he enjoyed the occasional bending of them.

"you just conjured a person!" that made you gasp, your hands flying to your mouth.

"i did not."

"yes you did."

"no way."

bokuto interrupted, jerking his head towards the man you had supposedly conjured.

"um, what's your name?" you tried, hoping he was not somebody you just conjured out of thin air. you didn't even think that was possible. wasn't this against the rules of magic? oh no, did you just inadvertently dabbled in the dark arts?

"iwaizumi hajime." oh god, his voice. the soft, smooth letters wrapped in a dark velvet. hearing him felt like biting into a rich, layered chocolate.

your throat was dry by thinking you had probably just committed the biggest crime known to wizardkind.

"i thought we were gonna make it snow... not summon hot guys." you grimaced at bokuto's blunt words. but he was right. you're not quite sure how this happened even if you did use a restricted spell. was it really the dark arts?

"um, iwaizumi. do you know how you got here?" he slowly shook his head, crushing your spirit further.

"i was in another realm, i think." his words just confused you further.

"what do you mean by another realm?" akaashi questioned, rummaging through the book.

"it wasn't like this place, it was hazy like a dream." you looked up in frustration only to be blinded by the cause of your misery, the sun.

"we should get inside. it's too hot." you gesture them to follow you. the room of requirement should be perfect, since iwaizumi was not to be seen by anybody, especially a teacher.

"what is this place?" iwaizumi asked, his eyes scanning every inch of the room. bokuto nudged him, grinning, "it's awesome, isn't it?" he just nodded in response.

you sat down on the loveseat, akaashi taking a place next to you. iwaizumi kept standing, staring at you. despite being inside, you felt hotter than you did when you were trying to conjure snow.

"so what's the plan?" that was bokuto. only, after he asked the question, he yelped.

"quidditch! i'm late for practice. see you guys around. let me know what happened with the hot guy!" bokuto yelled, practically sprinting. you shouted to keep 'the hot guy' a secret but you weren't sure if he heard. praying that the head on his shoulders worked properly and he would have the common sense not to divulge the information, you turned to akaashi.

"so, what is the plan?"

"i can't believe you conjured a living, breathing person."

"please, you know i'm a genius." you fanned yourself, as if you were tired from greeting all your fans (you didn't have any sans bokuto and sometimes akaashi).

"are you going to unconjure me?" iwaizumi spoke up, his voice rattling you again. damn his sultry sounding voice, why did every word he let out feel like a plot to seduce you?

"well, you can't exactly live here," akaaashi said, gesturing him to sit down on one of the single seater sofas. he did, although reluctant.

"i see." was that it? a bit anticlimactic.

"um, well. is there an unconjuring spell, 'kaashi?" you leaned in closer to get a look of the pages. he flipped the pages quite fast, but you were sure you saw frog revivals on one of them. wizards were weird. but then again, frogs were cute so you couldn't exactly blame them.

"i think i'm going to have to speak with a professor."

"no! don't do that, we'll get in trouble!" your voice was a bit loud, startling both the boys.

"i won't mention iwaizumi, or you for that matter. it'll be alright, they know i wouldn't do anything illegal." the emphasis on the last word made you recoil, and you offered an apologetic smile.

"you should stay here with iwaizumi, just in case. keep him hidden." he had already stood up, the book in his bag and his face set in determination. he left the two of you, alone in the room of requirement.

you. alone. with a man. the man of your dreams. you often daydreamed, a strong man with a slight tan and a soft side reserved for you.

"i'm so sorry iwaizumi. i'm sure you don't want to be here." he tilted his head at your words, as if confused.

"why would you say that? i don't mind being here." his words made you splutter, coughing on your saliva. iwaizumi walked over to you in two long strides, stroking your back to relieve you of your coughing fit.

but that only made you warmer, his firm hands on your back. up, down, up, down. it felt insane. you knew the blood rushed to your cheeks, but you weren't sure if it was visible.

"um.. i'm fine now."

"okay." he didn't stop stroking your back. up, down, up, down. you were semi sure that your breathing was steady, so you turned to look at him.

"you realize that me conjuring you, accidental or not, is like a wizarding capital violation. um, basically if they think i summoned you with ill intent, i could be executed." when the words roll off your tongue, it puts everything into perspective. how deep you were in dogshit. very, very deep. the man in front of you suddenly went from the hot guy you accidentally conjured, into the reason you may not live a very long life.

"you didn't conjure me." was his response, his face was still blank but his eyes had softened and his tone was warmer. he had stopped stroking your back, letting his hand rest on your lower back, above your hips.

"what? you said i did. you told me i called you here."

"yes, you summoned me."

"what's the difference?"

"you didn't conjure me out of thin air. i already existed and you called me into your world. i'm sure you can send me back, if that's what you desire."

you bit your lips, the realization settling in. you were a little frustrated that he didn't say anything before but you can't really blame him. he was in an unfamiliar place with strangers that had summoned him for the heck of it - sure, you were trying to conjure snow but that's not what ended up happening.

"but akaashi took the book with him. i'm sure there's nothing about sending someone into another realm in the books available to students."

iwaizumi's eyes glittered, and his lips turned up into a devious smile. your breath hitched, and you swallowed down whatever was rising up. want. desire. a little bit of need? god, you were desperate.

"what about the books not available to students?"

"the restricted section? i can't go in there alone, my heart would hammer out of my chest. bokuto went in with me last time, and we were almost caught!" you were fretting, your eyes looking anywhere but him and that smile.

"who said you'd go alone?" his steady answer made you meet his gaze, his sure, dependable gaze. you breathed out, your shoulders relaxing.

"ok, let's go. and let's hope that akaashi doesn't return before we do."

you two made your way to the library, slipping in as stealthily as you could. it would be hell for you if you two were caught now. he was close behind you, and his presence enveloped you. the scent of ink and pages filled the air. the creaky floorboards were comforting too, though risking your stealthy mission.

"you must keep quiet, and stay close to me." you whispered, murmuring a spell shortly afterwards to open the door to the restricted section.

"i will." his mouth was somewhere near your ear and he must've bent slightly to whisper his affirmation. his lips grazed the top of your ear as he straightened and you had to close your eyes for a second just to gather yourself.

you moved ahead, sticking to the shelves and staying in the shadows. you heard muffled footsteps and your head whipped around to iwaizumi in alarm.

in one swift move, iwaizumi pushed into an alcove next to the shelves, cloaked in darkness. his hands were on either side of your head, resting against the wall. his breath was quickened, and yours was too. he turned to face you, his lips parting when he realized the position he was in.

the door clattered, and the sound made you panic and you did the most reasonable thing you could think; you gripped iwaizumi's shirt and pulled him closer into you. he let himself be pulled, crashing into you with a grunt.

"sorry. i panicked." your words were barely above a whisper, and you found it difficult to talk. you could see he was breathing hard, and now you doubted it was because he would get caught. his chest was hard, and sturdy just like you had thought when you first saw him walk towards you. and oh lord, his arms. he could put you in a headlock and you'd thank him.

"it's okay. are you okay?" the soft, velvety voice warmed you into a puddle. but you just nodded against him.

the noises stopped and you believed the coast was clear. although, you really didn't mind the position you were in. just as you were going to clear your throat in hopes of getting rid of this awkward tension, you felt his rough hands move from the wall to your jaw. the movement was gentle and your breath hitched.

you looked up at him, and his expression was soft. one corner of his lips was upturned, and you felt like honey in his hands. slowly, he leaned down, the air between you growing warmer. you could hardly believe what was happening, a small gasp escaping you.

"can i..." he started, "kiss you?"

you didn't trust yourself to reply, so you closed your eyes and pressed your lips on his. the suddenness of your actions made him groan, his other hand slipped down to wrap around your waist to pull you closer against him. your hands which were at your sides interlocked behind his neck.

breathless, you separated. his face was flushed, and a shy smile on yours.

"that was nice."

he chuckled at your words, but nodded.

"i think it was better than nice." he whispered against your mouth, catching your bottom lip with his teeth. you smiled, kissing him again. you could stay pressed up against him like this forever. forever? you opened your eyes mid-kiss, suddenly too aware of his mouth on yours, the softness of his lips, his callused fingertips that grazed your waist underneath your shirt. suddenly, it was all too much.

he felt you freeze up, eyes fluttering open and creating some distance between the two of you. you could see concern dancing in his eyes, but you were too overwhelmed to ease it. the very existence of this man could quite easily decimate your career, your life as you know it.

iwaizumi's mouth parted to say something, but he thought better of it, clearing his throat and putting in some more distance. he saw the hesitation, the regret in the way your eyebrows furrowed and your easy smile was displaced. he doesn't like people regretting to kiss him.

"we should find that book." his voice was heavy, not the same coarse velvet you heard earlier.

your mind felt hazy, thinking of the consequences and his lips. clearing your throat as if it could clear the desire that hung in the air, you pushed out of the alcove.

"the book should be around here," you started perusing the shelves, very aware of iwaizumi's presence. you could almost feel his irritation in his steps, exasperation coming off of him in waves.

your fingers brushed the spines, walking along the shelves and shelves of books collecting dust. iwaizumi stopped a few paces behind you, and his sudden lack of movement prompted you to stop and look at him.

"i think i found the book you're looking for," he murmured, looking into your eyes as he slid the book out of the shelf. he looked less annoyed and a bit more rueful actually. you swallowed down whatever emotion was rising up your throat, gently taking the book from his hands. your fingers grazed his, they were warm.

you opened the book, trying to find the spell. fingers tracing the old parchment, yellowed by its age, you couldn't keep your attention slipping towards the man in front of you. your lips still felt like they're on fire, and the place on your hips where his hands touched you feel warm.

"i think it's this one..." you showed the page to iwaizumi, "it says how to reverse a summon." he nodded, face twisting into something more solemn.

your hands shook as you muttered the phrase, embedding it into your mind. locking your eyes with his, you could almost taste the regret hanging in the air in dense clouds.

"sorry. for everything. i shouldn't have brought you here." your voice was just above a whisper but he heard you.

"not your fault. don't blame yourself." his fist clenched at his side in restraint, he couldn't not want to touch you. comfort you. the sight made you ache, but by now you had memorized the incantation.

there was no time for aching. it was time to send him back.

"revertus regressum."

"did you hear?" bokuto asked, slipping in between you and akaashi on a bench in the great hall. the professors never really minded when houses intermingled.

"hear what?" you pop a grape in your mouth, your face scrunching at the sour taste.

"apparently, there's a transfer student arriving." at this, akaashi perked up but mostly in confusion.

"at this time of the year?"

bokuto nodded, conspiratorially leaning in to whisper, "he's in our year."

scoffing, you muttered, "transferring towards the end of the year? he's obviously a troublemaker."

"that's rich coming from you; ten minutes ago, you asked bokuto to tag along when you'll steal a restricted book." akaashi's narrowed eyes made the blow sting more.

but before you could say anything, you saw him. black hair, olive green eyes, and a body you'd die to get your hands on. you swore you could only dream of men like that.

redirecting his gaze where you were looking, bokuto snapped his fingers in enthusiasm, "that's him! the transfer!"

you couldn't tear your eyes away, entranced in the way he moved. a little stiff, but confident. dominating.

"what's his name?" akaashi asked, tilting his head as he stared. there was something weirdly familiar about him.

"it was something like zumba," bokuto said, thinking hard. you made a face, swatting his arm, attention on him instead.

"the dance? are you serious? think harder." you were looking at bokuto as he tried to remember. you hadn't noticed that the transfer had stood up at this point.

"surely it was hazumi," his face made it sure that it was, in fact, not hazumi. light footsteps made their way towards you. akaashi's lips turned at the corners, and he kept eating.

"if i hit your head, will it come back to you?" you threatened, raising your arm.

"hey hey, let's not be violent," he said, trying to sound pacifying, "oh wait! i remember! it was iwa-"

"iwaizumi hajime."

you gasped. fuck me. his voice is like velvet.

#valeriwa. writes #collab : STUCK IN SUMMER #haikyuu #haikyuu fluff #hogwarts #hogwarts au #haikyuu iwaizumi #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu imagines #iwaizumi headcanons #iwaizumi fluff #akaashi keiji #bokuto koutarou

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blueberrypancakesworld · 11 months ago

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The nightmare under the dress

(Og)Fem!freddy/(Re)Fem!freddy x fem!reader

warning : tiny comfort, flirting if you look deep into it, implied wound, nightmare, no use of Y/n

Summary : Welcome to Springwood Kindergarten the new place for your child a place full of dreams…and two charming ladies who take care of the little ones and your dreams with lots of fun for everyone!

Info : This one-shot is based on the amazing and so brilliant art au (This Post) from the lovely and talented @fresm-ay check out the blog the art is just so good. Again thank you for letting do this and have fun reading everyone else too;)

gif by me

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The dark car drove towards the kindergarten, the morning still hanging over the small town of Springwood. The sun hid behind the fog the lights of the town, the houses and the lights of the cars on the streets that stretched into the town. The light music from the radio filled the car and the weather report had prompted them both to take an umbrella each.

A large dark one and a small colorful umbrella. ,,Are you ready for your first day?" the woman asked and her gaze went for a few seconds to the little girl who was looking at her mother, beaming with joy.

The two braids that kept the tangled hair under control were interspersed with hair clips. The gap in her teeth from her latest success and another precious memory for her mother. The car continued to drive through the streets, but the two were heading for a very specific destination.

They had only moved to the small town a few weeks ago. They had practically fled the big city to escape the many people, cars and overcrowding that had demanded almost everything from them.

Especially in a time without a husband, useless, lazy, out for her body and not taking care of his daughter, he paid the maintenance to keep the cops off his back, but otherwise he didn't let himself be licked.

No use, she thought, focusing back on the road, having written down the route and seeing that they had arrived at the street.

She waited briefly before turning off and, after a few meters, saw the wire fence at the civic victory to keep the children out of the street and avoid the danger. ,,We're here!" the little girl shouted when she saw the colorful flags and toys outside in the garden area or play area for the others.

A smile full of serenity appeared on her mother's lips as she found a parking space after a few minutes and went to her daughter. ,,We're here and you my little frog have your first day of kindergarten," she said, helping her out of the car before taking her little hand and walking across the crosswalk towards the building.

The colorful backpack and the umbrella harmonized with the little red dress and the orange ribbons embroidered on it.

The grin and the gap in her teeth made her mother smile, but she was also proud and a little wistful that her daughter had grown up so much. Opening the waist-high gate and going inside, she saw a few children already glued to the window pane, watching the newcomer with interest and curiosity.

Just as she was about to open the door, it was yanked open and she came face to face with a blonde woman, her long curly hair tied back in a plait, her slightly vulture-like nose and her piercing yet empty-looking green eyes.

Long, gentle fingers lay against the door frame and a green, gray and beige dress clung to her body. A charming, almost arrogant smile and a shimmer of pink lip gloss could be seen.

A beauty, a dream woman who looked after my house. ,,Good morning, Miss, I wanted to drop off my little one for the first day," the mother caught herself and already felt the warm hand on her shoulder pulling her into the kindergarten, into something she didn't know what was happening to her.

,,Oh come in sweetie, I'm Miss Krueger the teacher and every child's dream" she introduced herself and winked at the little girl who seemed fascinated by the pink lip gloss and was probably wondering where she would get something like that.

,,I run the dream group over here together with my...colleague," she continued, her high heels clicking in the corridor and the mother followed, deeply fascinated.

Maybe the other reason wasn't just the financial situation, the separation from her useless husband, maybe it was that she was listening to her heart and was finally looking for a female partner.

Maybe she would find that happiness. Maybe even here in the city? The three of them went into the dream group where, when the door opened again, a pleasantly large play paradise opened up for the little girl. ,,So big!" She called out and her mother felt her clinging to her and begging for permission, which she let go with one last hug and a kiss on the cheek.

,,The girl with the curly hair is Nancy, the boy with the painting coat is Quentin and the girl by the CD player is Nancy too," the blonde whispered to her, watching her protégés with a look of pleasure before placing her hand, which was reassuring and inviting, on her mother's shoulder to lead her around.

The younger one hung her little one's backpack on her heels, placed the umbrella next to it and with one last look of affection went to her daughter with Miss.Krueger who continued to lead her around.

,,A coffee? I mean, we have time and my colleague will take care of everything else...tell me, where did you get the earrings if you don't mind my question dear" the blonde quacked and giggled a charming smile, a smile full of amusement as she suddenly came closer to the younger girl and put her fingers on her body again.

She could feel the other rich girl's perfume on her legs, a smoky note, she thought, and couldn't help but feel a bit perturbed.

She liked the blonde's amused manner, but there was something in those green eyes that looked at her. ,,A coffee please... and the earrings, well, I made them myself," she confessed and smiled slightly as the blonde made a surprised expression, moved away from her and turned to the coffee machine to pour the hot caffeine drink into two cups.

Without seeing the younger girl's gaze pass over her, she didn't take her eyes off the blonde as if she were being drawn to her again and again. ,,So this is homemade, maybe it's something for us to try together for coffee and cake, isn't it?" the blonde asked, handing her the cup as her fingers deliberately moved over the younger girl's.

The two women smiled at each other, their eyes meeting before they both enjoyed the coffee, knowing that it was a little break before they all had to go to work.

Until the clacking of shoes could be heard again, another attendant was there to chat with the mothers and fathers. Before slowly, rather cautiously, a woman joined them, a slight, almost shy smile on her lips.

The slightly sunken cheeks, the pointed nose and the dark blue eyes harmonized with the dark brown hair that had been put into a plait. The black high-heels at her ankles lay up her bare legs to a brown dress lighter than her hair with a white plaid that gave her a certain authority like a teacher.

Topped off with a beige brown cardigan that looked big and soft to protect her from the cold when she was out with the children. ,,Frensis, how nice wouldn't you have to look after little Quentin, you know how he is with his attention," came coolly from the blonde, but the smile on her lips didn't fade as she walked over to the brown-haired girl and simply tipped her coffee into the sink and joined her colleague.

,,Yes, well, hello Ma'm, I'm the other attendant here, pleased to meet you," she said to the smaller of the two attendants and held out her hand. Despite her gentle smile, her demeanor was somewhat submissive, as if she had already been through a lot.

Something she wouldn't wish on anyone else. ,,Nice to meet you, I have to go but I really appreciate the work you're doing here," the mother replied and squeezed her hand in gratitude, seeing the slight blush on the brown-haired girl's cheeks as she slowly loosened her grip on the blonde so that the two could wave goodbye to their "customer" until the main door closed and would only open again in the afternoon when it was time to pick up the town's children.

She listened to the sounds of her daughter as the little child bubbled over with joy about her new friends Quentin and Nancy, who were also super nice.

It was a joy to see them like that. ,,I'm so proud of you for making it through your first day and I'll give you hundreds of kisses for it," she said softly as she pulled the blanket up to keep out the cold and handed Mr. Bunny to her daughter and gave her a goodnight kiss before walking out of the room, slowly closing the door and letting the radio play the rest.

She spent the evening watching something on the old television, but her mind was also on something else. The two women who seemed so different and yet so alike that it was almost funny.

But after she had watched the movie and made herself a warm soothing tea with melatonin and the sweet soft sleepy feeling on her body did the rest, she went to her bedroom with a yawn, defeated by the day. She snuggled under the covers of her bed and sighed exhaustedly before turning off the light with her weaver and falling asleep.

A dreamless sleep for the beginning it seemed, at least for the time being, until the image formed of the sleep she was unaware of becoming something more real. Slowly, snow and soot formed the image of a kindergarten, the same kindergarten she knew, only different.

Different it wasn't full of warmth at least the place itself was glowing but outside it was cold so cold that she warmed her hands before going into the building to be safe from the snow. She was right about the heat the once colorful building with the children's alchendne voices had fallen silent.

As if someone had gone through hell and back, the place had changed. the place was a patchwork of dilapidated walls, back alleys and old factories with hot steelworks. ,,Hello?" she called out into the place and cringed as she heard a female but not of this wlet rather amused...demonic.

Trying to find a way out, she went back to the front door but it was no longer there and something told her that this could not mean anything good in the dream.

Especially not when the scene went completely awry in the factory and she almost ran into one of the hot pipes, which the unknown voice found amusing even if different. ,,Come here pretty Ma'm...let me look at you" she heard the voice a familiar voice as she felt something cold and sharp on her shoulder move around she saw Frensis stuck in a sweater her face burnt and on her right hand a leather glove with small rings on the fingertips.

A scream of anguish escaped the younger women as she rushed away from the figure, the metal trying to lay on her body and the brown-haired woman seemed amused.

She watched her prey, taking her time to touch the warm real skin it was something special and her victim didn't dare to move in fear and confusion.

A gentle touch on her cheek sent a cold shiver down her body. ,,Let me give you a dream!" she shouted and pulled out her weapon to strike her victim, who raised her hands defensively but was pushed away by something. As if someone else was grabbing her and with the opening of her eyes she was back in this confusion of confused scenes.

,,She's a pretty thing bitch take your own...now I'll show you a real nightmare" said the voice and she saw the shimmer of pink lipgloss before burnt skin wrapped around her waist, the same glove moved along her body and she looked into the burnt face of Miss.Krueger, blue eyes showing the joy of the hunt.

A laugh escaped the barely recognizable lips before the gloves came off. Oh the two dream demons would show their new pretty favorite victim what it meant to have her as "friends". Let the new nightmare begin.

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@rl-nancyholbrook hey dear maybe you can get more invested threw this

@paranormalfool

#a nightmare on elm street 2010 #a nightmare on elm street #freddy krueger #freddy kruger x reader #female freddy krueger #robert englund #jackie earle haley #female x female

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achy-boo · 1 year ago

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Urban Legends TWST AU

@anxious-twisted-vampire

Warnings: mentions of blood, murder, insanity, haunting, murder of a child in Tsukii's part, suicide to join a sibling and friends on Dawn's part

Urban Legends is a wonderful yet terrifying stories for us to hear or told when the sun says its goodnight but there are some urban legends requires you to not speak of it at all as it will not end well. But in Twisted Wonderland, Mystery Haunt. There are four urban legends that are not only scary but they can be summoned at the right time. Who are the urban legends and how to not only summon them but how to survive? Let us find out shall we?

Jeanne Keket

Cause of Death: Stabbing

Jeanne Keket or other known as the Insane Girl in the Mirror is an urban legend in Mystery Haunt that locals are cautious of when it comes to her. Legend says that Jeanne was once a lively yet hyper girl who is loved by everyone but her friendly nature came with a price. When Mystery Haunt hosted its annual carnival, Jeanne went to the hall of mirrors with a friend of hers. Jeanne enters a hidden room with the mirrors surrounding her while she admires the beauty of the mirror. Her friend killed her in cold blood with a piece of a broken mirror. That same friend watches as she witnesses Jeanne's body being gently dragged into the mirror where she later haunts as well as the rest of the mirrors. The same mirror was sold to a wealthy family in an unknown place. Rumors told Jeanne and her mirror is still in that mansion, waiting for her visitors.

The Haunted Mirror Ritual

You can summon her by going to the room where the mirror is in the mansion. All you need is; a book of her favorite genre(horror), a music box, 7 purple candles and a purple rose(any flower is good but it has to be purple or the ritual will not work) and you can bring company with you if they are brave enough.

The type of mirror Jeanne is haunted is a large full body mirror that has a gothic frame.

Step 1.You will need to put the 7 purple candles in any shape you want in front of the mirror

Step 2.Once you are done with that, place the music box on the middle with the purple rose in front of it.

Step 3. Play the tune and chant these words: "Jeanne, Jeanne. I am feeling sad, please comfort me" three times

Then Jeanne in her blooded form will ask you "Who hurt you, my dear?" This is your cue to answer her

Results:

A polite answer will cause Jeanne to give you a blessing or protect you

A neutral answer will result with Jeanne to keep a close eye on you

BUT a rude answer will result in you going insane, Jeanne dragging you in the mirror to be with her for all eternity

Locals of Mystery Haunt were advised to not shatter any mirror or shed blood on them as it will trigger a violent reaction from Jeanne since it reminds her of her death. Survivors of the haunted mirror rituals says their mirrors will never been the same since Jeanne now seen walking in them, still have that smile but half of her face is covered in shatters..like glass. Would you like to try the ritual to gain the help from Jeanne Keket or The Insane Girl in the Mirror?

Nightshade and Dawn Libya

Night's cause of death: knife wound on her neck

Dawn's cause of death: suicide by bleeding to death to join her sister and her friends to the realm where they will never escape the living world

Nightshade and Dawn Libya or The Puppeteer and its Bloodied Twin are two urban legends that share one ritual. Let us start with Nightshade. Nightshade Libya is the quiet and blunt one out of the two of them. She has the cutest yet safe obsession with anything that has to do with making dolls/stuffed toys/puppets. But she has a cursed bunny plush named Kianisha that she will not let go. Legends say that one day, a deranged young man asked Night to make a doll that looks like her art teacher however Night refused since she found it not only creepy but it never fits her morals. The deranged man killed Night in her workshop of her creations which surrounds her corpse..unfortunately causing her to control said creations like a puppeteer but she can also possess them.

Dawn is next. Now Dawn is the observant girl with few words since she is more quiet than her twin night. But legends later say once Dawn caught wind of her twin's death, she grew insane to the point that she will make that man pay with his life and his blood. It later says Dawn killed the man in the same workshop where he had killed Night..Dawn slit both of her wrists to the point the bleeding starts..she walk towards one of her favorite dolls made by her twin and make a eternal vow that she will join her and the others in the afterlife...unable to leave Mystery Haunt..

The Bloodied Doll Ritual

The Bloodied Doll Ritual is a ritual where you can summon both Night and Dawn at once. Now it works better at nighttime at exactly 7 pm since it's their time of death. But be warned because one wrong move will make you regret summoning them.

You will need;

a sharp object that must be sharp to draw blood

Night's cursed bunny plushy which is somewhere at the abandoned workshop

two blue roses for each of them

Some gifts after the ritual

Your blood

Directions;

You need to find what doll Night possesses.(It will show signs of moving or moving like it was being controlled.)

Gently grab the possessed doll and place it on the table where few items of sewing materials

Place Kianisha next to the possessed doll

Poke your finger to draw blood and place each drop of blood on both

Chant "The Puppeteer and its Bloodied Twin, answers my questions or invite me to your world of toys and insanity." 2 times

After 5 questions, give them the gifts and say goodbye and thank them for their time

If you noticed that the possessed doll and Kianisha are holding hands as the doll begins to bleed and shows cracks along with the ghosts of Night and Dawn appears 3 feet in front of you, you have successfully summoned them to ask your questions. You must ask 5 questions max and thanked them for their time

Results;

If any of your questions are offensive, they will answer it with a disappointed look on their faces

Very genuine questions will result in them smiling and giving you plush twins of them

If you are offensive or rude to either of them, they will kill you on the spot. (Night will kill you how she was killed before turning into one of her creations) {Dawn will cut a fatal part of your body and drain you of your blood completely} [Both will turn you into a doll while you are alive. Nobody can hear you scream since the workshop has soundproof walls]

If you leave without saying goodbye, the Libya twins will haunt you for the rest of your life and make sure to turn into a doll for not saying goodbye

If they do not like your gifts but sees the thought put for it, they will simply told you what they like(The other ending is you go insane with their eyes alone, making your suffer..just they suffer while alive)

Mystery Haunt locals were warned not to summon both of them on Valentine's Day since the risk of getting attacked is high. They were also warned to not destroy the workshop as the sounds of Night's cries and pleas will be heard and Dawn will kill you for making Night cry. The same goes to Dawn but its the date of Night's murder, Night will be haunted you until she decided to make you into a stuffed toy. Will you be willing to summon the twins and face them with pride? Or will you be a part of their collections of puppets,dolls, and stuffed toys just like the rest of their victims?

Isolabella Duvessa Tsukii

Cause of change: The Death of her child and the ones responsible for the child's death.

Isolabella Duvessa Tsukii aka Tsukii or The Two faced Kistune is a yokai from the cemeteries from each homeland of Twisted Wonderland. There are many stories of how she got where she is today but there is a true story for her. She used to be The Gentle Kistune by the innocence and even risk revealing herself to take care of children and the elderly. One day while in her spot in the cemetery of Queendom of Roses, she comes across a child who is lost and seems abandoned by its parents. Tsukii later adopted the child as her own and raised the child to the best of her ability as the child calls her mom. The Yokai thought that her life with her child will be perfect..until one day, she was in horror as her child was found near the alleyway..covered in bruises and wounds. Transforming to a human girl, Tsukii went to her child's corpse and just cried as she failed to save her child from their demise. She later found out that a gang had killed her child for information about her..and they killed the child because the child refused to speak. Legends says her heart completely changed at the information..her heart was split into two halves and she shows disdain, hatred, and disgust towards the guilty. Legends say that you will see her helping the innocence and punishing the guilty, still mourning over her child's death.

Eyes of Judgement Ritual

This ritual is a very special one since it involved her eyes and your soul along with your responses to her test. Locals advise to keep certain questions to yourself and do not be rude to her as her eyes will show a lot more danger than any of her friends.

You will need;

a mask of a kistune or any other animal mask

anything that involved fashion

A sharp object

Your blood

red and black markers

a cemetery at exactly 8:20pm

and your questions

Directions;

Go to the cemetery at exactly 8:20pm alone as bringing company is considered disrespectful to her thus she will not appear nor respond.

You need to walk around the cemetery until you see a spot where there is a stone circle surrounded by flowers.

Once there, you will need to draw a pair of eyes that are closed, make sure it's large enough. The larger the drawing, the better the result for the ritual will have.

Place the items around the eye drawings

You need to prick your skin to draw blood while chanting this;

"Tsukii..Tsukii..Tsukii the two faced Kistune. Give me the Test of Judgement. If I pass, I am safe. And If I fail..show me the true meaning of despair and fear. Invite me to the afterlife."

Wait for a few moments. And if you see your drawings of closed eyes started to open by itself, the environment changes until you are in her domain and she stands on the broken tombstone with her eyes covered by a blindfold in front of you and spoke. "Pass the Test of Judgement and let me know your soul at the end." When you hear that, the ritual and test will begin. Be warned: Tsukii is very observant and despises cheaters. And after the test, she will take off her blindfold to reveal her eyes with slit pupils, checking and observing your soul carefully

Results;

If you fail the test and your soul is tainted, both her eyes and the eye drawing will show skulls as pupils. She will invite you to join the afterlife by killing you brutally..claiming another sinner to her afterlife

If you fail the test and your soul is innocent, her eyes will soften along with the eye drawing. She will congratulate you by giving you her blessing thus protecting you for the rest of your life

Pass the test but your soul is tainted, she asks you if you cheated thus making a new test to prove that you cheated or not(Either way Tsukii will punish you for being guilty. It varies how she punished a guilty person)

Pass the test and you are innocent, she will show a happy expression on her face and ask you to keep a piece of her with them as a reward for passing her test

Pass the test and it's a child..it results from her tearing up and adopting the child in a heart beat. Not wanting another child to die again

Many people found one way to trigger a toxic and hostile reaction from her. Mentioning her child and teasing her for it will result from her going to a blood rage, killing anyone who mock her mourning for her deceased child. Not many people survived her attacks but those who do revealed that they can see her eyes in the dark, glaring at them with pure hatred and disgust as if she was daring them to mock her suffering again. Messing with a spirit of a child is a disrespectful move but angering a yokai with a history of brutal and cruel punishments for the guilty while still mourning for her child? That is a death wish. Will you be brave enough to pass the Eyes of Judgement and see if your soul is innocent or not by the Two Faced Kistune? As the saying goes.."Innocent unless proven guilty."

#Jeanne Keket #Nightshade Libya #Dawn Libya #Isolabella Duvessa Tsukii #Sapphire Lake Dorm #TWST AU #Random oc ideas

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fullscoreshenanigans · 1 year ago

Note

Hey =) I would like to ask you something. I work on my fics and i would like to have your opinion of what kind of job Isabella, Mathilda and Sienne would/could have in the human world?

I think that a lot of sisters/mothers have enough qualifications to be nursery nurse (especially Isabella and the others mothers of the differents premium farms, who have raised like 100 kids in 12 years at least), maybe one of the three could decide to become one. Or elementary school teacher? I could see some of all the sisters/mothers choose this way because they didn't have as much possibilities than that with their skills :/ (and some of them loves taking care of kids)

Maybe that if Mathilda or Sienna love to cook, they could open (together or only one of them alone) a little tea saloon/coffee shop? Some Sisters/Mothers have skills in cooking so maybe some would open alone or together a backery, a cofffee shop, ect... so maybe Mathilda and Sienna could do that together? (Not Isabella because cooking isn't her best skill ^^")

Maybe a florist?

Maybe Isabella has spend enough time to raises babies and would want a change? And would open a library?

I could see some of all the sisters/mothers choose this way because they didn't have as much possibilities than that with their skills :/ (and some of them loves taking care of kids)

I'd be really careful with implementing this framing and phrasing in the narrative unless it's coming from one of the moms/sisters who's feeling overwhelmed or downcast about their future and struggling with adjusting to the human world. They're all victims of the farm system, and what they experienced at headquarters was traumatic—they were forced into an environment that dehumanized them and pitted them against each other, and before the end of their early twenties they were forced to endure systemic medical rape—but it shouldn't be the sole thing that defines them going forward.

Krone's story in the second light novel talks about how sisters would retrain due to how few were able to obtain one of the five mom positions at Grace Field during their lifetimes:

So even if we're defining sisters as those who haven't retrained and branched out into other fields besides childcare, it's incredibly antithetical for a series that's centered around screwing destiny to frame their futures as limited and tied up in bioessentialism. At the same time, there shouldn't be any shame directed at the ones who do end up gravitating toward childcare. With how many children and sisters were brought over, there's going to be a vast array of answers for what each one finds personally fulfilling in life.

(Chapter 170)

With how driven Matilda was at rising in the ranks at headquarters by becoming second in command to Sarah and later Isabella, I could see her starting her own business or working with a non-profit. Something where she's coordinating multiple projects because her Type A personality enjoys the challenge.

Sienna seems like she'd prefer something a bit less stressful, so a coffee shop owner where she can perfect latte art and foster a relaxed environment with live music could be a reasonable future for her.

I've seen Isabella as a florist as part of the backdrop in an AU (specifically every flower's reaching for the sun if you're in the mood for a RE fic) so my mind has been open to the viability of that career path for her for a while. I have such a soft spot for librarian Ray due to @salsae's vowsverse and my own relationship with reading in uni, and with Isabella's similar history of being a voracious reader (albeit under different circumstances), becoming a library director actively involved in the community around her is equally appealing to me.

(TPN Light Novel 2: Moms’ Song of Remembrance - “The Starry Sky and Leslie’s List” Chapter 3)

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suirence · 2 years ago

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genshin men as ur bf (mondstadt)

i legit have not touched tumblr since 2022 so here i am <3 since sumeru's out, i'll be making these hehe! anyways, modern university au?

Venti - i strongly believe he'll be that one dude that the whole campus knows and likes since he's a very friendly person. which also means some people who have grown a liking to Venti somewhat doubts if he truly likes you any different from how he likes his friends. whenever you have insecurities, venti will almost always know immediately and he will not hesitate to smother you with love in order to get such thoughts out of your mind <33

Here you were, locking yourself in your dorm room as you looked at yourself in the mirror, grimacing at whatever part of your body bothered you. Leading your mind to fill up with thoughts on how Venti could even manage being with you, that is, until a knock snapped you out of your train of thoughts.

"My flower? My darling? My love? I can tell what you're thinking again, your roommate let me in. Now open the door pleaaaseee!" Venti asked through the door, followed by multiple knocks. Ah, here he was. He was always ready to come and bathe you in love and positive thoughts, how could you even deserve such a perfect person like him? "You're thinking about how you deserve someone like me yada yada, I can tell my flower, open the door for me?" He asked in a sweet tone. Sometimes you wonder if he can read your mind from a mile away...

---

Diluc - the 'Study first' kinda guy, he probably didn't expect himself to get in a relationship but here he was. He 100% spoils you but also doesn't mind if you insist on paying, he believes that although he loves spoiling you, you just wanna be a lil independent sometimes. He'd treat you like a princess whenever you're feeling down, always reminding you how beautiful/handsome you are.

You snuck into Diluc's dorm room again, you lost count after the fourth time you did, but you didn't want to risk being caught by the dorm managers.

"I sometimes wonder how you manage to sneak in every single time..." He mutters, burying himself into your neck as the both of you laid on his bed.

You let out a small laugh before running your hands through his red hair, you wonder how he doesn't get dress coded by new teachers, but still, his hair is indeed beautiful.

"I love you." You say, which made Diluc look up from his previous position as he gives your cheek a small kiss. "I.. I love you too.." Which quickly led to him burying his face into your neck again. How cute.

---

Albedo - The kid who everyone turns to whenever the teachers say the assignment is art related. Though he doesn't mind helping or giving tips to his fellow schoolmates, he also doesn't mind putting those who become a bit greedy in their place. He definitely gives you small doodles or drawings every once in a while, of course each drawing is you or about you. He also treats you to date nights which consists of you two strolling around while buying food from small stores.

You sighed, looking at the... ninth drawing of you that Albedo has given you in this month alone. "Albedo, dear, I love your drawings but you don't have to keep giving me these.." You say, before looking for the album you've stored all his artworks in.

"Oh, but I thought you liked these portraits of you." He said, looking around your room, noting how a few of his drawings were framed and hung up on the wall or set on your table.

"I do appreciate the thought, but don't you get tired of drawing the same person?" You ask as you slide the paper into the album sleeve, noticing the small hum from Albedo.

"How could I? With a face like yours, one would definitely take their time admiring such a masterpiece." He said, flashing you a small smile. There he was again with his long words and flattering compliments. You turned to him with a fake pout, before storing the album into your drawer.

"You and your poetic words.." You mutter before he extends his hand, opening his palm out for you. "Now, now, I can't have my love be upset with me, can I? I'll take you out on a date, I found this small bakery down the street, they serve exquisite pastries." Sighing at his words, before taking his hand as you walk out of your room, his hand in yours. You loved him a little too much to stay mad at him for a long time.

---

Kaeya - the flirty guy but gets all flustered if you flirt back, plus points if you've never taken his words seriously. He also loves whenever you bring up about styling his hair, he doesn't mind whatever you do with his hair. You being with him is more than enough to make him happy. He takes you on picnic dates, definitely.

You turn to your boyfriend, who had not stopped texting you flirty messages despite being right beside you. "Kaeya, if you want to flirt with me, just say it in front of my face. I'm right here."

He turns to you with a smile, "Oh? But I certainly think sending messages would give a lasting impression, especially since you can come back to them whatever point in your life."

You give him a bored look before reading the texts on your phone. "If you were turned to food, You'd definitely be my favorite. I love cream pi– Kaeya." You say, turning to him with a stoic look.

"Whaat? Don't you think it's sweet?" He asks, suppressing a laugh. "It's inappropriate." He chuckles a bit before turning to you. "How so?" You roll your eyes, "Mind elaborating your 'pick-up' line?" You asked.

"It's easy to understand my dear, you are simply way too good of a person, that even if you were food you'd still be my favorite." He says, giving you a smirk. You hum, racking your brain for a response to his explanation, one that he wouldn't be expecting. After all, all your response to his flirts are mostly laughter or telling him to stop.

"And if you were turned to food," You say, eyeing him up and down. "I wouldn't mind having you every night, pretty boy." You regret whatever you said already, making you look away from him, how could you let such cringe words out of your mouth?

You were about to apologize until you noticed how unresponsive Kaeya was, peeking at him, you noticed a red blush on his cheeks, his mouth agape almost like he was struggling to form words. "What? Can't speak properly from your pretty mouth now?" He turned his face away, burying it into a pillow.

"You— You can't just pull stuff like that..." He muttered, making you laugh as he grumbles even more in embarrassment. Maybe responding to Kaeya like this wasn't so bad.

i already hate this but why not post it?

#genshin impact #genshin headcanons #genshin imagines #mondstadt genshin #venti #diluc #albedo #kaeya

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