#work and the professor was a piece of absolute shit

[zafiro-anyejo]

Something not talked about enough is the sheer stupidity of final exams in high school and college worth 20% of your grade??

I have been out of school for a few years and I still get the little "anxiety heartbeat tippy tappys/have a hard time sleeping" during certain times of the winter and sometimes summer too.

[leaderwonim]

MR. FUCKING BRIGHTSIDE

pairing. slytherin!jake x hufflepuff!fem!reader

summary. although sim jaeyun constantly surrounds himself with douchebags and looks like he could stomp all over a girl’s heart; you knew the real him that was deep inside. but did you really?

genre. hogwarts!au, ANGST, bits of fluff, right person wrong circumstances, forbidden/secret love

warnings. jake can be a bit of an asshole, the insult “mudblood” is used, slytherin gets shitted on as a house (dw, i’m a slytherin 😭)

Sim Jaeyun, or everybody knew him as Jake, the sixth year Slytherin, seeker of his house’s Quidditch team, and nevertheless, charming to every girl that has stepped foot in his proximity.

Half of your friends would disagree—that he was not charming but rather just another slithering snake in the worst possible house at Hogwarts.

Jake’s friend group consisted of three people: Draco Malfoy, Blaise, and Pansy Parkinson. They just so happen to be an insufferable lot, maybe except Blaise who minded his own business half of the time.

“Today you will be working in pairs.” Professor McGonagall states, fixing her glasses as she holds a stroll of paper. “I’ve already decided them, absolutely no changes.”

There’s groans that fill the room, one of whom you recognize as no other than Jake.

“Seriously? I wanted to pair up with Blaise!” He whines, earning a glare from Draco. “What? C’mon Dray, we both know you and I don’t get anything done.”

“Alright,” Professor McGonagall clears her throat. “Blaise Zabini with Nancy Drumswell, Aidan Callaghan with Hermione Granger, Harry Potter with Neville Longbottom, Draco Malfoy with Pansy Parkinson, and finally, Jaeyun Sim with Y/N L/N.”

You don’t blink when you realize who your partner is. Rather, you just sigh a bit in defeat, coming to the conclusion that you cannot do anything to convince McGonagall to change partners.

“Hey.” Jake plops himself down on the seat next to you, laughing as Draco gives him a shove on the way to his own table.

“Hi.” You murmur, suddenly finding your yellow robe more interesting than him.

“I’ve never been paired with a Hufflepuff before.” He grins, the shit eating grin that weirdly captives your senses. “Are you guys as nice as you claim to be?”

“I don’t know Jaeyun, you tell me.”

Jake’s eyes widen before he lets out a giggle. “Jaeyun? No one ever calls me that anymore.”

You shrug, sliding him the piece of paper with the instructions to your project. “You can stop by the Hufflepuff dormitories at 8, I’ll be done with dinner by then and I’ll open it for you.”

“Sounds like a plan sweetheart.”

You cringe at his words, the obvious disdain on your face makes him laugh even harder.

“I’ll see you then.” He whispers, and just like a movie, stands up as soon as McGonagall dismisses the class, merging into one with his friends.

♡;

Just as the clock struck eight, you heard a knock. Your books, pens, and parchment were spread out in front of you, eagerly waiting to be used.

As you slowly get up to open the door, you’re met face to face with Jake, who entered the room with a confident stride

"Hey there, Y/N," Jake greeted, flashing you a charming smile as he took a seat across from your side of the table.

"Hey," you politely turn his smile. "Ready to tackle this project?"

"Absolutely," he affirmed, pulling out his own notes and spreading them out on the table. "I've got some ideas already. How about you?"

You nodded, slightly impressed by Jake's readiness to dive into the work. "I've been brainstorming as well. Maybe we can combine our ideas and come up with something great."

As the two of you began discussing your approaches to the project, youcouldn't help but notice how articulate and intelligent Jake was when he wasn't surrounded by his usual group of friends. His confidence shone through, but it was paired with a genuine interest in the subject matter that caught you off guard.

"You sure sound different when you’re not around Draco," You remarked.

Jake only chuckled, a hint of self-deprecation in his voice. "Yeah, well, I guess I don't always show this side of me around my friends. They have a different idea of what's cool."

You can only nod in understanding, realizing that Jake was more complex than you had initially assumed.

As you continued working, you couldn’t help but find yourself paying closer attention to the small details about him—the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the soft lilt in his voice when he explained a concept, the way his eyes sparkled with passion for the project.

"Thanks for coming, Jake," you say, offering him a genuine smile. "I really enjoyed working with you."

Jake returned your smile, his eyes meeting yours with a warmth that sent a sudden flutter through your heart. "Anytime, Y/N. I had a great time too."

As you bid each other goodnight, you couldn’t help but suddenly miss his presence, something you didn’t expect to happen with just one session with him.

♡;

In your second studying session, you and Jake found yourselves engrossed in their project once again. This time, you two decided to move to a quiet corner of the library, away from prying eyes and distractions. The Hufflepuff dorms were too crowded, and you knew you’d rather die than step into the Slytherin dormitory as a Hufflepuff.

As you discussed your research findings, you couldn't help but notice how Jake's demeanor had softened since your last meeting. He seemed more relaxed, more open, as if he felt comfortable letting his guard down around you.

Jake suddenly reached across the table to grab a book, his hand brushing against yours in the process. It was a simple gesture, but it sent a jolt of electricity coursing through your veins, leaving you quite literally breathless for a moment. “Here Y/N, I heard this book was good for this particular topic.”

Your eyes met briefly, and you felt your cheeks flush with warmth.

“Thanks,” you murmur, looking down slightly.

Jake smiled back at you, seemingly oblivious to the effect his touch had on you. For a person who charms so much girls, you’d think he know how much his advances affected others.

“No problem, seems like we got a lot done within these 2 days huh?”

"Yeah, it seems so," you reply softly.

Even though it had only been 2 nights, in those quiet moments, away from the prying eyes of their classmates, you had realized just how much you actually enjoyed Jake's company. He wasn't just the annoying Slytherin she had initially pegged him to be—he was kind, intelligent, and surprisingly easy to talk to.

"I guess that's it for tonight," Jake said, a hint of disappointment in his voice. “Can’t believe they only allow Prefects in the library past ten.”

"Yeah," you groan, feeling a pang of sadness at the thought of saying goodbye. "But we'll see each other again soon, right?"

Jake nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Definitely. Let’s just hope Malfoy doesn’t ruin it.”

♡;

As you made your way through the corridors of Hogwarts with Hermione, you spotted Jake surrounded by his Slytherin friends, including Draco and Pansy. Suddenly feeling the wave of confidence at the sight of him, you decided to muster up the courage to approach him.

But as you drew nearer, you noticed a subtle shift in Jake's demeanor. His usual friendly expression hardened, and a smirk spread across his lips as he turned to face you and Hermione.

"Look who it is, boys," Draco says, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Little Miss Hufflepuff herself."

Jake and Pansy chuckled, exchanging knowing glances with Draco as if they were in on some inside joke. Your smile faltered, confusion and hurt swirling in your chest as you struggled to make sense of Jake's sudden change in attitude.

"Um, hi, Jaeyun," you replied, voice barely above a whisper as you fought to keep her composure.

"Seriously? Jaeyun? That’s hysterical.” Pansy laughs, as if it was the funniest thing in the world.

“What's the matter, Y/N? Can't find anyone from your own house so you bother our Jake here?” Draco continues to taunt you, his words like daggers aimed straight at your heart. “Or should I say Jaeyun?”

You felt your cheeks burn with embarrassment as the laughter of Jake's friends echoed in your ears. You had never felt so small, so insignificant to the group in front of you.

“I was hoping to discuss our project.” You say quietly, looking at anyone but Jake.

Hermione could sense your hostility, pulling you close to her side as she gave Draco a snarl.

“Listen Y/N,” Jake says, “all that crap you Hufflepuffs preach about loving each other and expressing feelings is a lie. No one really cares about what you have to say.”

“Alright, that’s enough!” Hermione says, shielding you by putting herself in front of your frame. “What has gotten into you?”

But Jake just shrugged her off, his smirk widening into a sneer. "Mind your own business, mudblood. This doesn't concern you."

Feeling the sting of tears threatening to spill from your eyes, you quickly turn on your heel and fled down the corridor, desperate to escape the humiliation of Jake's cruel words.

Had you really been so stupid to place your trust in Sim Jaeyun knowing full well his reputation? By the looks of it, all answers pointed to yes.

♡;

By 7pm, the sun had dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow across the surface of the Black Lake just in front of the Slytherin Common Rooms.

“Y/N?” Almost as if he knew exactly where you were, Jake shows up in front of you, making you give him a glare.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N," he murmured, his voice tinged with remorse as he avoided your gaze. He takes a seat next to you on the grass, his fingers tracing patterns across them in nervousness. "I messed up back there. I let my pride get the best of me, and I hurt you in the process. I should have stood up for you."

You sighed, your heart heavy with disappointment but softened by Jake's sincerity.

“I don’t get it,” you say. “One moment you’re all kind and sincere around me, and the next, you say all these things like I’m worth nothing.”

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, the air filled with the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant calls of birds. Then, Jake spoke again, his voice hesitant but earnest. "I guess my friends just have an influence on me that I can’t control. I’m sorry for what I said earlier, you’re one of the kindest people I've ever met, Y/N. I admire that about you."

You slightly smiled, a warm flush spreading across your cheeks. "Thank you, Jake. That means a lot to me."

As the sky darkened and stars began to twinkle overhead, the two of you continued to talk, laughter mingling with the night air.

♡;

The next night was one of the more important nights at Hogwarts. Everybody had finished their exams—and the Ravenclaws decided to throw a party at their Commons.

The music throbbed as you entered with Ron Weasley, who, at the sight of his twin brothers, ran towards them. You roll your eyes at his behavior, and start pulsing through the crowded room, a plastic smile plastered on your face.

You notice Jake in the corner, sipping on what looked like a bottle of beer. He exchanged nods and greetings with those around him, his eyes scanning the room for something—someone.

But before you could gawk at him any longer, Draco cut in smoothly, his tone laced with mockery. "Oh, look who decided to show up. Did you bring your Hufflepuff friend to the party, Jake? How charming."

Pansy giggled, her eyes glittering with malice as she looked at you up and down. "I didn't know us Slytherins were into charity work."

“Guys, seriously? Cut it out,” Jake gulps, eyes directly meeting yours.

“He’s right,” Blaise says, and you swear it’s the most you’ve ever heard out of him. “Don’t ruin the party.”

“Whatever.” Pansy throws her hand in mock surrender. “Wouldn’t want to make the Hufflepuff cry.”

Hermione comes to your rescue right after Pansy throws you a glare.

“Piss off.” She says, interlocking her arms with yours.

“Thanks ‘Mione.” You thank her softly as you’re lead away from the lot. “For saving me back there.”

“Always,” she smiles. “Now cmon, I heard Ron’s already drunk!”

You two giggle at that, you letting Hermione lead the way into the crowd of people.

♡;

It’s about 2 hours later and the Ravenclaw party is still loud as ever, filled with with laughter and music.

Despite the Weasley twins making a full ruckus of themselves, your eyes were drawn to a figure slumped in a corner. It was Jake, only this time, he looked uncharacteristically vulnerable, his face pale and contorted with some type of emotion you hadn’t seen before.

Concern etched onto your features, and your body felt itself navigating through the crowd of people until you’re knelt beside him. "Jake? Are you alright? Where’s Draco?”

He lifted his head, and you swore you felt your heart clenched at the sight of his glassy eyes and trembling lips. "I'm fine," he mumbled, but his voice betrayed the lie.

"No, you're not," you reply softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

Jake swallowed hard, his gaze flickering with a mix of emotions. "It's... it's nothing," he slurred, but his words lacked conviction.

You stayed silent, sensing he needed to unburden himself. After a moment, he spoke again, his voice raw with emotion. "Do you think I’m good for nothing?”

"What?" You asked gently, your heart sinking as you watched him struggle to form his thoughts.

"I mean look at this, look at me," Jake gestured vaguely, gesturing to the party around the two of you. "This charade I constantly put on. Pretending to be someone I'm not."

Your brows furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." Jake trailed off, his breath hitching. "Was it all worth the six years of be pretending to be who I wasn’t? Pretending to be the egoistic charming Slytherin everyone claims to know so well?”

Jake pauses before looking up at you, his eyes swimming with unshed tears. "You know I care about you a lot, right? I like you, a lot.”

“You do?” You say quietly, brushing a few loose strands of hair out of his eyes.

“But we just can’t.”

“What?”

“Why not?”

"Because,” Jake's voice cracked, and he looked away. "Because I wish you were in Slytherin."

You felt your heart shatter into a million pieces at his words. You almost knew it then, with a painful realization that you could never compete with the loyalty he felt towards his house and the expectations placed upon him by his housemates.

Tears stung your eyes as you realized there was nothing she could do to change his mind. With a heavy heart, you rose to your feet.

“Well I’m sorry then, Jake.” You say, turning around so he wouldn’t see your tears.

And as you walked away, the echoes of his confession lingered in your mind, haunting your thoughts with the bitter realization that sometimes, love simply wasn't enough.

[dollysilena]

IMPERFECT FOR YOU (18+)

you, doing a friend a favor, have to tutor miya osamu. but instead of learning about chemistry, he’s more interested in learning about you.

WC: 5.8k (send an ambulance)

WARNINGS: explicit drug (marijuana) usage, dubcon (sex under the influence), mentions of female anatomy and female identifying reader, use of ‘baby’ as petname, this is severely under-edited i’m so sorry

TAGS: frat/popular!osamu x nerdy/unpopular!reader, f!reader, porn with (some) plot, college au, post-timeskip, smut, hair-pulling, cunnilingus, petnames, reader has anxiety somebody pls give her a hug, if you get a magnifying glass osamu has a corruption kink

NOTE: i needed a palate cleanser so i can get back into writing so thus this was born. i intend to make this a mini-series (maybe?) or maybe just blurbs/headcanon series, who knows! let me know what you guys want <3

“Absolutely not.”

“C’mon,” Your friend whines, folding her hands together in mock begging, giving you the best puppy eyes she could muster even throwing in a quivering lip for her dramatic performance. “He’s a perfectly nice guy!”

“So what you’re telling me, this guy–” You begin, dumping a sugar packet into your coffee.

“Who I’m tutoring.”

“Right. The guy you tutor, who never comes to class–”

You stir your coffee. She nervously chuckles.

“Who is on the verge of failing–”

You stab your straw into the cup. She lets out a tense ‘mhm’.

“And needs to pass this final to avoid being on academic probation–”

You raise the straw to your mouth. She nervously fiddles with her fingers.

“... Needs to be tutored by me instead?”

You take a sip of your coffee as your friend shrinks into the booth seat. 

“Well, you didn’t have to put it like that,” she grumbles through a slurp of her drink.

You should have known that when your best friend offered to take you out to your favorite cafe, on her, she was up to something. And you knew that when she bought you your favorite muffin, she was going to be asking you something ridiculous. The last time you were offered a free muffin, you ended up having to pretend to her parents that you were dying in the emergency room so that she could sneak out to her hookup’s place. 

The plan almost worked until they came to visit you out of concern, only to find you both not there. She was grounded for another two months.

You turn to her.

“And why can’t you do it?” Your friend was supposed to be the one tutoring him, so you were confused about why it suddenly had to be you instead.

“Because,” She grumbles as if it were obvious. “I’m already busy trying to pass my own exams, that stupid research paper for Professor Takeda is driving me crazy, babysitting my piece of shit brother–”

Translation: I’m in over my head.

“Besides, everyone knows you’re a genius and you’ll pass no matter what, so why not take on a charity case in your free time, huh?” 

She grins at you, not bothering to hide her obvious attempt at fluffing your ego to convince you.

“Does this guy even have a shot at passing?” You sigh, taking a sip of your latte. “I mean, if he doesn’t bother to come to class, how much effort do you think he’s gonna put–”

“He’s a smart guy, trust me! It’s just… y’know how college is.”

Right, he’s a college guy. He was probably knee-deep in parties instead of his textbooks.

“Why’s it on you to let this guy pass? I mean, it’s not your problem–”

“Well, his brother sorta said if I’d help him, I’d be invited to all the frat parties on campus this semester…” There it is.

She trails off but still stares at you with pleading eyes, and you notice her sliding her muffin towards you.

“You’re not gonna let up on this, are you?” You ask as you inspect the blueberry-crusted pastry now on your plate. 

“Nope,” she replies, popping the ‘p’ and grinning with her coffee straw dangling in her mouth. “Does it help that he’s super cute?”

You sigh again and pinch your nose bridge. She takes your lack of response as a victory.

“Great! I already told him that you’d come by tonight. I’ll send you his address and phone number–”

“You told him I was coming before you even knew I’d agree?!”

“Well, what else were you gonna do tonight? And don’t tell me you’re gonna watch that shitty soap opera again.”

Again, you don’t have an answer. Maybe because she’s already said it for you. But it’s not shitty! It’s romantic, moving, thrilling– okay, yeah, you’re starting to hear yourself. Maybe you shouldn’t stay in tonight.

“Fine, where does he live?”

“You have to be fucking kidding me.”

At no point did your friend mention to you that the address she was sending you to would be a frat house.

You thought it was odd that the address was in the dead center of campus– but you figured that whoever you were tutoring happened to get an apartment with a great location. It should’ve been obvious to you that this area would be Greek life housing when you realize all the houses on the block were way too nice to be afforded by a typical college student. You have never stepped foot on this end of campus. Well, you hadn’t, until now.

You should’ve stayed home, nose-deep in the romance novel weighing down in your bag. But now, you’re standing on the front porch of one of the most popular frat’s on campus.

“I’m gonna kill you,” you sneer into the phone pressed to your ear.

“Quit your yapping! It’s not like there’s a party going on or something.” You could practically see your friend rolling her eyes through the phone.

You anxiously dart your eyes throughout the house exterior. It’s massive, obviously well-funded based on how nearly every window seems to be polished, and definitely better than the shitty dorm you lived in a few blocks away. You couldn’t help but dread imagining how many frat brothers lived inside.

“I’m gonna leave–”

“Hey brat, put that down!” She screeches to presumably her younger brother on the other end of the line. “Ugh, gotta go. Have fun!”

“Wait!--”

She already ends the call before you can say anything else, and you fume at her contact information staring back at you. Seriously, if somebody axe-murdered you here, you’d make sure to haunt your friend for the rest of her life.

You weigh your decisions– a part of you wants to bolt back to your dorm, imagining the comfortable blanket and pillow resting on your bed practically awaiting your return, or you could not chicken out and actually fulfill the promise you made to your friend.

Damnit, you knew you had to pick the latter. You’d feel really shitty if you didn’t.

Besides, you’d never hear the end of it if you ran out with your tail between your legs.

You ready yourself to knock on the door, admittedly through a few deep breaths first, and as your fist is about to meet the wood of the door, it swings open from the inside. Had you been a second quicker, you probably would have tapped your tutee in the face.

Except, now that you’re looking at him, he’s quite tall. It would be more at his chest than anything. His broad chest was covered in a tight black shirt, with strong shoulders… In fact, you couldn’t even see his face if you were simply staring forward. 

“Ya the tutor?” He states simply, breaking your train of thought.

You look at him to notice that there’s a face attached to the chest you were staring at. You look up, and dammit, your friend was right. He was super cute.

His hair is dark, with heavy gray eyes– bored and lazily staring at you, dumbfounded on his doorstep There’s a series of tattoos snaking beneath his shirt and piercings you couldn’t even begin to count– you nearly forget that you have to respond.

“Uhm– yeah, that’s me,” you reply, trying to regain your mental footing. “You’re Osamu, right?” 

“Mhm, come on in,” he says, sticking his hands into loose gray sweatpants…. You should really stop staring. Or at least pretend you have a semblance of class.

You step inside and slip off your shoes as you briefly inspect your surroundings. The frat house is above all else, what you expected. Minus for the fact it actually seemed clean despite the typical frat stereotypes you heard– though, you’re sure their cushy funding got them cleaning services. There’s no way a bunch of college guys living together could keep a big house like this clean without some help.

However, that makes you take note that there is a lack of frat brothers in the frat house.

“Are ya just gonna stand there and stare or come inside?” Osamu remarks and your spine grows twice as stiff. You nod quickly and follow him inside and he leads you to what seems like a living room area– some couches and chairs around a TV and coffee table.

Osamu gestures for you to sit and you cautiously sit down, as if the couch had a trap door, leading you to fall into whatever scary basement sat beneath the house.

“Where’s–” You clear your throat, hoping you can keep a firm voice. “-- the rest of your brothers?”

“All of ‘em left on a trip for the weekend, somethin’ ‘bout a party at another school, but I gotta stay back and study for this damn final.”

You quickly pull out the textbooks and notebooks from your bag and place them on the table to ignore Osamu, who takes a seat beside you. He makes you unbearably nervous like you’re about to drop on a rollercoaster. But Osamu is… He’s… stoic? No, that’s not right. Maybe calm was the right word. You wouldn’t know– you’re anything but calm right now.

No, because, quite frankly Osamu looks like he was plucked straight out of one of the daydream sequences you fall asleep to. And you feel like your heart is about to burst out of your chest from how fast it was racing.

“So, you need help with medicinal chemistry?” You notice your voice is an octave higher than what it usually is.

“Yeah, I missed too many classes and now I don’t have a fucking clue what’s going on,” he sighed, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. Whatever you do, do not look at the way his arms are flexing or the distinctive veins charting throughout his forearms.

“We can start–” you flipped through your textbook to avoid staring at his arms any longer, “with the chapter on structure-based relationships–”

“Yer not who I thought Yuki would send.”

“I’m sorry?” You sputter back, and you think that your glasses pivot off your face. You were taken aback, did he think you were somebody else? Was he expecting someone else or?--

“She’s one of my brother’s friends. And my brother… Well, I don’t think ya would hang out with the likes of him.”

Oh, that’s what it was.

He was disappointed that you weren’t… someone more interesting, like your friend, or the people he knew in his frat, or…

It doesn’t matter. You should’ve expected this. After all, you’re just the tutor he has to tolerate for a few lessons until he passes his final. 

But still, you feel some sort of rejection. You couldn’t blame him, his Friday night was being wasted on some nerd who couldn’t even look him properly in the eye because she wasn’t used to being near cute guys, let alone one of the most attractive guys she had seen in, well, ever.

“Don’t look like that, I think that’s a good thing.”

“I look like what?” Your hand flies to your face, instinctively going to hide it.

“Like I kicked yer puppy,” he muses. 

You look back at him, and you see that he’s almost amused by your nerves. Your cheeks burn and you feel the need to wrap the cardigan you had on tighter around you, as if the wooly cotton would act as some sort of shield. But Osamu’s still right beside you, and you feel as if he’s intercepting some sort of barrier between you. But he sits still next to you.

“I like it, ya seem chill, and better than the damn morons I’m always ‘round. Yer a nice change of pace.”

A nice change of pace? You didn’t think that anyone would find your company… enjoyable.

“Please,” you laugh. The idea of you being chill momentarily makes you forget about your nerves. If only Osamu knew half the thoughts racing through your mind. “I’m a goody-two-shoes, and definitely not chill.”

“What, ya a good girl or somethin’?” 

You falter. You glance back at him and notice that his eyes still haven’t left you.

“What?” You say, but it comes out more like a squeak. You’re not dumb, you could hear the indication ever so slightly tinged in his voice.

“Ya just interest me, I guess. Wanna know ‘bout ya.” You hear slight amusement in his tone. 

“So tell me, what makes you a goody two shoes?”

“I, uhm–” You barely are processing an answer with the way his dark-rimmed eyes bore at you. “Well, I haven’t ever smoked–”

“Weed or–?”

You shake your head. “Neither.”

“Ya drink?”

“Sometimes. Not often. I don’t go to parties or anything like that, and drinking alone is kinda depressing so–”

He snorts. You aren’t sure why you were answering his sudden questions, you were just here to tutor him in chemical structures. But something about his presence beside you is commanding and you feel the need to comply.

“Maybe we can change that sometime.”

You barely compute what he just said before he turns to the textbook in front of you.

“So what’s this ‘bout structure activity?”

Osamu’s smarter than what you expect for a student possibly facing academic probation. Honestly, you question if he had ever needed you in the first place. He’s quick to pick up on the topics you lay out, and he probably could have self-taught himself most of the material if he applied himself. 

Or showed up to class, but you keep that thought to yourself.

“That’s pretty much all of chapter five,” you say, closing the textbook in front of you.

“I honestly think if you just kept studying on your own, you don’t need me to tutor you, I can send you some videos too if you’d like, but I think that you’re fine–”

“Nah, I’d prefer if ya came over.”

He says it simply in a lazy drawl. But for you, it sends your brain into overdrive. You feel like a computer whose code has an error but keeps trying to run its system. 

“Oh– Alright– I can come around sometime next week then.” You barely maintain to keep your composure. You just needed to be on auto-pilot until you got home, where you could properly freak out in the sanctity of your own room.

“Ya okay with late nights? Stupid frat schedule keeps me busier than I’d like to be.” He asks.

You nod your head. “Mhm, I’m fine being over late.”

“That too much for ya?” And there’s a lazy smile across his lips. “Ya got a bedtime or something?”

You give him another small laugh. “No, I usually stay up late anyway.”

“Ya stay up late? Doin’ what?” 

There it is again. That sliver of amusement in his tone, as if he knows something that you don’t. But he keeps his calm demeanor, the one that makes you question if you’re just reading too much into things.

“Reading, watching shows, y’know, the normal stuff.”

Reading the stack of romance novels piled in your dorm until you see the sun peak through your blinds, watching soap operas until the screen asks ‘Are you still watching?’ because they assumed you left it open when in reality you’ve watched about five hours worth of television, dreaming, and wondering if someday you could attain even a fraction of the romance you see in fiction.

Yeah, the normal stuff.

At least for you, anyway. But hell would freeze over before you admit that. 

Especially to Osamu, who you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of a flutter in your chest for.

“That’s all ya got planned for Friday night?” He hums, fingers absentmindedly twirling a pencil in his free hand.

“Yup,” you reply, softly. Great, now he probably thinks you’re a loser just like everyone else. You should have just told him you were going to head to a party, like any other normal college student your age.

“Ya wanna do somethin’ with me, then? I’m bored as hell being in this house all alone.”

For a moment, you think that you hear him wrong. Certainly, a guy, as hot, as intimidating, and– and so many things you’re not, and certainly couldn’t match to, was offering to hang out with you. No way, this doesn’t happen. Not to girls like you.

“You wanna hang out with me? Like right now?”

“Would ya prefer a different time, then?” His tone though, doesn’t suggest that he wants to reschedule. It’s painfully sardonic. It seems like it would be now, or not at all.

“N-no. I’d…”

For once, you have a chance to not have a nose in a book. To not spend your weekend alone wondering if that was going to be the rest of your college life. You have the chance to do something for yourself. 

And something as simple as hanging out with a cute guy on a Friday night could be the start of that.

You sit up straighter and hold your head up. Something is tickling in your chest as you look back at Osamu, finally meeting back those eyes that couldn’t seem to stop studying you.

“Yeah, I’d like to.”

Something is screaming inside you. This is unfamiliar territory. This is foreign. Leave now. Abort mission. But you shove it down, you weren’t stopping while you were already ahead. New is good, you told yourself. But you still feel the urge to bolt out the door to cower under your covers.

You had put all your school supplies back into your bag and nestled yourself into the corner of the couch, making yourself as small as can be. Osamu said you two could ‘watch a movie and chill’. You could do something as simple as a movie, right? 

“Ya comfy?” He asks.

“Yeah, thank you,” you say quietly, as if speaking up would take up more space in the room.

“I can tell that yer nervous,” he comments. It was that obvious, huh?

“Yeah, I don’t…” you pause to collect yourself, “usually do this.”

“Hang out with guys only after a few hours of meeting ‘em?” He laughs, relaxing himself on the couch.

“Hang out with guys,” you mutter under your breath.

“What’d ya say?” He says, looking over at you questioningly. It seems he heard you.

“I don’t hang out with guys, at all,” you replied, tone clearer now, “much less cute ones–”

Shit, shit, shit. You didn’t mean to say the last part.

“Ya think I’m cute?”

You wondered if you sank deeper into the couch, that’d you’d disappear completely.

“I mean, yeah– you’re attractive, of course.” He has to know that, right? A guy like him definitely knows he’s attractive. “And usually… guys like you don’t hang out with… people like me, that’s all.”

You’re not sure where the sudden gust of courage comes from, considering you were so anxious moments ago– but the question spills out from your mouth before you can think twice about it.

“Why’d you want me to hang out with you?” You ask suddenly, turning to him.

“Maybe ‘cause I think yer cute,” he states simply as if it were an easy answer, leaning back and looking back at the TV.

You haven’t been paying attention to whatever movie Osamu turned on– What was this? Some slasher flick?-- Something with a girl shrieking at the top of her lungs while obviously fake blood pours out of her. It’s ridiculous and you would laugh if there wasn’t a weight weighing on your mind– the weight is also sitting right next to you.

No, you can’t notice the terrible special effects when you know Osmau is beside you– warm and taking up the majority of the space on the already small couch you’re both sitting on.

You can’t help but have your brain go into overdrive over what Osamu said. Did he just call you cute and then drop the topic? What were you supposed to do? Just watch the movie and just not address it? Is this what guys did? Is that how you flirt?-- you have a lack of answers. Mostly due to a lack of experience.

You spend the first thirty minutes of the movie wondering if you were just imagining Osamu slowly inching towards your half of the couch. By the time the first half of the movie is through and the killer is on his third victim, you decide you’re right when you realize that Osamu’s thigh is ghosting yours.

Now you really can’t deny it. 

A part of you thinks Osamu wants to be closer to you. 

But also, he could just be doing it subconsciously.

It’s probably the latter, but maybe…

“I can hear yer heartbeat from here,” Osamu practically chuckles from beside you.

“What?”

You try not to stammer it. You fail, anyway.

“I can tell that yer nervous, relax. I don’t bite.”

No, you’re certain that Osamu doesn’t bite. But you know that he’s close to you. Which could be worse. In fact, that is worse.

It’s worse because your senses are going haywire from how close he is.

You can tell he smells good. He smells better than whatever cologne sample you’ve ever smelled in a store or magazine. He smells like– what’s the term? Musky? Woody? You aren’t sure, you just know it’s slowly becoming your favorite scent.

You can feel his body heat, warm and consuming. You can hear his breaths– low and steady. You focus on all these other things to ignore the fact he’s boring his dark eyes straight into you.

“I got something for ya,” Osamu suddenly remarks. “Stay right there.”

You barely process what he says before he removes himself from the couch, and heads out of the living room.

Your brain isn’t able to overanalyze like it usually does because Osamu is back in about a minute. Your defenses are still up. What could he possibly have for you? Your mind is sprawling with questions as Osamu plops himself right back beside you.

“C’mere, this should help yer nerves,” Osamu hums, as he wraps an arm around your waist to pull you closer to him.

You don’t ignore the way you feel his hands skimming over the sliver of exposed skin between your sweater and jeans, like hot coals brushing against you.

 “Ya never smoked before, right?”

“No, I’ve never…” You realize that what he was holding in between his fingers was a freshly rolled blunt.

“Would ya like to try?”

You couldn’t lie, you’ve always been curious to try, especially since your friends were always talking about how ‘amazing’ it made them feel and how it would do wonders for your nerves. 

You look at the blunt between his fingers cautiously and peek back at him.

“It’ll be okay, I got ya, nothing to worry yer pretty little head about.” 

Pretty. Did he call you pretty? He has you?-- Fuck it, you needed something to put out the fires of your nerves.

“Okay, let’s do it,” you nod meekly.

“Attagirl,” Osamu grinned lazily. You don’t even bother to think about that comment, either. If you did, you’d be dead in a minute.

You watch as Osamu digs around the coffee table for a lighter, which is conveniently laid out on the table, as if ready for this moment. You watch as he flicks a flame to the blunt. He languidly takes a hit, and the smoke that hits the air is pungent. You’re glad there’s a window cracked open so the smell doesn’t collect in the room. 

You should be studying his motions to mimic them for when it's your turn, but instead, you drink in the fact that he looks oh so fucking attractive. 

He leans back on the couch, and you watch the way he tips his head back to blow out the smoke into the air above. You study the way veins flow through his neck and the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he exhales. You feel– fuzzy, warm. Are you high already? There’s a heat creeping from your chest, and you think you feel dizzy.

Yeah, you’re high. Totally. That has to be it.

When Osamu takes a look back at you, you avert your stare to your lap– reminding yourself that you’re acting odd. Cool girls don’t gawk at a guy smoking a blunt, they would– Well, you have no idea what they would do actually because you’re not cool.

And that’s obvious from the way you look at the blunt in Osamu’s hand like he’s handing you an unpinned grenade.

Osamu clocks in on the terror painted on your face. It’s so obvious somebody ten miles away could probably sense the nerves emitting from your body. You’re hoping you aren’t giving the deer-in-headlights look you usually have.

But you definitely are.

Osamu’s face softens at you.

“Do ya still wanna try? Ya don’t have to if ya don’t wanna–”

“Nono! I wanna try it.” you nearly jump at Osamu’s words. You’re a lot of things– nervous, nerdy, probably weird if you asked the guy who sat next to you in chemistry, but maybe that’s because he’s seen you write in three separate color-coded planners before. 

“Alright,” Osamu chuckles as he watches you take the packed roll from him.

But you’re not a quitter.

There’s a sudden adrenaline rush for you, almost like you’re taking a shot of tequila. You pinch the blunt and raise it to your lips before taking a hit– your very first.

You make sure not to inhale much. You’re already on the verge of coughing from the taste alone. You pull it away, letting out a meek cough, as smoke expels from your mouth. It tastes shitty and gross, like you expected. But you feel good? 

“Not bad,” Osamu muses, and you realize he was watching you the entire time.

Osamu looks at you. He’s been looking at you a lot tonight, you realize.

But that doesn’t mean anything.

“I have no idea how you don’t cough,” you say, as you pass the blunt back to him. 

“Taste bad?” He grins lazily. His arm is still around your waist. It feels good, too.

“Horrible.” It doesn’t stop you from inhaling more of the sour smoke.

“Look at ya,” Osamu chuckles. “Like it, don’t ya?”

You’re making Osamu smile, laugh even. And it makes your head spin even faster.  It’s so good.

Good, good, good. 

Everything feels so fucking good.

Osamu makes you feel good.

“What are ya mumbling about?” Osamu asks plucking the blunt from your fingertips, and you snap out of it. Well, almost, the feeling is still pooling in your chest, head– everywhere.

“I just– I feel–”

“Feel what?”

You start giggling. Doesn’t Osamu feel it too?

But maybe he does because he’s smiling at you. It’s not the same giddy heart-melting feely smile you have plastered on, it’s more relaxed. But you almost could see… a bit of amusement.

“Figures ya would be a lightweight for yer first time– probably shouldn’t have given ya the strong shit, but’s all I had.”

“I wanna do it again,” you sleepily smile waiting for Osamu to pass you the blunt. 

But he doesn’t. Instead, Osamu pauses to look at you again. This time he seems… inquisitive. He looks at the roll between his fingers, and you can tell that he’s calculating something in his head– then he looks at you.

“Ya wanna try something?”

His voice is low and there’s that tone of interest again. 

“Try what?”

“It’s a… different way to take a hit.”

It doesn’t take much to convince you and you nod at him. You just wanted more. More of the good feeling, more of Osamu.

You expect him to pass you the blunt, maybe with some sort of instructions, but instead, he takes another hit. You’re about to ask whatever question you had before Osamu reaches for your chin and takes it firmly.

Despite your brain being foggy, your brain is working overtime. Osamu is touching you– staring at you. And now his face is ghosting yours. You’re close enough to notice the slightest freckle ghosting his left cheek. Were you always this warm? No, you’re burning. There’s a fire sweeping in your chest, your head, your face– everywhere. You’re so warm– Osamu’s so warm.

And there’s a moment where you zero in. Osamu isn’t exhaling.

You realize what he wants to do.

The smoke inside his mouth isn’t for him– it's for you.

Your lip doesn’t even quiver in the way it usually does whenever you blurt out something nervously. Instead, your lips part invitingly, and you barely even register Osamu has closed the distance until his lips are brushing against yours and there’s a wisp of smoke pooling from his mouth to yours.

Osamu still had one hand steadied on your chin and the other was caging you into the couch corner. The further the smoke spills into your mouth, the more you sink into the couch. You barely even register there’s no more smoke to inhale because your back hits the seat of the couch, and Osamu’s on top of you.

“There’s a freckle on your left ch– mmph!”

Osamu’s mashing his lips into yours in an instant. You didn’t even think there could be any more room for Osamu to close in– he was already so close to you– but you were wrong. 

The kissing– it’s sloppy, depraved, even. Your glasses press against your face painfully from how quickly Osamu pounced on you, so you pull them off your face, not even caring where you throw them. You both feverishly want more, more, more. Osamu’s grabbing at your hips, his hands big and pawing at you. Your own hands are mapping the outline of his shoulders through his shirt. Osamu’s large body dwarfs your own, his weight resting on you. Your hands feverishly grabbed at him as your lips chased after the feeling you’ve been relishing– the good feeling– the feeling is pouring straight into your lips like rushing water and you’re drinking it in. It marries itself with the dizzy euphoric feeling clouding in your mind. So, so good.

He’s everywhere– you feel him everywhere. Your head is spinning. Osamu’s lips– coated in saliva mixing with your chapstick, pull you in even further. You don’t even know how you’re breathing, you haven’t gone for air in what feels like years.

But Osamu, selfishly, wants more. And so do you. So you don’t protest when you feel him rut his hips directly into yours– the throbbing bulge in his pants hitting that sweet spot you weren’t even aware was wanting for more. You moan feverishly against Osamu’s lips, the sound barely spilling out against him.

Osamu pulls himself off your lips, burying his face into the crook of your neck so you can feel every rugged heavy breath against your skin.

“Fuck, baby.” He’s panting, his hips grinding deeper into yours. The sweatpants he’s wearing, the jeans you have on, it’s too many layers. You’re unashamedly pawing at Osamu’s pants, begging for him to take them off so you can feel more.

“‘Samu, please,” you whine. You don’t even think of the nervous, shy, girl who walked into the apartment a few hours ago. She had been replaced with someone more desperate, unashamed in being so greedy for more.

Osamu doesn’t need to ask what you’re asking for, before shrugging off his pants and kicking them off somewhere on the floor. And in a moment, he’s unbuttoning your pants and pulling them off you like it’s burning you. Osamu’s already dark eyes– grow even darker at the sight of the wet spot growing on your panties and your sweater riding up your stomach.

“Please, please,” you cry with moans of his name in the absence of movement.

“Tell me what ya want,” Osamu pants.

“Wanna feel good.”

“Fuck,” he groans, before lowering his face to meet your stomach. He trails wet, firm kisses along your stomach, trailing down until his face is centered with your dripping cunt– clearly begging for more the way it clenches when you feel his hot breath ghosting the outside of your panties.

You absentmindedly grab at his hair, pushing him further to your aching cunt, encouraging him to continue– practically pleading the way you attempt to grind your pussy into him.

Osamu yanks off whatever panties you had on, and you swear you hear fabric ripping. But you couldn’t care less when you feel Osamu’s tongue languidly lick a stripe against your slit before beginning to circle your clit.

Your back arches off the couch and your wanton moans fill the empty air. You hope that Osamu’s didn’t have thin walls. But when Osamu suddenly slips a finger into your– it’s suddenly the least of your worries. 

The combination of Osamu’s tongue suckling at your clit and his now two fingers pumping in and out of you sends you into ecstasy. Every nerve in your body was vibrating as your head clouded between the weed running through your system and Osamu buried in his pussy eating you out like his life depended on it. Fuck what you smoked, Osamu was the real drug.

There’s a moment where your nerves pinch together– and everything in your chest collects, all those funny feelings turning hot and heavy in your lower stomach, before you cum. And you cum, hard.

You grab Osamu’s hair at the roots with a moan– no, scream, almost reflective of the horror movie actress you were making fun of earlier, as you coated Osamu’s face with slick. You don’t even realize how much it was until Osamu raises his head and his mouth reflects glossily.

You’re swimming in the hazy cloud of pleasure for a while, until your breathing steadies and you’re settling into the couch with heavy pants.

“Not bad for yer first time, right?” Osamu chuckles, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“What?” H-how did he know–

“Yer first time smoking?” Osamu smirks as he pulls himself up so he can sit on the couch.

“Oh, y-yeah,” you mumble, pulling your sweater down so you can cover your lower half.

You avert your gaze from Osamu, embarrassed by the lack of clothes you had on. You felt a tinge more sober now– enough to realize that it was way past the time you thought you’d stay. The movie credits weren’t even playing anymore– the TV had just gone into sleep mode. Osamu notices this too when he takes a glance out the window.

You think about what he said. Your first time was good. And maybe… Maybe you should try having more firsts.

“It’s late, ya shouldn’t be walkin’ home at this hour–” So that’s why…

“Ya wanna just crash here?”

You let Osamu take another first.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

LIKES, REBLOGS, COMMENTS, & TAGS ARE APPRECIATED + HELP ENCOURAGE YOUR LOCAL WRITER (ME)! ♡

[amymbona]

Can you write something about Patrick with a girl who talks a lot?

You could talk his ears off and still be listening, fucking reading your lips if he has to. Headphones go off when you speak. And you speak a lot. You're aware, right, you have a little rambling problem. But you just have a lot to say about every single topic!

In class, you always talk the most, constantly raising your hand and contributing when the professors allows you. You choose different topics and make the longest presentations just so you could tell everyone all that you've managed to remember. And, what's best you keep Patrick interested. He's genuinely been putting a lot more effort into learning and preparing for classes, especially when he's in your presence. Even when you're talking about a difficult topic, about something you don't understand, you keep brainstorming out loud. Every single math equation you solve, you keep mumbling under your breath.

"Alright, both sides are divisible by two so we can do that, mhm, then five-x goes onto the other side. No, no, no, the other way. Three-y goes there. Yup. Now five x minus two x. Oh! We can divide that by three, mhm."

And Patrick is listening. He's fucking sitting there on your bed, eyes glued to the glasses that keep sliding down youe nose, watching as you lick your lips and nod, encouraging yourself that you're doing it the right way. And, fuck, you look fucking stunning sitting there in your little shorts and working on your stupid math problems.

There's never a silent moment with you. You're a bubbly extrovert, making sure that no meeting leaves the two of you in awkward silence. You always find a topic to talk about, even if it's just the weather, and sometimes Patrick gets annoyed that you're paying so much attention to everything around you, always finding topics to talk about that you kinda forget he's here, next to you.

"Do you ever shut up?"

He doesn't mean it in a bad way, not even considering talking rudely to you. But the sentence slips past his lips before he could stop it.

"What?" your head snaps towards Patrick, lips parting in confusion. Did you hear him right?

But apparently, there's no going back for Patrick. Not now. "You talk a lot."

Oh. Your mouth closes slowly and eventually, after a few seconds of processing his words, you nod, gazing down at your lap. "Yeah, um, I guess, yeah. I guess I do. Sorry."

Fuck. You look like you're about to cry right now. Like you're about to shatter into pieces because now, at this moment, you realise how much you've really been talking. Not just around Patrick, but around everyone else too. You always talk, pulling all the attention to yourself and the things you see, that you don't give anyone else a chance to speak their mind.

Patrick shifts closer, his thigh pressing into yours. He absolutely didn't mean that. He never wanted to see you cry.

"No, no, no, listen," he begins, panicking at the glossy sight of your eyes. Fuck, he's really messed up this time. "I meant it like... You talk about everything. Everything around you. But never about me."

About him? And why would you possibly have to talk about Patrick?

"About you?" you mutter, gaze nervously raising to settle on his freckled face. "You... You want me to talk about you?"

"Yes," he nods.

"But why? I mean... We talk about you, don't we? About tennis, about Art... There's a lot of stuff we mention, isn't it?" you keep murmuring bashfully, once again prolonging your speech despite trying to hold back.

Patrick shakes his head and takes one of your hands in his. "That's not me, that's different topics."

"Then what is you, Patrick?" you wonder.

"I'm me, Y/N. I don't want to talk about the weather or some random shit. I want to talk about me, about you. About us."

"Us?" you gulp, eyes flicking between his own. Apparently, his words are still not settling in your brain in the right way.

"You're so stupid sometimes," Patrick sighs, balling both of your hands into little fists and resting his shoulder on your knuckles. For how much you talk, your mind seems so empty all of a sudden.

"What do you mean, Patrick? I'm sorry, I just don't really understand you, like, we've never talked about this before. I thought we like talking together? We're on the same wavelength and we-"

You're roughly shut up by Patrick grasping your face in his hands and pressing his lips against yours, effectively interrupting your speech. He's desperate, really, and don't know what else to do to just shut your mouth for a while.

And after a moment, his lips begin moving slowly, parting and ghosting over yours in a gentle kiss. His hold on your head loosens and fingers slide over your cheeks which have surely heated up at the sudden gesture. That's definitely not what you expected to happen.

It takes a while for Patrick to pull away, a thin trail of saliva hanging from your lips as he does so, leaving you completely flabbergasted. He chuckles at your flustered expression, running over your lips with his thumb.

"Sorry. I just had to shut you up somehow."

[jeonqkooks]

jungkook #33 from the fluff list 💗 (even better if its like fboy badboy jungkook getting flustered and shy around oc hehe)

daft pretty boys | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

prompt: "i can't think around you."

rating: G

word count: 0.8k

genre/warnings: classmates to .. lovers?, college au, basketball captain!jk, he's neither a fuck boy nor a bad boy he's just a cute boy <3, fluff, swearing as per uzh, i plagiarized MYSELF bc the shit mentioned here was actually taken from my final paper for a film class two years ago lmaooooooo

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

If there's one thing that Jungkook absolutely despises, it's when people think jocks are dumb. It's a common misconception and it's downright hurtful sometimes; just because Jungkook is the basketball captain, doesn't mean that anybody has the right to assume he's got hay for brains.

However, if someone were to come up to him right now and say it to his face, he probably wouldn't disagree.

"So yeah, if they lose the memories of these relationships, I think they'd also be losing parts of themselves that make them whole, because an individual's identity is an accumulation of multiple smaller identities they have with every single intimate relationship that ultimately forms one collective identity, y'know?" you finish, and it's not until then that Jungkook comes back down to earth, realizing that he's just been staring at you this whole time. "Anyway, what do you think?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah! Same, uhm," Jungkook stammers. "I also thought about their collective relationsh- I mean, collective identity and multiple identities and-"

You purse your lips as you take in his whole demeanor, like a nervous child fumbling with his words. "Did you not watch the movie?"

He did watch the movie. In fact, Jungkook watched it three times over the weekend because that's how much he liked it. When he registered for this class - History of Popular Cinema - at the end of last semester, he was hoping that it'd be an easy elective so he could focus more on basketball and his core courses. And for the most part, this film class is easy. All he has to do is watch movies and hand in a few short essays every now and then. Piece of cake.

Then the final paper rolls around and the professor assigns everybody a partner to work with. In theory, it should still be a piece of cake, because there still isn't that much to do anyway.

So why is it so fucking hard all of a sudden?

Jungkook had never really noticed you before you became his designated collaborator for the month. Never saw you on campus, never saw you attending the games. Hell, he didn't even know your name until this final assignment.

"I watched it," he defends himself lamely.

"Okay. And?"

"It was good."

You frown, and all Jungkook can think about is how adorable that crease between your eyebrows is. How he just wants to reach across the table and smooth it over, or better yet, kiss it away.

He's fully aware of how stupid he must look, with his sweaty palms and his words falling over each other like goddamn Jenga pieces, in front of a girl that he's been obsessed with for weeks now. Jungkook doesn't normally do crushes, but the more time he spends with you to work on this lame ass paper, the more he finds his mind drifting to you even when you're not in his vicinity.

He thinks you're so pretty when you absentmindedly bite your lip whenever you're concentrating. He thinks you always smell like jasmine, and he's delighted by how your scent lingers on his own clothes after every time you meet, like he's carrying home a reminder of you. He thinks you're ten leagues smarter than him when you text him whole paragraphs detailing how postmodern filmmakers flirt with the concept of identity fragmentation through different types of cinematic manifestation as a reflection of the realistic postmodern person, because what the fuck does that even mean?

"You're not doing a very good job at convincing me you watched the movie," you say.

Jungkook groans internally - and a little externally too - as he runs a hand down his face. "I watched it, I promise," he tells you. "I watched it, and I really liked it. It made me think about a lot of deep shit that I don't normally think about."

"Uh huh," you say slowly. Your frown is still there, but now it's embedded in confusion as you try to understand his dilemma. "Then tell me about that. What was the deep shit?"

"I can't."

"Why not?"

How is he supposed to explain that every single thought he had suddenly grew legs and yeeted itself out the window the second he saw you arrive today, wearing a stunning smile and a t-shirt that says Caution: Full of Shenanigans? Not once in his entire life had Jungkook felt so no thoughts, head empty.

"Because I can't think around you," he settles on being honest. "Because I keep thinking about you when you're not here, yet when you are, I can't even think at all."

It takes a minute for his words to sink into your brain, and Jungkook watches nervously as a blush spreads across your cheeks, so rosy that he just wants to grab your face and pepper kisses all over. For the first time since he has known you, you don't know how what to say.

The sight of you, rendered speechless by him being rendered an idiot, has Jungkook blushing too. Despite the patch of bashful silence that ensues, somewhere outside the metaphorical windows of his and your minds, both your thoughts are riding off into the sunset together, holding hands.

all rights reserved © jeonqkooks. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 27.05.2023]

[zwolfgames]

Yandere Draco Malfoy x reader (Part 1)

Requested by: /

Warnings: None yet.

Not yandere yet, this is a part one.

parts: Part 2 , Part 3

(3rd person POV)

Potions, always goddamm potions.

Yea, you hated the subject with a burning passion, as did many of your peers. Who could blame you when the teacher was such a greasy haired git.

You've had to suffer professor Snape's tyrany since you were eleven. But this, this is the last straw.

"Hello? Earth to who-ever you are. Atleast move."

Some annoying, grating voice whined in your ear.

Draco Malfoy, your potions partner for this year. He didn't seen happy with you either, as you're not one of his pure-blooded slaves.

"..Sorry." You sigh silently, did you want to punch him? Yes, but his dads Lucius Malfoy, so unless you wanted your parents to go bankrupt, you'd shut up.

Malfoy scoffs and pushes you aside so he can reach some random worm like ingredient.

You retreat back to your spot at the cutting board and cut up the root infront of you like the instructions said. As much as you hate the Slytherin you're working with, he knows what he's doing. Probably the only upside of this arrangement: good grades.

"Not that small. Gods you're useless." Malfoy grits his teeth and takes the knife away from you. He reminds you a bit of your friends' mean mother. So controlling and arrogant.

"They're as big as the instructions say." You almost scoff but you keep in a nasty scowl as to not anger mister blondie.

"The instructions are wrong. I've made this potion before, it's better if the roots are in bigger pieces." Malfoy lectures absentmindly and starts anew. At this point you'd just let him do everything since you do it wrong anyways.

But no, he'd tell you off and call you names. So what does he want you to do? You don't know. He doesn't want you to do anything but you also can't do nothing. At this point you should just drink the unfinished potion and see if thats alright for him.

The potions class ticks by incredibly slow. Due to not wanting to piss Malfoy off, you end up being the one who just has to hand him stuff and wash the used lab materials. Utterly boring, but oh well.

You don't think you're going to last a week more with him before you get mad and let loose all the damm insults you've carefully crafted.

But would it be worth it to endure years of bullying just to smack that smug grin off of his face? Yes. Yes it would.

But no! Don't doom yourself now, potions class is only for... Another hour. Okay yea, you're not making it trough this one.

"L/N, spoon." Malfoy orders and holds his pale hand out for a spoon you're supposed to hand him.

"It's next to you." You answer plainly. Not wanting your irritation to show.

"I didn't ask for words, I asked for the spoon." Malfoy snarls, as a 'last warning'.

"It's next to you."

You repeat calmly. This bossy Slytherin turns his head around in such a quick snap you almost feared he'd broken something.

You facial expression remains neutral, while on the inside, you're screaming at yourself to jump out of the window.

"The. Spoon." Malfoy hisses angrilly.

"It's. Next. To. You." You mimick him, done with this absolute shit.

"My father will-"

"Hear about this. We know Malfoy." The dude in the group next to you speaks. Neat, people who're not against you.

Malfoys eye twitches a bit before he glares at you with cold grey eyes.

He finally grabs the spoon himself and stirs the potion at a pace wich, to your knowladge, is way too fast for this potion.

A minute later, you were proven absolutly correct as the dark blue goo explodes and douses you, Malfoy and some neighbouring students under the hot slushie of grossness.

You hear multiple sounds of distaste around you, tough your vision is mostly obscured by the goo you refuse to let enter you eyes.

"Who did this?!" You hear a loud and angry voice... and theres the worst part of the day, Snape's wrath.

"Malfoy did!" Some brave student pipes up. Poor soul, thats the last you'd ever hear of her this class.

The blonde lets out an audible snarl of rage as he's tattletailed on. Hopefully he also has goo in his eyes, so that he won't be able to see who snitched.

"Malfoy, five points from Slytherin." Snape ends this quickly and sends all the damaged students off to the closest lavatorys to wash up.

You walk half blindly trough the hallways in search of a lavatory. A hand on the top of your back seems to be leading you, you haven't a clue who it is but you mumble a quick 'thank you'.

You reach a lavatory with the help of the mystery person and wash up. Tough when you're done washing the gunk out of your face alone, they're already gone... a shame.

As such, weeks go by of Hogwarts lessons. Malfoy's still a bitch, but that was expected, atleast it's only in potions class...

So it is to your dear surprise when the blonde himself comes up to you in the hall.

"L/N. When do you want to make that potions paper? I don't like making things last minute." Draco scoffs as he stands before you with his arms crossed.

You didn't have a problem with making things last minute. But bratty mac brat face did, ofcourse.

"I'm free now, if thats fine." You sigh and get mentally ready for this study session if he said yes.

"Great. Library." Draco organizes chastely and walks past you towards the library. Unfortunatly, trough a less popular part of the. Now, if he were to stick a wand up your nose you'd have no witnesses...

Tough, all goes well, Draco seems to actually just want to get this done. So you two silently walk to the slightly dark hallway.

You hear him sigh as you two walk, you're a bit on edge, yes. You've heard about Malfoy's urges to hex people.

Nothing happens... he just keeps walking.

That is untill you hear a creak from up above and a nasty metal sound.

You body reacted before you even knew.

You jumped at Draco like some kind of tiger and rolled onto the floor with him as the chandelier you two were under had crashed where he had just stood.

You blink rapidly to get the dust out of your eyes and stare at what could have been both of your dooms.

Draco coughs up some dust and focusses his gaze onto the chandelier just before he was about to insult you for pushing him.

"Did you do that-" You two asked in sinc.

Draco sighs as he realizes you have no clue either.

You get up and pull the blonde up with you. A lame 'thanks' comes out of his mouth as a mumble.

"So... You know, like who did that?" You look on at the chandelier in shock, your life had just flashed before your eyes.

"Maybe it was a coincidence?" Draco suggests. You side glare at him.

"Obviously not. Everyone hates you, someone must have tried killing you." You sneer now, realising you just risked your life to save him.

"Hate me? I'm the most popular boy in this school- outside of Potter- But my word still stands!" Draco protests. Glaring at you with cold grey eyes.

"You're a loud mouthed, insulting git. But sure, if thats how you wanna be know, do continue." You furrow your brows.

"Excuse me?! You could be a bit nicer after saving my life-" Draco stops mid sentance as he realises it himself.

"You... saved my life? Why?" Draco's voice gets quiter.

"Honestly, I don't know. I just did." You shrug, not wanting to make as big of a deal of it as it truly was.

"... Thank you. Y/N." Draco speaks, full on eye contact.

You've never heard him say your name... first name at that, in such a.. non mocking manner.

You feel your cheeks heat up in embarrasment.

"No problem... Let's go report this to a trusted adult." You brush off and start walking.

"Trusted adult? Really?" Draco snickers in amusement at your words and behavior. It's like your little life saving action opened his eyes.

You weren't incompetent anymore. No longer an annoyance. You were just.. Y/N L/N.

"Well I can't say teacher, theres a lot of teachers I ouldn't even trust to hold my pen." You scoff. Draco perks up in curiosity and walks next to you.

"Spill." He muses simply. Looking at you from the side.

"Obviously Filch. Snape, just because he seems to hate me. Umbridge, it explains itself. Dumbledore, don't ask, its a personal grudge." You roll your eyes and Draco nods, amused.

"Fair enough. So who are we telling?" He asks you as you two walk down the halls. Now on edge as the one trying to murder you both may be around.

"Uh... How about McGonnagall? Or maybe Sprout. I'm sure they'll care." You answer and keep walking. Draco nods along. Wow, this is the first time you two must have agreed on something.

You two end up finding proffesor Sprout's office first. Draco takes the lead in explaining the events and your houses both get five points... for not dying you suppose. Or maybe not being as stupid as Harry Potter and his squad and actually telling a teacher whats going on.

As you'd expected, the woman instructed you two to go to your dorms for the night, dinner would be in seperate houses as the school would be inspecting for the evening.

You and Draco parted ways, tough you could see the reluctance in the blonde's eyes as you were about to walk away.

So with a deep sigh you walked him to the Slytherin dungeons entrance and walked back on your own from there.

This one shot was way too long for me to finish in one writing session, so it's getting split. Woops.

[fiapartridge]

late night talking | jack hughes

summary: jack’s having a terrible day and decides to call you late at night…

warning(s): swearing

kinda not in love with this one but what can ya do!

Jack hated calling when it was late at night because he knew you'd answer every single time— even if it meant sacrificing precious hours of sleep and living like a sleep-deprived zombie by the time the sun comes up. 

But tonight, he just couldn't resist it. 

His day was absolutely terrible. It all started with waking up an hour later than his alarm was set, then missing breakfast with the team because he couldn't find his tan T-shirt anywhere which resulted in him tearing apart his entire hotel room searching for the missing piece of clothing that was simply rolled up at the bottom of his suitcase, then getting a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of his new AF1s on his way to the arena, and as the stupid cherry on top, the Devils lost their last road game of the—almost clean sweep—West Coast roadie to the fucking Seattle Kraken. 

And he knew you were tired. You spent all day texting him about all of the essays and projects your professors were assigning you. You were awake until 2AM (New Jersey time), hacking away at all of the assignments. You couldn't wait to go to sleep. 

You finally put your writing utensils away and stored your laptop in the drawer of your desk where it would be waiting to be opened tomorrow for more work. Your hair was in a messy bun and your pajamas were strapped against your body. You were so ready for bed. You pulled back the covers and shimmied yourself in, careful not to move the pink blanket resting at the foot of the bed. 

Skimming through your emails one last time, making sure there wasn't any last-minute work assigned by your professors, you turned off your phone and placed it on the bedside table. Your arm stretched a little farther to click the button on your lamp, but when you saw Jack's caller ID and the photo of him giving you a piggy-back around the Prudential Center, all systems were on high alert. 

You sat back up, pulling the phone to your ear. You were terrified. You knew Jack hated calling you late at night— even though you told him loads of times that you didn't mind. So if he was calling you now, knowing it was 2AM where you were, he must've really needed something. 

The line was silent when you answered. Nothing else other than a faint static could be heard between the two of you.

"Jack?" you called. "Are you okay?"

You could hear his breathing. It wasn't calm, but it wasn't rapidly fast either. It sounded like a boy with something on his mind.

"Hey, Y/N/N," he said. He was so quiet, it felt like you had to lean into the phone to hear him better. 

"It's eleven in Seattle. Why aren't you asleep?" you asked.

"I wanted to, I just," he paused. Static. Calmer breaths. "I just missed you so fucking much, Y/N."

"I miss you, too, but it's only two more days. I'll see you on Sunday. What's going on?"

You couldn't see him, but his head was shaking back and forth on the other side of the line and he was rubbing his forehead like a middle-aged man after seeing his kids scribbling all over the walls. He was stressed and tired and all he wanted was to come home and see you, to sleep in your bed tonight, and to be with you.

"My day was just... terrible. It was unbelievably terrible. It was like one bad thing would happen and then ten minutes later, another bad thing happened. It was like God was just shitting over my entire day. So much fucking shit."

You laughed softly, a slight yawn mixed in between. "I don't think God was resting at the toilet, shitting all over your day, but it sounds like it was pretty bad. What happened?"

He sighed. "No, I should let you go to sleep. It's what? Two o'clock over there?"

"You called, and I answered. Tell me."

He took a moment, like he was actually debating whether to tell you or not. He knew you would go to extreme lengths to get it out of him, and he didn't want to tire you out even more. "We lost."

That was all he said.

Two words.

We lost.

You were confused to say the least. You knew he lost. You kept up with every single one of his games. They won every single road game before that: the Hurricanes, the Ducks, the Kings, the Sharks. So what, they lost to the Kraken? It's not like they won't have another chance to win again on Sunday against the Penguins, or Tuesday against the Golden Knights. There were so many more games to play. What was the big deal?

"Okay... is that it?" you asked. You dipped your toe in, scared that he might blow up and tell you something dramatic like 'it's more than a game, it's my life.'

But the line went quiet again. Nothing more than a bit of static and breathing. But then he talked and you wanted to do nothing more than book a flight out to Seattle and run to him with your arms out. You wanted to be there for Jack— you always did. 

He sighed. "It's just— we were losing for so long and when we were winning again, it felt so good, like we were finally back. Like we were a team again. But then we lost and, I don't know, it felt as if we were back on that losing streak, like it was yesterday. Like none of the road games even happened. We were just— losers again."

You rolled your eyes, and laughed. Yes, you laughed. Jack was confused, too. He wondered why you were laughing. He just poured out his entire thought process, all of his feelings, and you were laughing. Why were you laughing?

He frowned. "It's not funny, Y/N/N."

"I know, I know," you wiped your eyes. You didn't know if you were tearing up because you were deliriously tired or you were just laughing too hard. "It's just— you lost in overtime. You were close. It wasn't an 8 - 1 loss, or a complete shutout. You almost won, Jack. It was one goal that separated you and the other team. So what, you lost one game? This one game won't cost you your chances at playoffs and it won't make me love you any less. No one thinks that you are a loser. I'd rather be with you than a guy that's won every single one of his games. I love you, Jack. Win or lose, it's always you."

"So you don't want to be with Pastrnak?"

You rolled your eyes and giggled. "Not into beards."

He laughed. "Really? Because I think I'm starting to grow something here, Y/N/N."

You scoffed. "In your wildest dreams, Hughes."

"Speaking of dreams, I should probably let you get back to that."

"Alright, just— know that I love you, okay? Win or lose; I'm always gonna come home to you, and I'm always gonna love you."

You could hear the sound of a light switch on the other side of the line. Jack was getting ready for bed, too. He crawled underneath the covers, knowing his teammates were probably out getting drunk somewhere at a bar nearby. But he didn't care about grabbing a beer and throwing all of his feelings into Taylor Swift karaoke with Nico Hischier (that was more of a 'you and Nico' thing). All he wanted was to hear your voice, to tell you goodnight, that he loves you, and that he'll call you again when the sun comes up.

Because to him, you were worth more than a lifetime of wins.

[atropalugosi]

I have been thinking about Alcina calling MC Donna's pet for days now so have some more silly gay shit featuring basically what went through my head upon reading that little piece of dialogue 😅

"Oh, Donna! What a pleasant surprise to see you out of that shop for a ch-" professor Dimitrescu stops dead in her sentence, a nasty scowl overtaking her 'pleasantly surprised' face upon seeing Valeria. "And why, pray tell, is your PET with you?"

"Alcina!" Donna sounds absolutely livid and scandalized, glaring harshly at her adopted sister. "What would M-"

Donna goes on to presumably scold the professor, but Valeria can't focus on it when Alcina's words echo in her brain. 'Pet'... she really wouldn't mind being Donna's pet not that she was thinking of it. But what sort of pet? The novice botanist imagines herself with puppy ears, following her boss around and tending to her every whim. It was hardly a farfetched daydream, but something about it just doesn't stick.

Then an image comes to mind; the look on Donna's face when they saw a cat during their walk. She was completely enamoured. Valeria pictures the woman looking at HER like that, smiling like she were the most precious creature on the planet. Would Donna want it, she'd be more than happy to sport kitty ears and a bell collar to boot, curled up on the botanist's lap while she has her tea. Maybe Donna would even pet her head, calling her "mia cara gattina" or-

"Let's go," Donna's voice cuts through the girl's thoughts, hand claiming her own and pulling her towards a side room.

"Sì mammina," Valeria replies without thinking.

All three women go silent as Valeria feels her entire body combust. Donna looks rather red in the face herself, staring at her in shock and appall. Alcina looks as though the redhead had just proven a point of hers.

"The porcelain and marble working rooms are soundproof by the way," the professor chimes in, causing the flower shop workers to blush further. Donna tries to compose herself, grip tightening on Valeria's hand.

"Let's... get started on your project," she practically squeaks. Valeria can do nothing but nod dumbly and follow along, doing her best not to embarrass herself or Donna further.

[feroshgirlsims]

Chapter 1.2 - Bad Dreams Are for the Birds

[POV: MIKO]

The Art History department has two other TAs, but as far as Miko’s concerned, they’re both bullshit.

They haven’t proven themselves incompetent yet, but it's only a matter of time before someone drops the ball, leaving Miko to pick it up. It’s how it always goes down, which is why, despite feeling like absolute crap, she’s organizing the art supply room by herself. 

Next week, the undergrads will start working on pieces for their first critical review. A lot of them are talented, but they’re also inexperienced. And as silly as it seems, having their supplies clearly labeled with helpful hints will be a gift from the Watcher when some professor is picking apart their work and demanding they make quick changes. 

You mean when some professor was picking apart your work because you’re incompetent.

It takes everything to ignore the nasty voice in her head and her burning need to pee. It’s just stress, anyway. She slept like shit—horrifying dreams kept her up half the night—and she still needed to get here early to finish up before the other TAs arrived. 

Her nightmares made no sense. Miko is only 24; she shouldn’t be worried about running out of time. But the clock in her dreams filled her with terror, and she had the strangest sense that she never used to worry about time at all. 

In fact, she used to wield it. 

It’s the kind of bonkers thought she doesn’t allow herself to have anymore. 

Usually, she was fine once she was on campus. It was where she could pretend she didn’t live in a tiny clapboard house in a Newcrest neighborhood the mayor swore would gentrify but hadn’t changed much since Miko was a kid. 

Not that gentrification was good. By the time they cleaned up the drunks in the park and picked up the trash, the cost of housing would be too high, and Miko and her grandmother would have to find somewhere else to live.

And your mother? Did you forget about her, or are you just extra delusional today? 

Miko doubles over at the thought. The worst part is that she knows it's her. She’s being mean to herself and has no idea how to stop it. 

Maybe it’s not the negative voice, you idiot. Maybe you really do just have to pee.

Son of a bitch. That’s probably right. Ignoring the implications of arguing with herself, Miko hauls ass up two flights of stairs until she’s on the second floor of the Commons. 

“Watcher, give me strength,” she prays when she shuts the stall door. The Ojos aren’t religious, but spending primary and secondary school under the watch of cranky nuns gave her the habit.

Her prayers must be getting misdirected, though. While she’s hovering over the toilet seat, fighting for her life, the other two Art History TAs walk into the bathroom and start gossiping. 

“I just don’t understand why she would organize the closet when we already had a plan to work on it this morning,” Emmett says.

“Because she’s a bitch,” Hande laughs, “Seriously. You can’t take it personally. Some sims just don’t know how to act.”

“I mean, but what’s the point?” Emmett continues. “We’re all graduating. Maybe someone will write you a good recommendation for the Royal Arts Fellowship if you go above and beyond. But you can do that without screwing everyone else over.”

“Some sims are unhappy. Like it's a trait,” Hande assures him, “Just ignore her.”

Miko waits until she hears them leave before she limps out of the bathroom stall, bladder still burning and her cheeks joining in on the party. The old nuns were right: The Watcher was a merciless god, and Miko was clearly on her shit list.

PREV | NEXT

[vladimpale]

newt and hermann are the perfect comedic couple for a treasure hunt

both university professors very famous for their accomplishments but way too in their own world to really care (not when there is still so much to be done), are approached by Generic Villain Millionaire who wants to get rich off of the discovery of a legendary place (and its artifacts)

hermann recently managed to triangulate the location of a lost civilization (or smth) with newt's help (i imagine that one of his phds is in mythology or archeology, im really lost on him without kaiju and other magical creatures)

hermann obviously refuses to disclose his studies "but hermann think about it!" "newton we are not just going to tell this man how-" "NO YOU DONT GET IT!! we go and find it ourselves, no need to involve that capitalist piece of shit!!"

so Generic Villain Millionaire hires raleigh, who went around the world doing idk extreme sports or exploring with his brother before he died, who ropes mako (hermann's undergrad student or smth idk how uni works ok?) and her father, retired archeologist stacker pentecost, to come with

(the only reason RALEIGH even agreed was because Generic Villain Millionaire used yancy's memory in leverage the nigerian job style)

cut to hermann and newt with massive backpacks, absolutely overprepared for their adventure, bickering in the background in a jungle while the other three carve the path for them

is anybody gonna steal this idea or do i add it to my never-ending wips

[jaemmphilia]

★ 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘪𝘯 ★ || seo c.b

★ summary: changbin has been so stressed out with the upcoming school semester. his professors are already drowning him in piles upon piles of work. and don't even get him started on his major. that's where y/n comes in. he can just sense how stressed out his poor boyfriend is, so he gets changbin's favorite food and some booze, making a date of the once stressful night.

★ characters: seo changbin, y/n

★ warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, reader is the sweetest boyf ever, vanilla sex, unprotected sex (say it with me, wrap it before you tap it), this is the softest thing ive written yet, changbin is stressed out from school, reader comforts changbin, mentions of alcohol, mentions of selling crack, changbin has body image issues in this one

★ word count: ~2.1K

★ requested?: yep, thank you @belladonna6-6-6

★ binnie's thoughts: i love domestic shit, despite not ever being in a committed relationship, so i am pretty much living my fantasies through writing... i hope you like it anyways !

★ disclaimer: this fic in absolutely NO way represents the stray kids members as people. this is just for fun, so don't take it to heart. just enjoy!

Changbin wants to drop out so badly at this moment. The semester started like two weeks ago and he wants to rip his hair out (“Babe don’t do that, we just dyed it back to a natural color after that green disaster!” He can hear your voice scolding him without you even having to be near him.). The poor boy is knee-deep in work already, and his dumb professors just keep adding to the pile. What’s he even getting out of doing all this work, anyways? A stupid piece of paper? He majors in music production, in what world will he ever need to know the formula to calculate the circumference of a triangle or whatever the hell it is? 

Changbin lets out his nth groan of the night, his face falling onto his open textbook. He feels tears behind his eyes from the frustration of it all. He wonders if he’s the only one struggling to keep up with all this work. He knows he should probably get up and move his aching legs, but the thought of falling behind on getting everything finished fills him with an anxious feeling. As he contemplates dropping out and selling crack on the street, a knock at his door causes him to open his eyes. He turns on his phone that sits beside his textbook. 10:46 p.m stares back at him. He’s a bit confused, he isn’t expecting anyone to be at his door at this time, so who could it be?

It couldn’t be Chan, he’s glued to his chair at the studio, slaving away making tracks for his music production class. It couldn’t be Jisung, either. He’s knocked out after spending the day with his long-time crush, Minho. So that really leaves only one person, but he honestly thought you would also be asleep after your shift at the campus’ daycare. Chasing kids of various ages all day is pretty draining work. 

Changbin gets up and opens his door, the stress of school and turning in half-assed assignments fleeing his body as his eyes land on your million-dollar smile. Your arms are carrying bags of all kinds, and his nose picks up the sweet smell of takeout from the joint just outside of the campus. 

“Binnie, I come bearing food and alcohol!” you sing as you make your way into his dorm. Changbin feels like he could cry. Not from frustration this time, but from happiness and love. Your timing couldn’t have been more perfect, he was close to having a mental breakdown, nothing going right for him. 

“I had a feeling you were glued to your chair, slaving away doing your work. And judging by the way you’re looking at me, my feeling was correct.” You place the bags down by the couch, and make your way to your hunky boyfriend. Standing in front of him, you wrap your arms around his neck, giving him a quick squeeze. Changbin’s hands automatically wrap around your waist, tugging you close to his warm body. He holds you tight for a few seconds longer, a silent thank you for coming to distract him from the cause of his stress. 

“You have no idea how happy I am to have you here right now. I was so close to ripping out my hair and crying in the shower with my clothes on,” Changbin mutters in your ear, his breath tickling you a bit, making you chuckle softly. 

You pull away slightly, your arms still his neck, hands clasped at the nape of his neck loosely. “I’m glad I could help, babe. Why don’t you call it a night and have a romantic date with me right here?” 

Changbin simply nods and presses a gentle kiss on your lips. He loves kissing you, it’s one of his favorite things to do with you. Kisses of any kind will always do it for him. Whether it be just a sweet peck or a full blown Frenchie, he easily becomes putty in your embrace. When things get intimate between you two, his plump lips have to be on you in some way, it really doesn’t matter to him, as long as he can smooch you as many times as he wants to.  You pull away from the kiss and your voice brings him back to reality. “I hope you’re hungry. I would be surprised if you weren’t, to be honest,” you say, making your way to the bags of food sitting on the table in front of the puke-green couch he found at the thrift store (you’ve always hated that damn couch, it’s tacky and an unflatteringly green color, you wish he would just get rid of it.). Changbin just chuckles, watching as you pull out two styrofoam boxes out of the bag. He plants his tired body on the couch, immediately sinking into the semi-comfortable cushions. He grabs the remotes to his TV and finds something for the two of you to watch while you eat. He starts up the movie when you sit beside him, cold drinks in your hands for you both.

The movie is long forgotten as you and Changbin make out lazily on the couch. His heavier body is on top of yours, his hands under your shirt, softly roaming the expanse of your chest and stomach. Any noise that leaves your mouth is muffled by Changbin’s soft and juicy lips. 

Both of you grind your lower bodies together, your clothed cocks rubbing together despite the layers in between. Changbin pulls away from your lips, chuckling at the way you chase him, trying to get more kisses from him. His thumb swipes along your swollen bottom lip, wiping the saliva left behind. “God, you’re so sexy, baby. I love everything about you, there is nothing you could do to make me not like you.” Changbin can’t help the words coming from his mouth, he’s just so drunk on your love that his mind is only thinking one thing: you. 

“Oh, Binnie. I love you so much, you’re perfect for me, love.” You reply, returning the sweet words as your hand cups his cheek gently, prompting him to connect his lips with yours once again. You hum, bringing your free hand under his loose shirt, the material pooling around his upper chest. Changbin gets the hint, pulling away from you so you can tug his shirt off. Once the shirt is discarded and forgotten, you zero in on Changbin’s impressive body. He has the nicest body you’ve ever seen in your life, he’s muscular, his skin is nice and soft like a peach, with the occasional mole littering the flesh. 

Changbin’s face warms up at your intense stare. “Baby, don’t stare, it’s embarrassing..” he mutters, his usually loud voice now soft and quiet. Your eyes flit up to look at the pools of deep brown. You’re aware of Changbin’s body image issues, he’s been very open with you about his true feelings about how he views his body. That’s why you have made it your mission to make sure this sweet boy knows that his body is perfect no matter what. 

You tell him what you always tell him when he starts feeling this way, “Binnie, whether you are skinny, fat, muscular, or squishy, you are perfect to me and I’m not with you because of your body. I’m with you because you are a genuine person with the best personality in the world. I’m with you because you love me for who I am, just like I love you for who you are.” 

Changbin can’t ignore the slight sting in his eyes and the rapid fluttering in his stomach. He truly loves you and he knows he wants to spend every waking moment of his life with you. He doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t need to. His actions speak much louder than any word he could possibly say. 

His hands strip you of your shirt, and his lips make their way all over your chest, and he makes his way to the waistband of your basketball shorts. He tugs the shorts down until they’re at your ankles. You kick the garment off, careful not to kick Changbin… again. Changbin’s eyes roam your almost naked body, his teeth toying with his bottom lip. 

“Oi, why am I almost naked while you’re sitting there with your joggers still on? Chop chop, mister!” The pout on your lips is just so cute, Changbin can’t stop the laugh bubbling from his chest. Changbin removes himself from the couch, and he walks over to where you’re laid out on the couch, and he hooks one of his arms under the back of your knees, his other arm wrapping around your back, and he lifts you up with ease. A startled noise falls out of your mouth, your arm wrapping around him in urgency. You know he would never drop you, but being picked up out of the blue has never been your thing. You allow Changbin to carry you to his room, and he carefully lays you down on his very comfy mattress, and he rids himself of his dark gray joggers.

With his hands on his hips, he cocks an eyebrow at you, “Are you happy now? We’re both equal amounts of nakedness.” 

“Hmm, you drop your boxers and I’ll drop mine. Then we’ll definitely be even.”

“Anything for you, my prince.” 

“Don’t you ever call me that again, Changbin.”

After you both are fully naked, you both allow your hands to explore each other’s bodies, even though you’ve done it a million times in the duration of your four year relationship. Changbin is kissing you softly while his hand is splitting your hole open with three fingers lodged deep inside. You’re whining into his mouth, your back arching off the bed below you. Your cock is painfully hard, the tip of it a flushed red color similar to your natural skin tone. 

Changbin pulls away from your lips, and he starts to speak to you, “I want to try a new position, baby,” you just nod at him and allow the male to adjust you the way he wants to. He pulls your body to the edge of the bed, and he stands in between your spread legs. He takes his length in his hand, pumping it a few times before he places the tip at your fluttering hole, rubbing the tip along the crack of your ass before he’s pushing past your rim. You will never get over that initial pressure of his cock sliding past your hole, it always feels weird, but that weird feeling is quickly gone as soon as Changbin’s hips snap forward. 

Changbin sets the pace, his hand on your lower stomach as his hips come in contact with the back of your thighs, the sharp sounds of skin slapping together echoes loudly in the small room. You’re letting out the prettiest noises, whines and soft chants of Changbin’s name falling past your parted lips. Changbin doesn’t speed up or slow down, he thinks this pace is just right for you both, he wants to thank you for always being there for him, and he wants the moment to last a little longer than it normally would. His length slides in and out of you, his many veins rubbing your walls in the best way. Your hand is lazily stroking your own length, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as the pleasure courses through your body. Changbin is grunting above you, his hands gripping your hips tightly, tugging your body to meet his thrusts. 

The two of you continue to fuck like that for a while, and you know Changbin is close because his grunts turn into soft whines, his name falling from his lips as his hips begin to stutter and skip. Changbin ends up pulling out you and he takes his length as well as your own length. He jerks you both off until you both spill on his hand, moaning each other's names as you finish. Changbin pants as he uses his arms to hold himself up on the bed, his legs feeling like jelly. You scoot on the bed until you’re laying normally. 

You look at Changbin as you catch your breath, a smile on your face. After sex glow looks good on Changbin, he’s all sweaty and his hair sticks to his forehead, his pupils blown wide as he comes down from his high. You watch as he wipes his hands on one of his many dirty towels that sits on the floor. Looks like you’ll have to do some laundry while he’s in class tomorrow. 

“Binnie, come cuddle with me, I’m sleepy,” You whine, your arms wide and welcoming. He just chuckles and jumps into your arms, peppering kisses all over your sweaty face, making you laugh. You would do anything for this man, and you can only hope he feels the same way.

[papercranepoets]

Draco folded a tiny note into the tiniest paper bird. He was working up the courage to actually leviosa it over to a certain bushy-haired witch for… he checked the clock… forty-five minutes.

Professor Snape droned on about werewolves, and Draco’s heart raced. This was the longest class he has ever had to sit through, but at least every time Hermione turned her head to that grimy little weasel, he could take her in. He lived for those moments.

Class would be ending soon. It was now or never. He wordlessly sent the paper bird over… right as she turned her head. Oh SHIT. It hit her square in the eye, pointy-end first.

Fuck, you useless piece of shit. Fuck.

Hermione turned, holding her eye, an incredulous expression melding into a nasty sneer. Red creeped down Draco’s neck and he quickly cooled his surprise into a smirk.

Just pretend you meant to do this.

“What are you looking at, mudblood?” Draco spat. The word turned into ash in his mouth as Hermione’s eyes flashed with hurt.

“Leave me alone, Malfoy!” She whispered through clenched teeth.

“Excuuuuse me, Ms. Granger. Pray tell, why you are so rudely interrupting my lecture?” Snape drawled, tone absolutely scathing despite his slow pace of speech.

Hermione started, “I… I… well, Mal… Malfoy…”

“I… I… I’m taking ten points from Gryffindor,” Snape mocked.

Draco wanted to crawl into a hole and die, but he forced a snicker as Hermione sank in her chair.

“Back to the lesson!” Professor Snape snapped before continuing on.

Hermione turned back to sneer at Draco once more. He met her stare with a smirk.

Why am I like this?

Draco feared this misstep would set him back about two months. He had been trying not to make fun of the girl he so desperately wanted to be close to. So much for his note telling her how much he enjoyed her smile. He buried his head in his hands. It’ll be a fresh start tomorrow.

[milkiematcha]

college student!jeno x reader

the first time you met him, it was a shocker he’d managed to make it to college at all. the ruffled hair tucked under a light blue hood, eyes drooping in obvious exhaustion despite the class being just before lunch. and on the second day, too.

his absolute absence from any memories of last sunday’s class would suggest that he didnt even bother to be present for the first day. but whatever. it’s not like this class was a great opportunity despite it’s screwy scheduling. it’s not like the professor had come out of retirement just to teach this class. whatever.

this isnt even your business.

glancing back up at the professor was enough to show you that you had already missed half the class, content wise. and your notebook was shockingly bare, the thin lines only decorated with the name of the unit in neat black pen rather than the usually lines and lines of detailed notes.

shit.

not a great way to start the semester. not a start at all, judging by the fact that the writing of the title was smudged and just the slightest bit crooked- the h in human tilted to the left in a way that sent the whole word out of line. the mounting urge to yank the whole sheet out replaced with a flash of shock as the blue hooded boy snaps his fingers in front of you.

“class is over.” his voice has a slight rasp, like he’s just at the tail end of a bad sore throat and didn’t bother to drink enough tea. “you’ve been staring at that paper like it owes you money.”

“it does.” 

the deadpan response leaves your lips without your permission, a silent moment hanging in the air before the boy’s eyebrow quirks upwards, a slightly amused expression pulling at his face.

it’s nice.

he doesn’t look half as useless like this. his cheekbones are strong, and his eyes crinkle just a bit when his lips move into a half smile. and his hood has slipped back a bit, his hair slipping over his forehead. he’s pretty, the dark strands of his hair adding to the look, same with the heavy dark lashes framing his eyes. he moves back, stretching out, the bottom of his hoodie pulling up to reveal that he probably works out.

scratch that, he probably skipped the first class to work out.

“well, you can take that paper to court then. see if the case pans out.” he quips back, finally standing. he’s rather tall, or maybe you were just used to him being half laid out on the desk.

“i already set up the court date. it won’t get away with this.”

you feel the urge to shake your fist at the paper, like a supervillain scorned by defeat, but you resist, not wanting to come off as stranger than you already did. after all, glaring at a piece of lined paper after class ends is not the best way to seem like a well-adjusted adult.

he picks up his bag, which is sagging with the weight of whatever’s inside, the material so stretched it looks like it’s going to collapse. sleeping in class with a bag full of... books? unlikely, since he slept through class, but it’s the only thing that could make even an inkling of sense.

he’s walking backwards now, his bag now slung over one of his shoulders, the smile still on his lips. “i’ll be there. gotta make sure my seatmate wins their case.”

you open your mouth to respond, but he’s already turned around and disappeared behind the door without another sound.

who the hell was that?

[doddsmountain]

okay! i've been wondering how harry gets back in touch with his family after the whole amnesia thing and how they all handle that. and how was harry's relationship with them before that, also? is there a sibling he gets along with the best? do any of them also have weird brain things going on (like the psychosis, talking to things, heck even pale exposure)? if the sister who works at the harbor knows titus, how does the reveal that she's related to harry go?

i may have more but that's a lot to start with for now. i might come back another time :3

Alrighty! Gonna put this under a cut to save people from my old-ass being cringy lol

First, I wanna introduce the OCs I’ve made for Harry’s family! (Ages as of events of the game, March ‘51)

Alain Du Bois, father, dead (died in ‘21), born January 27, ‘80 of previous century. Was absent most of the time, abusive when around

Margarette Du Bois (nee Barrach), 70, born August 2, ‘81 of previous century. Kind, loving mother.

Victoire ‘Victor’ Du Bois, 48, born July 17, ‘02. A bit distant, also struggles with alcohol but not to Harry’s extent (he won’t drink while working), lorry driver, emotionally shut off, rarely smiles, known for his deadpan humour and really bad puns. Has whatever the lorry driver version of Esprit du Corps is. Married and has 2 kids: 21 year old son, 18 year old daughter. Pale exposure up the wazzoo due to having to travel through it. He knows the pale driver, and Tommy Le Homme.

Madeline ‘Maddy’ Petrovski (nee Du Bois), 46, born June 1, ‘04. Very friendly like their mum, short and chubby, cosmetologist (works for the biggest theatre company in Revachol - which still doesn’t pay that well - definitely working class), has some of the same psychological things going on as Harry (the lists - she does the lists as well). Married and has 4 kids: 16 year old daughter, twin 13 year old sons, and an 8 year old daughter. Her husband has addiction issues and isn’t the greatest but he’s kind and loving regardless - life isn’t always what we expect it to be.

Harrier ‘Harry’ Du Bois, 44, born January 3, ‘07. We know about him.

Mairi Du Bois, 42, born December 20, ‘07. The only one to really escape the poverty of their childhood. Geology professor in Sur la Clef. She has the same weird empathetic skills Harry has. Lesbian, married to a fellow academic, no children.

Eloise ‘Elsie’ McTavish (nee Du Bois), 37, born February 2, ‘14. A bit standoffish, she is a nurse, and recently divorced. Has plenty of similar strange psychological traits similar to Harry’s and is distressed over it, tries to ignore it. Has four children: Twin 6 year old son and daughter, 3 year old daughter, and a year old daughter. Currently lives with their mum due to financial stress as her ex-husband is a deadbeat and can’t be found (he’s a former friend of Harry’s and Harry vows to beat the shit out of him if he ever sees him again).

Marcelline ‘Marcy’ Du Bois, 34, born January 4, ‘17. Exactly the same psychological stuff as Harry. Divorced because she had a few miscarriages (her ex-husband is a piece of shit - upper middle class weenie). Very outgoing, works in Martinaise surprisingly as a shipping container inspector (enemies to lovers type thing with Titus Hardie eventually) (also didn’t know her brother was the absolute mess of a detective doing the investigation into the Hanged Man). Has some issues with making relationships for obvious reasons. No children. Her favourite sibling is Harry. She is Harry’s favourite sibling (he got a baby sister for his 10th birthday). Because of Marcie’s proximity to the hole in the universe she also has some issues with pale exposure.

My headcanon for Harry getting back in touch with his family post-amnesia is a little wishful thinking on my behalf, I suppose.

So, as we know Harry has blanked before after some epic benders - purposefully. I figure it would only be a matter of time before he gets his memories back. 

In my postgame HC/AU/whatever you wanna call it I figure this happens roughly a month after the events in the game - and it happens fast and painfully - leaving Harry in a very very emotionally unstable place. Thankfully, Kim is there and Judit is also very understanding. Harry’s reaction to all of this suddenly happening is what gets Jean to finally believe Harry had amnesia. Throughout it all Harry still remains sober (this is again wishful thinking on my behalf due to my own history with alcoholism [grew up with it, know it’s damages]). 

Shortly after this is when the Kim is Revachol comic takes place (so mid- to late April). Kim encourages Harry to reach out to his family after learning about them. Harry is understandably terrified as the last 6 years have been strained due to his spiralling into further alcoholism and drug abuse after Dora left him. After university I HC that Harry dived into the Disco/party scene heavily, especially after meeting Dora, so alcohol and drugs have been an issue of his for a while before Dora left. I think that after he became a cop these addictions got worse as he struggled to cope with the realities of what he had to do as a cop and what he had to see. I imagine things were a bit tense after Harry met Dora, as I HC the rest of his family not really liking her all that much due to class differences (and I imagine her family didn’t like him either for the same reasons). Harry’s family does their best to make Dora feel welcome though and they get along well enough until finally she leaves and he goes off the deep end. His older brother quietly stops talking to him, his older sister tries her hardest to help but he doesn’t accept it. Mairi is on another isola so there’s not much she can do. But she makes sure to call him once a week and this doesn’t stop until the events of the game. Eloise is very vocal about her displeasure with what he’s doing but still tries to support him in small ways. Marcelline is heartbroken but refuses to give up on her brother. They get drunk together a few times over the years post-Dora/pre-game. Harry refuses to be around his mum when he’s drunk or high, but she is well aware of how rough he’s living. He builds her a gazebo one summer when he tries to sober up (I like to imagine him being good at carpentry). He gets Jean to help him.

Because family is important they all open their arms to him when he reaches out. Because all of them have some extent of Harry’s weird abilities they can tell he means it this time when he says he’s trying to be better, be the Harry they knew before he met Dora, before he let his life spiral. Harry slowly integrates into his families’ lives. Harry made sure to never be high or drunk around his nieces and nephews so he’s always been the fun uncle, and now they get to see him much more often. Harry cries so much when his oldest nephew introduces Harry to his grand-niece. The family also openly embraces Kim, Cuno and Cunoesse. And Rene in my AU. Harry’s sisters are excited to have a new brother-in-law and niblings. Victor quietly respects Kim for being able to help Harry pull through this time. He also teaches Cunoesse how to work on a lorry engine.

When Titus learns that the chubby babe Marcy is Harry’s sister he’s not all that surprised. Once he knows he can see the familiarities there. After the events of the game, I HC that Titus slows down on the partying and sleeping with younger women (the man is 39 after all). He kind of becomes a bit more reserved, especially after losing his best friend and the others. Marcy was close with Angus so she understands Titus’s pain. They grow close. Harry gets a bit put-off when he learns that they start dating. Kim is highly amused by Harry’s protective older brother attitude.

I likely have more to add but I’m losing steam lol

[reinieseason]

we're all hung up over the ending so here's some limoreau au ideas super long post tho

royalty au - there's already one of these on ao3, where marie is a princess and jordan is a heir to a company. absolutely a banger, hope to see more of this au from other people but also from the creator themselves (the more we lie (the more we love) by secretshare is the au)

spiderman au - i'm gonna need someone to hear me out on this one. hear me out. jordan, born male, out of nowhere develops superpowers after being bitten by a radioactive spider. now, they have to figure out and balance their new powers - which aside from invincibility, waves, and like spider shit also includes gender shifting and they have to confront and navigate with their parents the identity that their parents didn't wanna face because it's become increasingly real. and this to me is like mcu ish. anyways, they also have to uh navigate their crush on marie moreau (gwen stacy of the world). hear me out.

rival TAs au - bringing this one back from my last post, jordan as brink's TA, they're a 3rd year ranked number two. but there's a professor that brink works closely with who just chose their new TA, it's the 1st year that jordan's been in hot water with marie moreau who is everything jordan hates. if jordan is a hard worker, who takes their time, marie is a genius who gets what she wants just because she's a genius. there's a rivalry but they're forced to work together when their professors start... look i don't have a justification as to why but they just do.

period piece au - i'm talking bridgerton, little women, pride and prejudice. rivalry, enemies, tension but forced to keep the tension under wraps and present a united and kind front but everyone knows they hate each other. the sexual tension of it all. lingering glances, fleeting touches. it is perfect for a couple like marie and jordan who love having a stupid big brown eyes off every episode every possible second

debate club au - look i was the HS debate captain i'm in college debate you have to hear me out . jordan as the captain of the team, marie as the new student who's a prodigy, rising star- she's a genius who's quickly put herself on par with the best team in the club. and now for nationals, the coaches put her and jordan together. the tension, the proximity, the trust, and the communication. whispers in hallways, cheering when they place first, the tension of finals. cuhrazy stuff.

figure skating au - OKAY ALL OF THIS IS LOWKEY STARTING TO SOUND THE SAME BUT IN DIFFERENT SITUATIONS BUT STILL. the tension. jordan just lost their partner after a life changing injury, their coach pulls up with new star marie moreau who was beginning to dominate the solo scene but out of nowhere dropped out and now she's going duo with jordan li how mysterious. the training, the hands, the stunts, THE PROXIMITY. (my favorite word today) the anger and the arguments when they mess it up, but the fear when it seems like something bad happened. imagine both of them on the jumbotron thingy bracing for their score and it like breaks a record i mean. think about it. this is growing to be a fave.

hockey/figure skater au - jordan is a hockey player, jordan needs to be more precise, more agile. their coach talks to the figure skating rink coach and gets a tutor for jordan, marie moreau figure skater. i will not elaborate, i do not need to- mostly because it's the same shit i mentioned before but slightly different but Still.

volleyball au - if you have amazon prime, you have access to cinemalaya's rookie which is a Filipino indie film about a junior basketball player who moves to a new catholic all girls school and starts playing volleyball (because there's no girls basketball team), she falls in love with the team captain, who hates her sm. it's so fucking good, now imagine it as limoreau. imagine jordan li as the team captain who has to take care of this new member, marie who yeah she's tall and she has like whatever basics but she sucks at volleyball and for some reason is so out of it. plus plus plus volleyball tension, the other couple that gives a constant big brown eyes off is ace and jana.

gossip girl au - another hear me out, marie who's always lives her life in lowerclass new york as an orphan is adopted by victoria newman and now has to navigate life in a new school with upperclass new yorkers. she's thrown into the midst of it all and has to deal with being a fish out of water plus jordan being like wary of her. andre brings her into the group after she saves him from a tough situation with a teacher or a quiz, cate and emma are so down to welcome another girl, luke has a nice heart to heart with her and welcomes her in, and if luke and emma let her in, sam is down, but jordan- jordan is the only one who doesn't want her there and she doesn't know why. look i just watched only 1 season of gossip girl i do not know shit but still

okay yeah those are all the aus off the top of my head <3 add some more if you'd like, brain dump with me over shit I'll never write

[justicefanged]

Professor Linus Reed. That's what the placard on the desk says, same as the name on the faculty roster. It's just hard to connect 'Professor' to the Linus Reed that Legault is familiar with. The one who's been missing for years—or presumed dead, depending on how much hope managed to flare to life in Legault's heart from day to day. It beats anxiously now, as he rifles through the contents of this mystery professor's desk for any sign that could connect it to the man he once knew. He's not sure what he's looking for—but he hardly has time to find it. Heavy footsteps come down the hall at a pace far too quick for Legault to make a swift exit out the window. With a curse under his breath and a swift excuse about getting lost on the way to the archbishop's chapel forming on his tongue, he prepares himself to face whomever it is who has claim to this room. And when the door opens, he faces Linus Fucking Reed. For a second, he's speechless. Wide eyes simply take in the broad, fearsome man in front of him. Years might've changed some things about them both, but the Reeds aren't a forgettable sort. "Pardon the intrusion," Part of Legault's pre-planned excuse comes forth, practically unbidden. He adjusts the rest, mouth twisting into a smile. "When I heard there was a Linus Reed teaching up here, I thought I'd see who was out here using an old friend's name. Never thought they'd hire a Mad Dog to run a classroom."

Linus is absolutely sure he's at the right room this time, and yet Saints' fucking dangly balls, there's someone already fucking in it! Maybe it's on account of the ass lighting at this time of day, or the fact that someone is clearly in his space and going through his shit -- or maybe it's that the sticky-pawed, sneak thief bastard was talking at him like they knew each other, real and code names alike.

Whatever it is, Linus doesn't waste any further time trying to place the guy; he puts on the heat suddenly and bull rushes the fucker.

He crashes into the slighter body full force, pinning arms against the intruder's sides with a crushing bear hug as they unceremoniously clamor to the floor. Through the still open door, Honk -- still growing into his paws and ears -- barrels on through at the sound of roughhousing, barking and trying to shove his big snout into the thick of things, tail pinwheeling in his excitement.

"Ya picked the wrong fuckin' asshole to try an' steal from, I ain't got nothin'--"

Linus goes horribly still, finally getting a good look at the intruder's face. He lets go as if he'd been burned, mouth working but nothing coherent coming out, before he's leaning in again and keeping the man's head from moving with a too tight grip of his hand on the guy's jaw.

Brown eyes stare into steely gray, and there's a shudder of breath through gritted teeth.

No gold.

He lets Legault go, forehead knocking against the other's chest for a moment in what might have passed as relief before he sits back on his haunches, bringing his weight fully off of the other man.

"...The fuck's this then, huh?" he mutters out, quieter than he'd been in years. He's not sure if he wants to crush the man before him in a hug or punch the daylights out of him. "Thought you'd already seen your way out of the Fang a while back, why ya give a shit now that it's in pieces?"

Linus isn't looking at him, has pulled Honk away from nosing curiously at the new person, rough fingers messing with dopey ears as the dog tries to lick at his hand. It feels stupid and petulant, like a child having a hissy fit, but he thinks he's doing Legault a solid by not beating the snot out of him right here and now.

He snorts, recalling the last thing the other had managed to get out before he'd been brought to the floor.

"Wasn't my idea, you should know better 'an that. Signed up for the wrong fuckin' gig."