#fucking library staff. do the academics notice? do they fuck

[trans-cuchulainn]

extremely bored of deleting thumbs rn

#also really wishing academics had a better appreciation of the undervalued and invisible labour of library staff #your teaching is dependent on library staff. your research is dependent on library staff #WHOMST is editing every dodgy scan hastily produced in 2020 to make accessible searchable PDFs #and then checking they comply with copyright and making the reading lists and linking everything manually? #fucking library staff. do the academics notice? do they fuck

[bitchimasnake-sss]

just a distraction ft. choso kamo!

academic rivals, academic rivals, academic rivals, academic rivals- set-up: in which, choso and you are academic rivals. in every exam, the raven-haired cunt always seems to be just a negligible percent ahead of you. maybe you've had enough of his bullshit. maybe you should find better ways to get him off that first rank? (both the reader and choso are in second year of college)

warnings: PORN WITH (A LITTLE) PLOT. nsfw babes. contains blowjob, cunnilingus, dirty talking, pet names (baby, darling, etc.), banter (lots and lots). yeah mdni <3

you didn't know much about choso kamo. not really, no.

i mean you knew the basics. you knew his name, his voice. you knew that he always was dressed in black and that he had that weird (somewhat hot) tattoo cutting a horizontal across his pretty face. you knew he had two younger brothers (the pink-haired twin underclassmen) and how he doted on them outside of these wretched lecture rooms.

oh, and what else? you knew he was a fucking bastard.

you knew how smug he was. how absolutely insufferable. you knew the way he scoffed when the professor asked you for the answer instead of him. you knew the way he rolled his eyes when you told him he was wrong. and you knew his full lips always curled up when all the students would gather around the notice board after the exams.

you knew he would always scan his gaze over the crowd, meet your eyes and mouth, "maybe next time, sweetheart." and then walk away.

there's no way an arrogant asshole like him should ever come first in anything! but here you stood in front of the fucking notice board, seeing his name next to the first rank. again.

you had tried everything, really. you had been studying everyday in the library until the staff physically pushed you out of the gates and asked you to go home. you had practiced every question paper in existence, really. then how was he still sitting on top with that stupid fucking smirk of his?

"ugh, don't tell me you're going to the library today." nobara groaned, sprawled out on your dorm bed. "exams literally ended two days ago. you should take some time off!! you promised me you would shop with me once the break came-"

"that was before that bastard beat me again." you mumbled, stuffing a thick notebook into your bag haphazardly.

"are you gonna ditch me for that guy? again? nobody even cares about coming first in uni!! it's a miracle we're all passing, even."

"it matters to me."

"sure does..." nobara pouted. then she sat up and tucked her legs one under the other. she eyed you cautiously and uncannily slow, then grinned like a devil, "what are you doing?"

"what? packing my bag to go to the library?"

"why are you trying so hard to impress him?"

if your body was not a human body, you were sure your eyes would have fallen off and onto the ground. you spluttered, "excuse me? i- i am not trying to impress anybody!"

"uh huh, uh huh." she rested her face on her open palm as if oblivious to the accusations she had placed upon you and your character.

"don't uh huh, uh huh me."

"i am just saying that there are more ways to get a first rank than just studying your ass off you know?" she followed with a cashmere smile, "maybe you should take up another strategy. distract your opponent a little?"

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆

this was stupid. really, really stupid.

but nonetheless, you knocked on his dorm room and awaited an answer.

the rest of the floor was empty, most people on vacation or back home for the spring break but not him. he was holed up in his room doing god knows what (studying, probably.)

you subconsciously pulled down the hem of your short denim skirt while awaiting his answer. it's not like you dressed too modest or something. but knowing that you had purposely put on a white, almost see-through long sleeve with a mini, mini denim skirt for all the wrong purposes felt embarrassing.

he would probably see through your act so quickly.

the door finally swung open and there stood an annoyed man in a black, fitted tee and black sweats. his long, choppy hair had been put up in a half-up and his annoyed expression morphed into a sadistic, half-satisfied smile when he saw you. his lips tugged upwards as he took you in, up and down.

"want something?" he asked slowly, leaning against the door frame and towering over you.

you held the books flush against your chest, as if hiding yourself from his scrutinizing gaze. "i-" you swallowed thickly, the words going sour on your tongue, "i just was wondering if you would help me out."

"awh, finally asking for me help, sweetheart?"

the urge to flip him off and walk away was big. but the urge to defeat him and see his crying face was bigger.

"are you gonna invite me in or are we supposed to do this in the middle of the hallway?" you snapped.

god, your self esteem was taking brutal hits right now.

he stepped to his right and mockingly invited you in. you stepped inside into his dark, disheveled dorm room. only purple LED lights had been turned on and from the looks of it, his roommate was gone. possibly on vacation. the raven-head's laptop lay forgotten on his bed and the dimly lit screen had some pop-up game menu asking if he wanted to exit the game.

you looked back at him as he locked off the door. you swallowed yet again, "uhm, so what were you doing?"

"playing." he remarked nonchalantly, nodding towards his laptop. he sat on his roommate's clean bed and you mirrored his actions by sitting on choso's messed bed.

"so?" he quipped again, and the purple led lights casted ghostly shadows across his face, "what does the princess need help with?"

"first, she needs you to drop that cocky, bitchy attitude." you chewed on the inside on your cheek to bite back insults, "second, i- uhm, needed help with the integral problems."

"ah, really? which part?" he stood up, walking over to where you were sitting. looking down, he casted a dubious look as your fingers pulled his tshirt downwards as if nudging him to sit down besides you.

he sat down, uncomfortably close to you on that small bed. he refused to meet your gaze, choosing to pick up the book you had brought with you and flipping through it.

you leaned forward, purposely brushing your perked chest against his biceps. you pointed towards a random problem and whispered, "that one, please."

and just like that, choso kamo was fucked.

you could feel the man's composure was evaporating when he nodded dryly and swallowed in vain. he tried to put distance between you two but you felt confident in your teasing. deciding to press himself closer to his side, molding your curves against his sculpted body, you noticed how he shifted his pants ever so subtly.

"so, you know this needs to be integrated separately first-" his breath hitched as your light fingers skimmed over his arm and you nodded enthusiastically to continue. "right- so. so, you know then you take the numerator okay? and you should- hey w-what?"

he stopped confused as you lightly skimmed over his thighs. your fingers barely brushed over his hard-on. you flashed him a smile, "you look a bit tensed up. i feel like i can't study if you'd be so stiff around me."

"yn." choso breathed as you brushed your soft fingers past the growing tent again. his rough hands held your wrist still as he gave you a pleading look, "what are you doing?"

you took the book out of his hands, placing it somewhere on the bed. then you gave him a reassuring smile, "choso, relax."

and then you sat down on the floor. your hands separated his thighs gingerly and you looked up at him one more time. he had closed his eyes, as if looking at you would make him cum.

you dragged your fingers to the waistband of his pants and tugged them down slowly. his erect dick sprung up, slightly hitting his clothed abdomen. hiding your amusement at his apparent shyness, you slowly pumped his dick.

"look at me." you whispered and he exhaled softly. when his eyes met yours, you took off your shirt, presenting him with your bare torso.

"fuck-" he choked up, eyes transfixed on your perked nipples and the slight goosebumps on your supple skin.

your fingers pumped him languidly and you finally placed wet, kitten licks on the mushroom tip. tasting his salty pre, you swirled your tongue around it, relishing in his breathless whimpers. then, in one go, you took him in. you sucked on it while your hands worked his base.

you looked up at him through fluttering eyelashes and something in his demeanor broke. as if he had finally let lose.

his rough palm pressed against the back of your head, pushing you to take in more. you momentarily gagged around his cock and he moaned as your helpless voice reverberated against his shaft. he pushed you in slowly, looking at the way your eyes started tearing up.

fighting off a feral grin, he whispered, "you have no idea how long i've waited to do this."

then his hands guided you up and down, using your face as a toy for his pleasure. your manicured nails dug into the fabric as he abused your mouth for his pleasures.

"fuck- fuck. fuck. look at you, on your fucking knees. you're so fuckin' pretty, god." he threw his head back and strings of curses and moans left him as you worked in tandem with him. sucking him in pacing with the way he moved your head up and down. you eyes were getting watery and your throat feeling sore but you kept going, sucking harder till you felt him tremble under your strained touches and spit-soaked, red lips.

"i think im gonna cum- f-fuck i-" his voice broke and suddenly your mouth was full of a salty liquid. you swallowed down and ignored the sting that his dick had left behind in your throat.

still struggling to breath, he looked down at you. his calloused fingers softly wiped off the drool on your chin and he pulled you back up to sit you on his lap.

"pretty sure that wasn't a part of calculus." he whispered, almost laughing at his own joke but you were having none of it.

"choso." you breathed, desperation etched into your voice as you rut your hot, wet core against his clothed thigh. your eyes were watery, voice hoarse, "cho-"

"what do you want?" he pulled you in and pressed a kiss on your throat, his hands running over your smooth back, "ask me 'n ill give you the fuckin' world."

you leaned into his soft kisses. his clothed chest rubbed against your perked buds as you grinded yourself harder on him, "i dont know- you. i want you."

"you already have me." he insisted.

turning you around and laying you on his bed as softly as he could, he gave you a last hesitant gaze. his lips pressed chaste kisses down your body till he reached the swell of your breasts. his hand roughly pressed against one while his mouth latched onto the other.

he hummed, too drunk to say anything other than the feeling on your skin on his tongue. his fingers pulled at your hard nipple and you jolted under him, fighting off a moan. he let go with a pop, his eyes trained on your face as he licked a stripe down on your skin before focusing on the previously ignored side.

your hands tangled in his hair and you pressed down his face harder against yourself, insisting him to go rougher on you. as in on cue, he bit you slightly. grazing his sharp canine against your soft tits, he smirked when you shuddered under him.

moving even downwards, he kissed down on the soft fat on your stomach. his hands slowly played with the soft skin and he looked up at you, mumbling against your skin, "you're so fucking beautiful."

he undid the skirt, pulling it past your hips and thighs and throwing it somewhere on the floor. then, he took off his shirt, leaving him bare to be ogled at. you propped up, eyes running over every taut muscle rippling under his skin. mindlessly, you mumbled, "i hate you, you know?"

he gave you an easy smile, "maybe if you focused as much on integrals as you do on my abs, you would have been first."

"excuse me?" you sat up haughtily, "are you fucking stupid? asshole!"

his hands gently guided you back, laying you down. he gave you a teasing smile, "you run your mouth too much. that's your issue, yk."

"did i ask for your opinion or he-lp-" you closed your eyes as the pad of his thumb rubbed your clit through your slick-drenched panties.

he slowly traced circles on the sensitive nub, kissing the inner side of your plush thighs, "i thought that's why you came here?" he pressed an open-mouthed kiss close to where you wanted him. then he looked up and mumbled through a hooded gaze, "i thought you needed my help?"

he pulled the translucent fabric aside, he kissed the bundle of nerves before licking down a patient stripe down to your entrance, "fuc- choso ngh-"

"or is this it?" he spread your thighs apart more, looking at the glistening core, "did you want my help to fuck you as dumb as you are?"

before you could argue, he dipped his tongue in your entrance. his tongue lapping up the juices. he dragged his tongue up, focusing on your clit and the way you squirmed under him when he sucked on the puffy bud harshly.

looking over at your flushed face and being guided by your desperate hands, he pushed in two fingers inside. dragging them in and out, he marveled in the way your body responded to his touches.

your walls spasmed every time he entered and refused to let him go. you bit your lip to quiet yourself down. your thighs were shaking ever so slightly, your mouth agape, lips stained red. your back arched off the bed when he increased the pace and you tugged on his hair and cried out a moan when he used his thumb on your clit and pressed a kiss to your thigh.

"oh my god-" your back arched off as he sucked at your clit again, "fuck fuck fuck, choso. i'm gon'- cum, im gonna cum."

he pressed one last, fleeting kiss to your flushed clit. and he stayed there, drinking up any wayward nectar till you stilled under him. once he was sure you were through your orgasm, he stood up on his knees. wiping his face off, he asked, "you okay?"

you gave him a lazy, unenthusiastic thumbs up and he laughed at the gesture. climbing up, he came up and kissed your nose. you were sure he could taste the salt on your skin.

well, not like it wasn't his fault you were like this anyways.

laying next to you, he stared up at the ceiling and you fidgeted with your hair because it felt as if there was nothing else to do. you chewed on your lips, mulling your words over, "i don't run my mouth too much."

now that the sexual tension was gone. it was awkward, "sorry i said it like that."

"yeah, i guess it's okay."

well there were other things he had said aswell. like "i have been waiting so long for this" or "you have me"... but you didn't feel like raising such important questions when your limbs ached with fatigue and your mind was clouded over with thoughts of choso in your veins.

he gave you a tight-lipped smile and after a minute, he climbed off the bed.

"uh, hey?" you got up too, "do you want me to like... leave?"

"what? no no. i figured you'd get cold." he shook his head and grabbed a plain, blue t-shirt from his closet. he handed it over to you and climbed back in bed, dragging the covers up to cover you both. hesitantly, he draped his hand over your waist and no sooner was he asleep. his soft snores rang through the room and now you lay confused next to him.

nobara had given you some ideas and you followed it. now what? choso barely seem distracted. if anything, it seemed like it had taken off some sort of load off of his chest. he was sleeping so peacefully that you resisted the urge to sock him in the face and run back to your dorm.

while choso lay unaffected, it seems as though this escapade is gonna be rough on you.

well, this is your sign to never take nobara's advice again.

a/n: i actually have a part two written out already. let me know if anyone wants to see it lol. part two is now up! hope you liked it <3

#jjk smut #choso smut #choso #choso kamo #choso kamo smut #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk choso #choso x reader

[angelisverba]

so precious, if only you knew

in which y/n thinks her brother’s best friend sees her as a little sister, and Jason, her brother’s best friend, thinks she’s too cute for her own good.

word count: 9k give or take some :D

pairing: y/n, and her brothers best friend, Jason (from the snl skit)

notes: inspired by project x. that’s all.

When Jason and his friends were in their freshman year of high school, they made a pact.

To have a party.

A party so big, everyone got laid. A party so big, celebrities came. A party so big, the police feared it.

One where they would loose their virginity. Get drunk so they couldn’t remember how they lost it (although, now it’s too late ‘cause none of them are virgins). And maybe, just maybe, participate in the illegal consumption of illegal substances such as drugs and or alcohol.

At the time of their promise, it was unknown if this party would be any sort of celebration, or just for the hell of it. The four, gangly, skinny, face-full-of-acne, boys had been so fueled by the simple idea that they just had to make their party so legendary future alumni could only imagine imitating an ordeal as great as the one they created. As time passed, they argued over who’s birthday, or what holiday would be the cause of, as it had come to be named, G.C.B.B. Get Crunk and Bone Babes. Pronounced gee-sea-babe, because somehow the two b’s had morphed into ‘babe’. GCBabe, in the end, was endowed to Jason when he made a bet that he would score the winning touchdown and win the league for his high school during his junior year. Andrew and Kent, slightly peeved but more relieved that they had a reason to celebrate (they’d settled on Jason’s birthday), and had shifted their focus to the hows, when, wheres, and whats of the situation.

This was the only thing they ever talked about the closer it got to the date, Feburary 1st, and everything they did revolved around spreading the word, obtaining booze, weed, and whatever else they planned on having. Andrew, who’s uncle so conveniently ran a radio station, not only announced a message himself on said radio station, but also convinced his uncle’s dj coworkers to email any celebrities they knew.

Kent, more on the brainy side of things, was working on the booze and drugs. He snuck into the school and used that machine they had to make student id’s and created a fake state id for himself. He would buy booze in a store where workers didn’t know him. Maybe drive 30 minutes to the next town for beer and the lot. His cousin had told him not to worry about weed and the sorts, as long as he received payment.

Jason, ever the spoiled brat, would pay for everything. Even if it was his birthday.

No, no, because it was his birthday.

The thing is, his parents were going out of town to celebrate their anniversary, which just so happened to fall on Jason’s birthday (what a wonderful gift to Jason’s dad), and had given him a generous sum of money to make up for the fact that they wouldn’t be there to celebrate his 18th birthday party. So, he had the house, the money, and the birthday to celebrate.

“YOU’VE HEARD IT ONCE BEFORE, AND YOU’LL HEAR IT AGAIN TILL THE END OF THIS SCHOOL’S TIME,” yelled Andrew, who stood on the back of a golf cart, megaphone in hand while Jason and Kent drove him up and down the lunch tables, “PARTY AT FUCKING JASON’S HOUSE, THIS SATURDAY. MISS IT, AND YOU’LL DIE.”

“Andrew!”

The cart came to a stop in front of a very disgruntled-looking y/n, Andrew’s sister. She stood comically, with her hands bunched up into tiny fists at her hips, lips in a frown at her brothers actions. “Are you trying to cause a riot? Miss it or die,” she mocked, pulling a funny face and cocking her hip to the side as she does so, “Yeah, think I’d rather die, thanks. Now shut up and put that cart back before they take away your senior privileges.”

Kent laughs, and Jason, leaning with his forearms crossed on top of the steering wheel, snickered into his wrists.

“Well, I’ve got news for you sissy,” said Andrew, his tongue poking out at her playfully, “Coach Barnwell let us borrow his cart, and all the snitch staff is in a meeting, so I’m not gonna get into trouble,” He makes and L with his forefinger and thumb, pressing it on his forehead, “Loser. Now, scram. Go study for chem or... something.”

Y/n laughed at her brother, knowing that he was only joking with her, and flipped him off. She walked away with, as Andrew said, her chem book tucked underneath her arm, and shut herself in a little nook at the library for the remainder of the lunch period. Away from the ‘get crunk and bone babes’ nonsense, god knows she heard enough of it at home. Jason this, and GCBabe that. Sheesh, it was terrible. All she ever wanted to do was study and do her homework in peace... and maybe steal a few glances and Jason here and there.

But we don’t have to talk about that. What y/n really needed to do, was study for the chem test she had on Friday. Tomorrow. She was the best in her class, always raising her hand to answer a question, but for whatever reason, she just couldn’t get the hand of stoichiometry if she didn’t have a sample problem in front of her. She didn’t want to have to, but grades mattered, so all day she had been thinking of way to cheat. How to write what she needed. Which letters to shorten. Where to hide the slip of paper.

She’d done it before.

Cheat on a test, that is. The pressure there was to ensure good grades, well it was an insurmountable force. Her entire life, her parents told her academic success led to success in life, and you don’t want to end up homeless under the bridge do you, y/n?

She didn’t. It was her biggest fear. Studying hard for a nice home and car, and enough money to support herself and her kids was a constant thought in the back of her mind.

It’s because of this that the tip of her nose was always stuck in a book, her fingers always wrapped around a pencil that transcribed notes in her neat writing. It was all she knew.

Because it was all she knew. It was no surprise to her parents when she pulled all-nighters to study for tests. Or when she declined offers to eat dinner out because ‘mom, I have a test to study for’ or ‘dad, i really need to finish this essay’. That night, was no different. Y/n stayed up to study, her thumb pink because of all the pages she was flipping through. Her wrist her from forcing her writing to be as small as it could, so she could fit all she could on an index card she cut in half. 

In the morning, Andrew cheered a loud, “WHOOP! WHOOP! MY SISTER ISN’T SUCH A GOODY TWO SHOES AFTER ALL!” when he saw her place the card up her shirtsleeve after she put her seat belt on. Y/n, had she had the energy, would’ve pushed his shoulder, but instead chose to take a nap during the measly 15 minutes it took to get to school. Her head jostled against the headrest with the cars movements, and she almost cried because she couldn’t doze off. Somewhere along the way, she felt fingers against the side of her face, cradling her head. She jumped, startled, but she heard Andrew say,

“Relax, its Jason. Picked him up cause he needed a ride to school.” and she was out like a light.

Andrew got out of the car once he parked, and Jason circled around the passenger seat so he leaned over the console, with his palm still on the other side of her face. He rubbed up and down her forearm to wake her, murmuring, “We’re here, y/n. S’time to wake up.”

Y/n woke up disoriented, starting with a deep breath and her eyes blinking open slowly, looking around and landing on Jason, who was smiling at her tenderly. She smiles back at him, tilting her head to the side as she does so. She hopes he can’t hear how fast her heart is beating.

“Good morning,” she said to him. The warning bell rings not long after that, and she turns away from him to reach for her backpack. Jason grabs his own backpack, too, swinging it over his should and stepping out of Andrew’s car. Andrew stands at the front of the car, texting someone on his phone while he waits for Jason and his little sister to step out.

“C’mon guys. Big day today!” yelled Andrew. It seemed as if he was always yelling. His voice, ebullient and clear, held an electrifying energy today, amplifying itself to the max. He whooped and hollered, locking his car carelessly and comically skipping away, but not before turning back and blowing a kiss in Jason’s general direction, yelling, “This is for you, big boy!”

Y/n snickered at her brother, and at Jason’s shocked face. “That was for you, big boy,” she repeated after he brother.

“You forgot the kiss,” he said, pouting and pointing his chin down at the floor. Her heart doubled over in her chest, and she struggled to contain her swoon.The little 13 year old in her, having been the first time she ever felt anything for Jason, squealed like a banshee, and the rational 17 year old in her, shushed her by taping her mouth closed. Having seen Jason’s blonde, skinny, cheerleader girlfriends, she knew it would never happen. Jason was only nice to her because she was his best friend’s little sister.

That was all she’d ever be.

“Oh I have no doubt you’ll get plenty of those tomorrow,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. When she noticed the groups of students getting smaller and smaller, she started walking away, eager to get to class and not be late. She’s only taken three steps when Jason calls out her name.

“I know you’ll do great on your test today,” and he has the goofiest smile on his stupidly handsome name and y/n just wants to go over there and slap him for making her heart to pirouettes.

“Thank you,” she said, and turned to walk to her class.

Jason felt as if he was in one of those indie movies. But, the ones from the 80′s. Ironically, he’s leaned up against the car, one foot propped up, hand clenching the singular strap he wore on his left shoulder. Entranced, he stared after y/n as she walked away, brows dipped over his eyes and his leg bouncing jitterishly.

When he was 16, a sophomore, and she a freshman, he’d stumbled upon her on a rainy spring day. He’d been on his way home from his (now ex) girlfriend’s house, and she was huddled underneath a large birch tree, the canopy thick enough so she wasn’t getting wet, but the winds strong enough that she was chilled to the bone. Her knees were banged up, and her ankle was twisted. Jason remembers asking her what happened, and she said nothing, instead jumping into his arms when he knelt down beneath her. He remember hissing because she was so cold, her clothes soaked through. She’d whispered to him a weak don’t tell my parents, please take me to your house, and he did. He took her to his house, carrying her because the poor thing had to hop on one foot. This was around the time he was bulking for wrestling, so he didn’t have a hard time lifting her and carrying her the rest of the way.

She fell asleep on his bed wearing a pair of his sweatpants and his hoodie after she took a warm shower. They never talked about. Not even once. But Jason swears that every once in a while, the skin of his neck still burns where she pressed a kiss to it after he got in bed next to her because she was ‘still cold’.

Since then, Jason harbored feelings for her. His yearning of her dainty hands to press against his chest while she cuddled into him was squashed every time he heard Andrew yell at another guy in the locker room for sexualizing his sister.

It was a dangerous game he played. Sneaking looks at her in car rides to and from school. Wanting to kiss her like he did then. And when she wore plaid school girl skirts, he wanted to press her up against the wall and hold her by the throat while his tongue snaked into her mouth. All while he sat next to Andrew.

He knew that one day, he’d say fuck it all and do it. He wasn’t an idiot. His back burned when she stared a him from her kitchen isle while he played video games with Kent and Andrew in the living room of her house. He knew every little thing she tried to pass as discreet, because he did the same thing too.

One day, and one day soon, he’d say fuck. it. all.

.

.

.

Y/n was very nervous.

Well, she always get nervous when she’s getting ready to take a test but, today was different. She was on edge, leg bouncing and head pounding. She was stressed. Her english teacher had assigned a paper that was due at midnight, and her math teacher had given her a surprise quiz she knows she failed. And this test was her chance to bring her B+ to an A-. Not to mention, if she got caught, she’d be sent up to the office with a referral.

“You have until the end of class to complete this exam. If you fail to complete before the class period, you will be granted five minutes after the bell. You may begin,” the teacher, Mrs. Prowe, sat down after the little announcement, and turned her full attention to an adult coloring book she had set up on her desk.

Y/n stared at the first question for a solid 2 minutes before any of the information actually sunk in. To which does He belong? a. metals b. metalloids c. non-met....

The first few questions are always easy. Review from past chapters, all of which y/n understood. The first page, front and back, were a breeze. She bubbled in circled on her answer sheet without hesitation. The back side, however, was a different story.

Her palms began to sweat at the sight of brackets and subscripts on letters. Her pencil started slipping. Y/n’s heart started to race, the edges of her eyes blurring. Don’t cry, don’t cry. Fuck. The note card. She took it out with no second thoughts. Within seconds, she had finished the first problem. It was almost exactly like the example exercise she had copied down, only the letters had been changed; different elements. Halfway through the period, the teacher announced how much time was left, and y/n was nearly done.

On the last page, however, was one problem she knew she wouldn’t get. It was one of what the teacher called ‘irregulars’, because you needed to follow certain rules that pertained to the elements or whatever the heck it was. She stared at the paper with her eyebrows raised, and all the dreadful feelings she had felt before tumbled back. Her pencil began to slip, her eyes began to blur. Shit, shit.

The bell rang. She didn’t want to doddle any longer, cut she needed to answer this last problem, and she didn’t fucking know how. Her leg was near violently shaking, the table quivering with her movements. Her breathing grew tight, and she figured, she could lose one point. Knowing Mrs. Prowe it wouldn’t matter because that last one is most likely worth half the test. Y/n felt herself go rigid, body nearly frozen as she walked against student traffic to place her test on the teachers desk.

She was the last to exit the classroom. She did so with her head hung low, her feet dragging slowly on the tiles. Lips trembling, fighting to hold back tears.

That was how she bumped into Jason. Shoulders drooping and eyes shining wet. She bumped into his chest so hard, she would’ve fallen back if he didn’t catch her.

“Y/n?” He asked after he stumbled back a bit. He’d seen her coming, and he was looking at her, ready to smile when she looked up, but she hadn’t. “What’s wrong?” He followed her gaze to try and make eye contact with her, but she shifted her eyes to the floor, and let the tears slip.

“Y/n? Y/n? Hey, look at me,” Jason’s voice was desperate and panicked because he wasn’t really sure what was wrong. Y/n started to curl in on herself, her hands coming to clutch opposite shoulders. When she didn’t look up at him, Jason gingerly lifted her chin up with his curled forefinger. “What is it?”

“It’s too much. I-I,” was all she managed to whisper before she started crying, she body swaying with sobs. Y/n knew, she knew she was crossing the same lines she had that rainy spring day, but she needed to feel her arms around him. She needed to feel secure.

So,

she took one step forward, and wrapped her arms around his neck awkwardly, Not a full millisecond passed, when she felt his arms encompass her, a secure bind around her waist. His chin propped on her head, on his hands rubbing up and down her back, and she had her face tucked into his neck.

“S’okay, y/n. You’re okay,” He cooed into her ear, making ssh-ssh noises every now and then.

Slowly but surely, y/n felt herself come down from the self-destructive place she put herself in; the knot in her throat untangled. She began to retract her arms from Jason’s neck, when his arms tightened around her. She stilled, unsure of what to do.

For a second, Jason had forgotten his situation. Why he couldn’t get close to her. He was so close to saying fuck-it-all. He wasn’t sure what held him back. Maybe it was her teary eyes. Or the fact that a teacher had come out of their classroom. But, he cleared his throat and pulled away from her, stuffing his hands in his letterman jacket to avoid reaching out to wipe the tears from her cheeks.

“Sorry about that,” she said, sniffing and attempting to laugh to brush off the back that she had a mini-breakdown in his arms. “I-”

“It’s okay, y/n. Don’t apologize. I just want to to know what had you so upset,” Jason said, his words coming out slowly to make sure that she truly understood how much he meant them.

“It’s just,” she sighed, “school. It’s a lot.”

He scoffed, “I bet. You do so much. More than you give yourself credit for, I think. Deserve a break.”

“This weekend; s’gonna be my break. Yours too, no? Are you excited?” She confessed, turning the other way and beginning to walk. She was sure that Andrew was waiting for them at the car. Jason walked alongside her, as soon as she started moving.

“Yeah. It’s been all me, Kent, and Andrew have wanted since freshman year.” Jason stops talking for a minute, and scrunches one side of his face.

“But?” Y/n prods. Looking at him out of the corner of her eye. He scratched the back of his neck, and his jacket inflates where his bicep flexes. Jason notices her looking, and smiles at her while giving her a side-eye look. Blushing, she turns her face straight forwards, like that didn’t just happen.

“But, some of the novelty has worn off if I’m being honest.” When she hums, almost knowingly, he adds quickly, “Don’t tell Andrew or Kent I said that.”

She giggled, and murmured, “You’ve kept my secrets, I’ll keep yours.”

Jason, surprised at her subtle acknowledgement of what happened nearly 2 years ago, turns to look at her, shocked. He wants to say something. Anything to get her to say more, but he sees Andrew and shuts his gaping mouth.

“There you are- hey, y/n, are you okay?” Andrew’s chesire cat grin drops from his face when he sees that his little sister’s face is splotchy and swollen red from past tears- a look he recognizes all to well from the times she’d come into his room in the middle of the night asking to be held.

“I’m good,” she smiled at her brother, a sad smile that revealed she wasn’t okay, but didn’t wanna talk about it. “Let’s go home.”

Their ride was full of quick gibber and banter over tomorrow. How thing would go down, who they hoped to see and, in Andrew’s words, fuck. What music they would play, etc. etc. Y/n laughed at their enthusiasm under her breath. As much as she loved her brother, he could be such an idiot sometimes

They dropped Jason off at his house, which was being prepped by Kent by the looks of it. His car- a red corolla- was parked in Jason’s strip of a driveway. Andrew promised he’d be joining them later that night, and pulled out. 

He pulled the windows up, and turned the music off. Then, he said,

“Y/n, what happened?” Andrew, as much as he was a fuckboy an party animal, cared about his sister if he cared about anything at all. Maybe a little too much.

Pushing air past her lips, “I’m fine now, Andy. I promise. That stupid chem test really had me going, that’s all.”

“Are you sure, y/n? No one was bothering you?” Andrew looked at her quickly, hesitantly turning away from her to look at the road.

“Andy, I’m okay.” She reassured her brother.

Jason wasn’t a bother.

.

.

.

Saturday morning, y/n woke up to an eerily quiet house.

A difference to the pasts months. She’d gotten used to Andrew yelling ‘GET CRUNK BONE BABES!” all over the house. Hell, their parents knew of the entire party ordeal, and were quite skeptical about it. Knowing their son, they didn’t try to stop him, they just told him time and time again to ‘be safe, Andrew.’ So many nights he had come home excited and drunk, and shown them videos on his phone of what had occurred at whoever’s house he’d been at before

Their dad, in fact, had watched the videos with amazement, and never bashed on anything other than the fact that he shouldn’t be drinking when he wasn’t the appropriate age for it yet.  Y/n and Andrew were lucky to have such laid-back and relaxed parents that focused much more on safety and well-being rather than the semantics of it.

As y/n crept down the stairs in her silky pj’s (a christmas gift from her 26-year old aunt who liked to shop at Victoria’s Secret), the murmurs of her parents in the kitchen became louder and louder.

“Heard it on the radio, for godsakes,” said her mother, laughing as she stirred whatever liquid she had in her mug.

“I wonder if Jason’s parents know, about the whole thing,” said her dad, his back was to her, facing his wife.

“They must, I mean, it’s the only thing these boy’s have wanted since they started high school, Jason proba- oh hey, y/n!” Her mom smiled wide when she saw her step off the last stair.  At the mention of his daughter’s name, her dad turns around, and y/n can see that he has a mug in his hand too.

“Good morning,” y/n croaked, her voice froggy early in the morning.

“Big day today, no?” Her dad teased.

“I guess so,” she murmured, taking a seat on the kitchen counter and drumming her knuckles on it. Her mother makes her a small plate of what was left over from their breakfast, eggs, bacon, and a slice of toast with jelly. Picking up the slice of toast, she takes a small bite out of it and pulls out her phone from her back pocket, and starts scrolling through her social medias. It consists of people’s dogs, food, photos of Brad Pitt, and....

Her brother had posted a snap from the night before. A short video, not even 3 seconds long. Jason heading into one of the rooms in his large house, with a girl trailing behind him. She wore shorts that barely covered the swell of her butt, and a bikini top. It was captioned crudely: pre-birthday head for the birthday boy.

“Y/n?”  Her dad, or maybe her mom, she didn’t know. Her stomach started twisting, a sour taste settled in the back of her mouth. A weird underwater filter covered her ears, making it seem as if her head was underneath the water, and her parents were speaking to her from above the surface.

Forcing a smile onto her face, she hummed a response, not taking her eyes off her phone screen. It was weird, the feeling that overcame her when she spotted Jason with another girl. Every time, the same thing. Nausea on her tongue, a heat covering the back of her neck and ears, and a dreadful feeling settleling in the pit of her stomach.

“So, you’re going tonight then?” One of her parents asked.

Taking a few seconds to think, taking into consideration what she could be doing instead of watching Jason....”No, I don’t think so.” Her voice is sure, and strong, loaded with finality. 

A load clink of ceramic against marble echoes in the kitchen. She looks up from her phone then, placing it on the counter face down. Her mother was staring at her with her lips pressed together in a hard line. “And why not?”

“Because a party isn’t my scene, mom.” Y/n responds tentatively, alarmed at her mothers hard and inquisitive tone. Her dad stood quietly watching the interaction, stepping to the side to that there was nothing on between y/n’s line of vision.

“And how would you know that if you’ve never been to the one. You’re brother loves them! And I think that you need this break. Andrew told me what happened yesterday. You need to let loose, y/n.” Her mother argued, her words going from agitated to coaxing. “Go to this party.”

“No.” y/n said, looking at her mother straight inn the eyes. She didn’t want to go. She wanted to spend a calm night at home,, all cozy in her blankets with a book, and not having to look at Jason with a pain in her chest.

“Fine,” said her mother, taking her phone out of her pocket.

“Thank you,” responded y/n, relieved. Her dad nodded, and opened his mouth to speak, when her mom said,

“If you don’t go, Andrew can’t either.”

Both y/n and her dad gasp. Her mom was lifting her phone up to her ear, the dial tone ringing in the room.

“N-no, you can’t do that! Andrew’s gonna be so upse-”

“Hello? Andrew? I’m doing good sweetie, uh, listen. Your sister doesn’t want to go to the party, so you can’t go either. However, if YOU MANAGE TO CONVINCE THEN YOU CAN GO,” Y/n’s mom’s voice raises to cover her brother’s protests, “THAT’S FINAL. GOODBYE.”  Yn’s mom hangs up the phone and places it next to the kitchen sink.

Not even a full second later, while y/n stares mortifies at her mom and dad, her phone starts to blare the theme song to The Simpsons, the ringtone for her brother.

She picks it up with her jaw still dropped. She answered the phone.

“Y/n! Y/n, PLEASE. WHAT’S GOING ON? PLEASE COME TO THIS PARTY, Y/N, DON’T DO THIS TO ME, Y/N...” her brother’s voice fills the room even when she doesn’t have him on speaker. he’s begging her, his voice truly distraught.

She knows she has no other option that to agree. She couldn’t do that to her brother, not when it’s the only thing he’s talked about for the past month. She wasn’t mean enough to do that to him.

“... FOR TWO WEEKS. I’LL DO ANYTHING, PLE-”

“OKAY! I’ll go, fuck,” Y/n yelled back, exasperated and defeated. She pinched the bridge of her nose, and stares down at her plate, not bearing to look at her mom and dad.

“Thank you! Oh my god, thank you. I’ll pick you up at 5, so-”

Y/n hung up on him. Glared at her mom, and the went to mope until 5 in her bedroom.

.

.

.

Somewhere along the line, moping turned into pre-party prep. She turned her speaker up all the way, and sang at the top of her lungs. Y/n was going in with the mentality of drinking and keeping to herself.  Observing, or locking herself in on of the rooms and fall asleep. She was dreading it, but wouldn’t deprive her brother of this because it meant so much to him. 

Her parents tried coming in several times, and every time she refused to open her door. 

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, she thought to herself, I’ve got this. 

Once it got closer to 5, she put in some jeans and her favorite t-shirt. A faded purple short-sleeve with a smokey image of Prince on it. She totally didn’t wear it because every time she wore it, Jason complimented her on it. 

It was 4:57 when Andrew knocked on her door. 

“Y/n, y/n, y/n, my sister whom I love so much, can you please-“ he’s knocking rapidly on her door, and y/n throws on a green knit sweater at last minute before opening the door, and her brother knocks right on her eye. 

“Ow!” She helps, the hand that wasn’t holding her shoulder bag reaching up to cover her eye. Andrew gasped, and started to repeatedly apologize. 

“I’m so-“

Y/n, irritated and upset, held up her palm and shook her head. “Just shut it. Please.” Andrew tried saying something, and y/n just pushed past him, staring ahead coldly, “lets go.”

Her previous attitude about this party had returned. She was mad and couldn’t be more bothered to attend. A tiny part, deep in her heart, ached and pulsed wildly. She wasn’t really sure how the night would end, and she didn’t like that. She wanted to know that by 10, she’d be falling asleep after a bubble bath, or reading a book safely in her bed. 

Not drinking and partying with nobody she knew (none of her friends-the little she had- were going). And she was damn sure that Andrew wouldn’t stick around the entire night. No, he’d be eager to be at all places at once, included in all the action. All. The. Action. 

They walked to Andrew’s car in silence, she strutting and fuming with attitude, and he, with his head bowed and cowering like a shunned puppy. Sure, he was older, bigger, taller, buffer than y/n, but when she was mad, he became a scurrying mouse who bent at her command. Not because she was mean or anything like that, but because Andrew loved her and he wanted to see her with a smile, and he figured listening to her was the first step. 

So, he shut the fuck up, and followed behind her, listening closely in case she ordered something else.  To clarify, y/n didn’t order. She said things. But Andrew (again) loved her and took those sayings very seriously. It wasn’t like she was the Wicked Witch of the West with a whip in her hand. It was more like she was a disappointed mother, and he her kid who loved his mom and didn’t want her to be upset at him anymore. Their dynamic was like that. 

Not even a full 10 minutes later, Andrew was pulling into Jason’s driveway, and pulling into his six-car garage, next to Kent’s car. Pulling the key out of the ignition, he sat for a moment, not turning to look at his sister. 

He didn’t have to. 

Without glancing at him, she said, “I want a margarita... please.” Then, she turn to look at him with a tiny smile; a piece offering. She’s forgiven him. And she has. Well, she wasn’t angry at him to begin with, but her irritation is gone.

Andrew laughed, his head thrown back and his ha, ha, ha’s bellowing. “Yes, ma’am. Strawberry or Mango?”

“Both.” Y/n opens the door to the car, and walks through the garage door that leads to the house. The doorway opens into the kitchen, where Kent and Jason are seated on the kitchen isle, a blunt mid-pass from Jason to Kent.

She stops in her tracks, eyes wide at the smell, and the smoke exiting in grey ropes out of Jason’s lips. Andrew pushes past her like nothing, and opens the steel fridge to look for fruit. Jason grins, a slow and lazy spread of his spit-slicked lips. Kent coughs after he inhales.

“Hellooo y/n,” Jason sing-song’s, drawing out her name and laughing. Kent snickered.

“Long time to,” Kent makes a c-shape with his hand, “see,” and bursts out laughing.

“Gimme some of that, dickheads.” Andrew makes a ‘come here’ motion with his fingers.

Y/n fakes a gasp, and hoists herself up onto the counter. She’s been surprised, and a tiny part of her itches because marijuana is a drug, but she can’t really do anything to stop them. They’re half gone and if she said something, she was a party pooper. Tucking her legs underneath herself, she takes a long look at Jason’s kitchen. She’s been in it plenty of times before, when his mom invites her and her brother other for dinner, or breakfast. She’s even helped prepare meals.

But it never gets old.

It always look bright, the lights on the ceiling shine in a way that fills the space, and the reflection off the cream marble glint against the steely surfaces of all the appliances. Toaster, fridge, sink, stove, all a grey color. There was an oven built into the wall, and another right next to it to cook pizza or bread. The kitchen isle in the middle was 7 steps long (she counted once) and 4 steps wide. There was a stove on the counter, and a sink next to it. Jason sat next to the stove, and Kent in the alcove that stretched and transformed into the sink up against the wall.

“... bringing booze and 6, and says he’s got Snopp Dog as DJ. Ben is on back up DJ, or alternate if Snopp wants to.” Kent says, coughing and waving a hand in front of his hand as he does so. Y/n’s ears perk up at his revelation, and her head turns in a peculiar motion.

“Wait, wait, did you say Snoop Dog?” She says, the top half of her body leaning forward. Andrew looks up from his task at the blender, dunking in cut strawberries with ice.

“You heard right, sissy. Snoop Dog!” whooped Andrew, pumping his arm in the air.

“Jesus Christ,” Y/n murmured underneath her breath, shaking her head.

“Raise your hand if you’re staying to fix this place up tomorrow,” said Jason, lifting both of his arms up in the air.

Kent crosses his arms as if he were in a straight jacket, and Andrew laughs and says, “Jason the party keeps going tomorrow.” He presses a button, and the machine starts blending, the loud noise blocking out whatever Jason said next. Whatever it is, Andrew and Kent catch it and bend over laughing, while y/n just watched in confusion.

Once the machine stops, Andrew pours the thick, pink substance into a sugar-rimmed glass, and gives it to his sister. Y/n takes it from him, and looks over at all the ingredients next to the machine because she hadn’t seen what kind of alcohol he put in it. She sees a squat bottle with a green sticker and a cork top; Ciroq.

It’s when she’s puckering her face after her first sip, that the first group of people come in. Andrew and Kent spring forward to answer the door, and Jason just watched them push each other to see who would get there first. Her and Jason are alone in the kitchen, and even though she sees perfectly clear where Kent and Andrew are, she seizes this as her chance to ask Jason what may be her only chance for a stress free night.

Climbing down, she walks over to where Jason sits,and poked his jean clad thigh. “Jason?” She tries not to let her eyes linger on the spots where his plain white shirt pulls tight across his chest, his pectoral muscles rippling. His blonde hair is unruly today, parting down the middle so strands of hair glittered in front of his green eyes.

“Mmm-oh! Yes?” He said, his eyes blinking owlishly at her, slow reflexes when you’re high and all that.

“Is it okay if I lock myself in your room? Or a guest room? Please, I just d-” she started to explain herself when he interrupted her.

“Yes.” Jason placed his hand on her shoulder in a comforting manner, his eyelids drooping a little further than they already were.

“Yes?” She asked, surprised.

“Yes. Si. Oui. Andrew told me what your mom did. And I’m sorry. You can lock yourself in my room. I’m the only one with the key.” He said. Jason stretched, yawning and raising his hands over his head, the bottom of his shirt raising up and revealing the hard lines of his abdomen, the two lines that form a ‘v’; a make shift runway to what lies underneath the waistband of his pants. Y/n, having seen only one other penis, a leaked celebrity’s nudes, is surprised to see that Jason’s doesn’t have a ‘happy trail’.

Clearing her throat, she said, “Thank you. I’m going up there now, okay?” Y/n backed out of the kitchen, Jason’s nodding at her and turning his attention, and what a surprise this is, the blondes that had just walked in with a few dudes who carried packs of beers in their arms. The girls, five of them, all looked like barbie dolls in bikinis.

Rolling her eyes, y/n trudged up the stairs and walked down the hall to Jason’s all-to familiar room. She entered again, into the place she had mulled over many nights in a row.

Jason’s room would be her sanctuary, like it had been that one rainy spring day.

It was just like she remembered it.

For a teenage boy, Jason was very neat. He had a bamboo four poster bed, with Japanese art covering the space above his puffed-up white pillows. His comforter was the same eggshell color of his walls. In front of his bed he had a record player, and a wooden box with records in it. He had a mahogany bookshelf as well, every crevice stacked with books, straight across, and sideways in the spaces between books and the self above it. His room faced the backyard, and y/n had a clear view of the pool and the people that gathered around it. Jason had a window ledge large enough that he could sleep in it comfortably, and judging by the looks of it, he had. There was a tartan quilt and quilt laid out messily on the expanse of it, a book titled Norwegian Wood open with the pages-side down next to the pillow.

His room smelled like him too. No clothes lay scattered in any place, but his scent permeated the room. Sandalwood and vanilla; his musky and sweet scent of boy.

Y/n kicked off her shoes at the foot of Jason’s bed, and set her barely-even-touched margarita on his bedside table, next to a pair of clear lens glasses. That’s funny, she thought, I didn’t know Jason wore glasses.

She tucked herself into his bed, lifting the comforter out of its tucked position, and nestled tightly into the warm cocoon. Taking a deep breath or Jason, her eyes shut themselves, and snapped back open seconds later. Did I lock the door?

Fuck. No, she didn’t. She had to get back up and lock it. Jiggled the knob for extra measure, just to make sure it was locked.  Once she was satisfied,she returned to the bed, and tucked herself in. Her eyes were closing once again, when the thrum of the bass in whatever rap song it was blaring the house, shook through Jason’s room.

No matter. She was out like a light not even 5 minutes later, Lulled to sleep by the smell of Jason.

.

.

.

Jason, Kent, and Andrew were having the time of their fucking lives.

Andrew had forgotten all about y/n after Jason told him she was in his room, and had downed a total of 6 body shots, all on different people. He lost track of how many people took shots on him. Cloud nine, this is what cloud nine is. He was everywhere and nowhere. Try looking for him and you’ll only catch his shirt-tail because he was already moving on to the next scene. If you saw a flipped red solo cup, then he had been there. He was absolutely reveling in the mass of sweating bodies. His yelling inn the cafeteria had paid off.

Everyone and their fucking mom came. He’d seen everyone he knew from school, and twice the amount of people he knew from school that he didn’t recognize. True to his word, his friend had brought Snoop fucking Dog, and he was up by the pool, dj-ing with five towering giants surrounding him. This only brought more attention. The party had spread out to the streets.

Kent was out of his mind, with how high he was. Don’t tell his mom, but he didn’t know what drug it was making it look like the guy passing the blunt had an elephant head. The lights made him feel like he was in a galaxy, sitting on the rings of Saturn with two topless babes under his arms. He sat with a ring of boys in the den, where you couldn’t see past your nose with how much smoke there was in the air.

And Jason? Shit, Jason was having a really hard time getting his dick up. He was in the pool with more than TWENTY topless babes he was supposed to be boning. It was his birthday after all. Andrew had posted a sign on the shallow end of the pool that said ‘only naked babes allowed’, and would appear every five seconds to remind said ‘babes’ to “TAKE YOUR TOP OFF!!!”

No matter how hard he tried, Jason just couldn’t get hard. The girl who pressed her tits in his face- a real 10 really, with bee stung lips and all- was starting to get confused, and Jason was starting to feel like a real tool.

There he was, his party was crazy, police having been chased off, a racoon being passed around on a leash, Snoop Dog having a literal concert inn his backyard, and far off in the distance there was the shinning light of a news helicopter. And he wasn’t having it.

He did for the first hour. Did some shots, smoked more weed, grinded on some people, got grinded on. Someone had inflated a whole-ass bouncy castle next to his garage, and it was filled with nothing but naked girls (which also did nothing for him). And it was fun seeing it build up. It gave him a bit of a heady adrenaline rush, knowing that ll these people where there because-

“So are you gonna let me give the birthday boy, his birthday present?” said the girl who was topless on his lap, her voice sultry and velvety smooth. She was licking a stripe up Jason’s throat, her hips swiveling against his groin.

Jason, still wearing his clothes, jeans and white shirt and all, looked up at his bedroom window, and what he saw made his heart crack in two. Y/n, his precious y/n, was looking at him with horror, tears painting her cheeks not unlike the way they had yesterday in the hallway, and a hand cupped over her mouth. The other hand was lifted up to her ear, and Jason saw that her mouth was moving.

She was on the phone.

He started to feel dirty, like slime. Guilty, was more like it. He realized then that the reason why he couldn’t get hard is because the girl in his lap wasn’t y/n. And seeing her, in his room all alone and in pain, made him feel like scum.

Pushing the girl off without remorse, he said, “No, I don’t think so.” He ignored the girl’s protests, and also whatever the hell Andrew yelled after him. Jason looked straight ahead, striding with intention to his room. It was difficult, with all the bodies and high-fives and bro-slaps he had to give on his way up the stairs, but he made it. He was dripping all over his floor, but he made it.

He hesitated, placing a hand on the door. As the bass of This is How We Do It vibrated through the wall and against his hand, he wondered what would happen when he opened the door. He wanted to console her. Ask her what was wrong, even though he had a large inkling he knew why she was upset- that it might’ve been his fault.

Jason dug his hand into his pocket, using his fingers to peel apart the cloth because it stuck together, and felt for the key to his room. Once he found it, he fed it through the lock, and turned it, the door giving away a sliver to which he was able to peek inside.

Y/n was on the phone. She was sitting at his window ledge, on her knees, still looking out. She hadn’t heard him coming in. Shutting the door closed behind him, Jason held his breath and listened.

“Am I an idiot?” she squeaked, sniffling to the other person on the line. “Why? Well, isn’t it clear. Donna, he’s constantly surrounded by all these skinny, tall blondes, and I’m not like that.”

Jason’s eyes widened. His heart felt as if an arrow had been shot through it.

“I’m so stupid, really. How could I ever think-”

Yes, yes?

“-that Jason could like me?”

He was appalled. Frozen in his tracks, because god did she really think like that? How could she not realize it. She was so precious; all Jason ever though about. If only she knew. If only she knew-

Well, the thing is- and it might be the weed talking, but- she could know. Jason didn’t have to keep it from her anymore. He could tell her. Fuck it. Fuck it all.

“Y/n?” He said. Clearly, not loud enough because she didn’t turn around. He walked to her, close enough that his knees pressed against the ledge of the window seat, and close enough so that he could grab her wrist.

She yelped, surprised, and whipped her head around. When she saw it was Jason, even though he was smiling a dopey, sweet smile that made her want to fall into a puddle, her face fell into one of mortification. He took the phone from her hand and hung up, tossing it on the pillow.

 “Oh, y/n.”

“Jason, I-” Her cheeks flushed. Her words died in her throat, her tears frozen on her lips.

“I like you, y/n. More than you know.” And his clothes were wet sure, but it didn’t matter because fuck. Fuck it all. Jason pulled her up, wrapped a hand around her waist, and kissed her.

A soft, gentle, press of his lips against hers, their noses bumping. She squeaked and tensed, her fingers squeezing his biceps. His thumb rubbed circled to the sliver of skin that peeked from the place where her shirt rode up.

He pulled away from her, and she leaned forward with her own lips puckered, whining because he pulled away.

“I’ve been wanting to do that, for so long, you know?” He told her, placing her back down on the ledge, while she stared back up at him dreamily.

“Why didn’t you?” she asked him.

“Because Andrew would beat me to a pulp,” he said, laughing. “But it doesn’t matter anymore.” Jason reached for the bottom of his shirt, and pulled it over his head, y/n watching with cheeks flaming at the way his skin rippled and tightened with every movement. After a beat she says,

“Why’s that?”

“Because I’d rather get beaten to a pulp, than be away from you any longer.”

super proud of this. THERE WILL BE A PART 2!!

much love, -abigail

#Harry Styles #harry edward styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles blurbs #harry styles fic #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles soft #harry styles smut #harry styles smut oneshot #harry styles fluff oneshot #harry styles writing #harry smut #harry swriting #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry oneshot

[stones-x-bones]

Classic Blunder || Ben and Bex

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @professorbcampbell and @inbextween SUMMARY: Ben finds Bex reading alone in the hallway and decides she’s quite a remarkable find. CONTENT: Brief Domestic Abuse mention

Being back at school was a strange feeling. Bex was eager to be back, she did love learning after all, but the strangeness of it came from sitting through hour long lectures about modern law and criminal justice systems, because despite trying to convince herself that she could still do this, she really didn’t want to be doing this. There was a meager acceptance as she sulked through her mandatory classes of the day, only to give herself the gifts of her electives-- A Timeline Of History Before Humans and, of course, Professor Beck’s class, Our Monsters, Ourselves: Recognizing the Other in Speculative Literature-- after them. She always came away feeling refreshed from them, especially now more so that she was living at Morgan’s. Going home to a place that didn’t feel...suffocating was nicer than Bex had ever imagined. But, that still left a lingering fear in her-- because, ultimately, she’d have to go home one day. And it was probably going to have to be someday soon. So perhaps the strangeness was more a feeling of bittersweet, because despite the bruises now fading on her skin, and the cuts closing up, the things that brought her joy also reminded her of the fact that they would not last. They simply could not. 

Morgan’s class had ended a while ago, but Bex still lingered in the hallway. She was reading one of the books she’d borrowed from Morgan’s library, about Ancient History and how the stories of the past influence modern literature. There was only one bench in the hallway and she’d curled up on it, letting the masses of students wander by, not paying much attention to them and they paid little attention to her. But she remained even after the halls had cleared and more classes had started, lost in her book. She didn’t even notice the footsteps in the hallway, or the man approaching her.

Shutting his attache case with a final sigh, Ben stood up from his desk and shut the door to his office. It had been a long day of grading, office hours, and a department meeting, but it was worth it in the end. Making the right appearances, maintaining a good work flow, ensuring that his end of semester feedback responses were just where they needed to be-- it was all a balancing act. And it was an act he excelled at. Locking the door behind him, Ben made his way through the winding hallways of his building towards the exit. As he made his way through the halls, his forehead creased as caught sight of a young woman lost in a book. “I hope you don’t have a class to be going to,” Ben commented loudly, slowing to a halt in front of the girl. “Not that I’d tell on you-- this isn’t high school, after all.” He said with a conspiratorial grin. “What are you reading?”

Bex nearly jumped out of her skin when the man spoke, snapping her book shut out of reflex. She looked up at him, trying to shake off the jitters that had suddenly crawled into her hands. “O-oh, no! I don’t! I just got out of class, I pro--” she stopped herself mid sentence and shook her head, “I just got done with my last class of the day, I just like, you know, the atmosphere here sometimes cause it gets real quiet and there’s usually no one around in the halls, so reading is easy, but I--” she needed to take a breath, to calm down-- “sorry. Sometimes I talk a lot when I get nervous. Not that I’m nervous! You just kind of...caught me off guard.” But he didn’t seem too perturbed by her frantic rambling and he looked like one of the nicer professors, unlike most of the ones who had permanent furrows in their brows. She looked down at the book in her hands. “Oh, um…” held it up to him, “it’s something Professor Beck lent to me. A-about the history of storytelling and how it influences modern literature and media. Do you, um, know her? Professor Beck? Are you in the lit department, too?”

Slipping his hand into the pocket of his trousers, Ben listened to her ramble with a patient smile on his face. She was one of those students. The anxious, over-eager, not yet self-assured children. Ripe for the picking. And his little gatherings, they were long overdue for a fresh face, for fresh blood. “I was only joking, I’m sorry for making you nervous.” He said with a laugh and apologetic shrug that he didn’t mean. “Or rather-- not nervous.” Ben corrected himself. Watching as she held up the book, his eyes flicked across the cover. It seemed… exactly like the kind of drivel Bitchy Fucking Beck would have in her personal collection. Modern literature and media-- what sort of study was that? Were her students analyzing movies? Or, he shuddered to think, TikToks? Disgusting. But, his expression remained politely intrigued, “Ah yes, Morgan and I are well acquainted. And no, I’m not a member of the literature department, but we work within the same college. I’m a professor of the Classics and not,” Ben let out a wry chuckle, “Literary classics. I teach Greek and Roman classics. I’m sure your book includes some references to the old mythologies and tales from back then.”

“Oh, no, it’s okay! Really! It was mostly my fault. I’m really bad at paying attention, sometimes. Especially when I’m reading a book.” Bex gave her best attempt at a reassuring smile, finding that innate part of her that needed to please adults surfacing again. She perked up a bit when he mentioned knowing Professor Beck. “You are? She’s great, don’t you think? I mean, I’m kind of struggling in her class, but it’s because I’m really bad at creative writing and critical analysis of literature, but I enjoy it! It’s interesting and I like learning new things.” She watched him eye the book before setting it down in her lap again, fiddling with the cover. “Oh, you teach the classics? That’s so cool. I’ve always been interested in studying them academically. I’ve read a lot of books on them-- like, a lot-- but I’ve never taken a class for it! And um, it sort of does, obviously! Story-telling was often used as the only means to pass on history and culture and it was such a large part of both the Greek’s and Roman’s society. I know it’s kind of typical, for people to enjoy Greek mythology, but there’s a reason it’s so popular. But, um, I don’t really have to tell you that, do I?” She chewed her lip anxiously. “Sorry, uh-- I’m Bexley, by the way.” Stood up, holding her hand out. “Professional rambler.” 

“Nothing wrong with getting lost in a good book,” Ben said with a nod, “I’m guilty of that particular crime myself.” Among other, actual crimes. But, that was neither here nor there. Watching the way her eyes seemed to light up at the mention of Beck, Ben offered a reassuring smile. She was one of these foolish children who preferred fiction to fact, hm? But, as the girl continued to speak, perhaps, he thought, not. “Ah, regardless of performance, the pursuit of knowledge is a wonderful thing. That’s why we’re all here, right?” He said. Listening patiently as the girl’s words took on a meandering, if anxious, quality, Ben regarded her with a practiced eye. She was young, she hardly looked old enough to order a drink. There was a nervous anxiety that practically bubbled over from within her-- he could see it in the way she played with her book, how she bit her lip, the skittish way she moved. Interesting, very interesting. “Oh no, I’m always happy to hear what fellow lovers of the classics have to say.” He said and shook her hand firmly, a broad smile on his face. “Ben Campbell. Professional Rambler of the Classics. If you ever have the misfortune of attending one of my classes, I can assure you, I have you beat in the rambling department.”

“Oh, do you like reading books, too? What kind? Do you have your own library? Professor Beck has a huge library at her place. She lets me pick whatever I want to read.” Bex gave the professor a genuine grin as he took her hand to shake. He had a firm grip, and she remembered all the times her father told her a man could be judged by how firm his handshake was. She still didn’t understand what that meant. “I’m trying my best, and, really, that’s all I can do right now, right?” Even if that fact still made her feel poorly. She hoped her inability to keep the waver from her voice wasn’t a dead giveaway. She shook it off and readjusted. “Nice to meet you, Professor Campbell! And, well, I mean-- who wouldn’t ramble about the Classics? There’s a lot to say about them, and a lot to, you know-- know.” She wasn’t sure she was making too much sense anymore, but the lack of sleep was getting to her. She really needed to sleep. Rubbing her eyes, she looked around the empty hallway. “Have you taught here long? This is my first year at UMWC so I don’t know a lot of the professors. Or a lot of the staff. Or...students.” She knew Mina, and she knew some of the weird kids in Morgan’s class, and she knew Frank. But that was about it. She really needed more friends. “Sorry! If I’m keeping you, you can go. You probably don’t wanna be stuck talking to some awkward student who’s not even in your class.”

With an amused smile, Ben replied, “Yes, I do. I have a rather large collection of books at my home, as well as in my office. Most of the ones I keep here are related to my classes, but my personal library at home is a bit more diverse. Still, I’m rapidly running out of room in my collection. A pretty common struggle for your average bookworm, I suppose.” He said with a chuckle. “Of course! And I’m sure your professors understand that. What are you majoring, if you don’t mind me asking?” He asked. She knew Beck-- quite closely too, it seemed. But, she’d also said she wasn’t the creative sort. Hm. So how did she know her? “It’s nice to meet as well, Bexley.” He beamed. “I’ve taught here for the past ten years. First as an adjunct but I’m now an associate. Though I doubt you wanted to know that-- suffice to say, I’ve been here for some time. How are you finding your classes? I’m always interested in hearing what students think of the matriculation process.” He said before waving off her concern. “Ah, no, I’m done for the day. Like I said. I value what our student body has to say about the university.”

Bex’s eyes lit up at his words. “You have a library here?” she couldn’t help but ask, not thinking much of it, really. She wanted to see it. Books were her only escape for the longest time. It sounded stupid and cliche, but when you were locked up in a room for most of your life, adventure was where you made it. In hallways, in blanket forts, in books under the bed. She couldn’t help the curious glow in her eyes. “Oh, yeah, I totally get that. Most of the books I have at home are stuffed in my closet, but my dad’s library is pretty big. Though, he really only has law texts and old books on, like, world wars and stuff. I never understood the appeal of them, but I guess some people just like different things. I, uh-- I’m majoring in law. Well, pre-law, but, you know.” She shrugged. “Ten years? Wow, that’s a really long time. You must know this place well.” She wondered if he knew about all the hidden secrets White Crest had. He seemed so normal. But, then again, she seemed normal, too, didn’t she? Sometimes? “Oh, no worries! I don’t mind! Tell me whatever you want, I’ve been told I’m a good listener and I never mind learning more about people. But, uh-- classes are fine! They’re-- I was out for a bit, cause I was um...sick,” she scratched at the back of her neck, “but I’m catching back up, I think. It’s nice to know a lot of the professors here care so much about the students. Penn State felt very...different.” And yet she missed it. Missed the freedom. “That’s where I transferred from. I actually grew up here, but I don’t ever really feel like I did, since my parents sent me to private school.” And there she went, oversharing again. She bit her lip. “Sorry, that was probably more information than you wanted from someone who’s not even in your class.”

“Library is a strong word to describe my office, it’s just a wall with some shelves. But, it’s rather comprehensive, if I do say so myself.” Ben said with faux modesty. Always better to play the bashful professor than to yammer on about how much time and money and effort he had put into his collection. Particularly the money. There were first editions in his collection that librarians dreamed of. “I can’t say I understand the interest in the world wars either, but again. I’m a professor of antiquity. Anything beyond 6th century AD is too new for my tastes. It’s a wonder I can even use a smartphone.” He smiled at his own little joke. “Pre-law, that’s got quite the courseload. How are you finding it compared to Penn state?” He asked, shifting his weight so he could stand more comfortably, his body language relaxed and open as he listened to her ramble. “No, no, it’s quite alright. I grew up in town as well, but I went to college elsewhere, so I can understand that sentiment.”

“Wow,” Bex breathed, “I’m a bit jealous. I think it’s my dream one day to just have an entire room full of books. I...guess that’s really just a library, but they wouldn’t even need to be shelved. Stacks on stacks would be nice. I would shelve the nice ones, though. I’m not a heathen, I take care of my books!” In a way, Professor Campbell almost reminded Bex of Morgan. Less wiccan, though, and more scholarly. “Oh, really? What’s your favorite period? And, well, smartphones can be confusing, but really they’re just small computers. If you ever need help, I can probably show you. I had to show someone else recently how to use her smart phone cause she couldn’t figure out how to change the background wallpaper.” She swallowed, nodding maybe a little too eagerly. “Yeah, yep-- heavy course load. Lots of reading and citing and making sure everything is exactly word for word. My whole family is lawyers and they’ve all got degrees from Harvard, so you’d think it’d come naturally to me, but I guess I didn’t get the right genes. I’m trying my best, though, you know? And UMWC is...smaller than Penn, but I guess it feels...cozier? I liked the freedom I had at Penn state, but it was really high pressure. A lot of the kids in my program here just seem really bored, though. This isn’t a top school for pre-law so you have to get really high scores in order to even think about getting into Yale or Harvard or Princeton, so I think a lot of them are resigned to just going to second rate grad schools. Where’d you go to college?”

“Sounds like the dream of a fellow scholar,” Ben said, voice kind and understanding. She seemed young, impressionable. Eager to learn, eager to please. Interesting. How very interesting. “I’ve gone through the stacks of books phase myself, I know how that is. But, having shelves just really ties a room together. There’s nothing quite like seeing all the spines laid out, the titles staring back at you. It’s a wonderful thing.” He said with a nod. “I’m quite a fan of the first century of the Roman Empire. Marcus Aurelius, his works still hold to this day.” At the girl’s offer, he let out a small laugh, though internally he wanted to roll his eyes. He wasn’t inept. “I appreciate the gesture, but I think I’ll be fine. Thank you for the offer, though!” He said. As she continued to speak-- on and on, about her family, about her inane observations of what the campuses were like-- Ben continued to mentally measure and weigh her. This Bexley girl, she was new to the university, still trying to find her footing. She didn’t know many people, students or staff, she’d admitted that herself. She seemed as though she was struggling with that critical jump that all students experienced when they entered college. And who was he to withhold aid from a student in need? “Ah, I went to Princeton actually. For both undergrad and my doctorate. But, UMWC is still an upstanding school-- it’s no Ivy League, but I can assure you, faculty here are providing just as rigorous of an academic experience.”

“Well, I mean, that would be nice,” Bex sighed, “I don’t think I’d mind teaching all too much, but I’ve already got my future career all planned out.” Not that she was all too excited about it, and she was more than sure that it was getting harder and harder for her to hide that fact. SHe laughed it off and gave a smile. “I can’t wait to have my own library, it really does sound like a dream come true.” Her eyes perked up. “Oh, that’s a good one! The rise of the Roman Empire really is one of the most incredible things to read about. I’ve always wanted to go to Rome and see the remains of the old empire. Have you been?” She smiled up at him again, shifting in her spot. :Ah, right, of course. I just kinda-- like to offer to help. I like feeling like I can help, you know? And, wow, Princeton! That’s a pretty prestigious school. I think my parents really want me to go to Harvard. Did you like Princeton? And yeah, totally! I-I know this school is pretty great and there are a lot of wonderful professors, it just usually helps being at an Ivy League if you wanna get in somewhere like Harvard. Or Princeton. So I’ll just have to, you know, try harder. Which is fine! I can do that.” And hopefully not run herself too ragged in the process.

“As cliche as it is, I can’t help but quote John Lennon-- Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans.” Ben said, shamelessly using the quote. It was very “motivational poster-esque” but it resonated in students, for one reason or another. “So who’s to say what the future holds? I never thought I’d be a professor either, but I fell in love with academics during my undergraduate degree. Once I figured out that I wanted to teach the coming generations, who all shared my passion? I never looked back.” He replied. “Oh yes, I spent the third year of my doctoral program across Europe, assisting in archeological digs. I must say, I was jealous when I heard they uncovered the tomb of Romulus last February. I would have given anything to see that.” Ben let out a sigh and gave a shrug. As she continued on, babbling away, Ben was beginning to put together a nice little picture of her life. Overbearing parents, who wanted her to be something that-- well, he couldn’t quite tell if she wanted to be that. But, there was a hesitation to her that seemed quite promising. “I enjoyed my experience there quite a bit-- the environment, my peers, the professors… All of them were incredibly influential on my professional journey. And I owe my success to the university.” He smiled, though it faded as she mentioned trying harder. Eyebrows knitting together, he replied, “You know, rest is a very critical part of growth. It never hurts to take a break from time to time.”

Bex felt her immediate reaction bubbling up her throat-- John Lennon was such a problematic man, but of course a white cis man would think his quotes were profound-- but she swallowed it back down, smiling sweetly. “Sometimes cliche is true, though. They’re cliche for a reason, right?” She didn’t like the implication of it, though. Was she so transparent? That she didn’t want the life her parents had laid out for her? She rubbed her arm absently. “I know that, though. That I should stop and enjoy life. But what I want is kind of irrelevant. My family has been lawyers for centuries and every daughter has always taken over the business. So even if I don’t wanna do that, I don’t really have a choice.” But her grievance was immediately dismissed. “Wait-- you’ve been on digs? Like real, actual, digs!? Where you found stuff and you got to-- you got to see it first hand? Which digs? Where were they? What did you find? Oh, god, I nearly cried when they found Romulus’ tomb! What an amazing discovery! Can you even imagine being there for that? Or the new tomb they found in the Valley of King’s? It always feels like we’ve discovered so much, but then we just keep finding more and it’s amazing.” She couldn’t help the sparkle in her eye or the shine in her voice-- this was her true passion and the worst part about being a lawyer was that it made it impossible to chase. “Wow, Princeton sounds amazing. I haven’t done a campus visit yet, but I’ve heard good things about Harvard. If I make it in.” She withdrew a little at that. “I-- I know. And I did! Take a break. Sort of. It was an unintended break, but a break all the same.” If being in a nightmarish dreamscape counted as a break. 

“Indeed.” Ben said affably, eyes still analyzing her every move. The way she shifted in place, the way she rubbed her arm, the way her smile seemed a fraction less genuine than it had before. It seemed she wasn’t one for John Lennon. Suited him just fine, the Beatles were vastly overrated and John Lennon was a musician, what bearing did he have on anything that mattered? “I’m just a professor, so… please, you don’t need to take this to heart. But, life is meant to be lived, is it not? And what’s more important to life than choice? The freedom to live as you please and to live without wondering how things might have been different, it’s incredibly important.” He said with a firm nod before easing back slightly, his eyes losing some of their intensity. It seemed as though his mention of his field work had piqued her interest though, which was something else he made note of. If they met again-- and he would make a point of meeting her again-- he would have to bring that up. “I did. Truly incredible, the discovery they made there was absolutely groundbreaking. Literally, given how the dig went.” Ben joked. “History is absolutely like that. Just when we think we know it all, our ancestors surprise us.” Glancing down at his watch, Ben raised his eyebrows, as though startled by how much time had passed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you. It’s not everyday I meet such a remarkable student like yourself, though.” Reaching into his jacket, he withdrew one of his cards and handed it to Bex. “If you’re ever interested in talking more-- about archeology or the Ivy Leagues, please feel free to contact me. I also have office hours on Thursday and Fridays, my door is open to you.” He said with a bright, toothy smile. 

Bex went still when he started explaining. It was the same things Morgan always told her, that her choice mattered, her wants mattered-- but it wasn’t as easy as all that. She had duties, she had responsibilities. Leaving that life just wasn’t an option. Her parents had made sure to drill that into her from a young age. This was her life, this would always be her life. She had no choice. Her eyes sank to the floor, she no longer felt brave enough to look him in the eye, even as he described his incredible experience of being part of a dig, being a part of history itself. It should have made her heart flutter to hear about it, but something inside of her told her to stop letting herself believe that one day she might get to have something like that, too. She nodded slowly. “No, it’s fine! You didn’t keep me,” she said, trying to keep the smile plastered to her face as she glanced up enough to take the card he was offering her. She stared at the neatly typed words pressed onto the paper. Benjamin Campbell. Professor of the Classics. His information was included below the title. “Remarkable?” she repeated, unsure if she’d heard that word right. “But I’m not even--” in any of his classes. But as she looked at him, she knew the offer was genuine. Her smile came a little easier this time. “Thank you. Really. For-- for this.” She pocketed the card. “It was really great to meet you, Professor. I’ll um-- I’ll see you around. I usually tend to read here most days so, you know.” She chewed her lip before grabbing her bag. “Thanks. A-again.” She needed to stop saying thanks, Mina would kill her if she knew. “I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me.” And then with that, she scurried off, the business card, and a million questions, burning a hole in her pocket. She couldn’t wait to talk to him again-- maybe things really weren’t as bad as they felt. Maybe she could have a good life here.

#chatzy #chatzy: ben #wickedswriting #classic blunder #ben #domestic abuse mention tw #//the mention is in the very first paragraph if people wanna skip

[voiceracha]

voices | chapter one

a stray kids thriller au

genre: crime, thriller, angst

warnings: violence, mature themes & language

voices masterlist

watch the trailer here

01 | MURDER AT MIROH CAMPUS

word count: 1.6k

Wednesday, 17 June – Two weeks before

Mornings were always chilly and serene at Miroh University. The campus was large and commodious enough to hold its own little town, building a community amongst the students and staffs as if they were one big family.

There were rows of shops and cafés just on the outskirts of the campus—old fashioned with intricate designs contrasting the modern architecture of the main academic buildings. As it was a weekday, students were out and about whether on foot or on bicycles, getting to and from classes in different parts of the place. Those who were having a free time, however, could usually be found in the cafés and restaurants surrounding the area.

Inside one rather small café, with calming ambience and the pungent aroma of espresso, several students resided at round tables for two and four, either alone or with a peer. The television became background noise, hanging in one corner of the café near the entrance where everyone could see it. On one side of the place were multiple bookshelves holding a myriad of books ranging from fiction to nonfiction.

It worked as both a bookstore and a library, as one could buy the books or simply borrow it to read as they drink coffee. Some students sat there to study, and some found their escape between the shelves, reading comic books and manga during their free hours as they took breaks from the real world.

For Seo Changbin, it was his workplace.

The literature student stood behind the counter, waiting for a woman to make their payment for three thick, postgraduate physics textbooks. He smiled at her as he received the money and waved when she turned to walk out the door. The bell jingled after her, and the door closed without a sound.

Being the son of the owner, he chose to work a couple shifts at the café when he had no classes. The café was his father’s inheritance from his grandparents, and he didn’t mind managing it while his parents worked. There were two other employees, but since they currently had classes, Changbin remained alone behind the coffee machine on Wednesday mornings.

His degree course required a lot of reading, analyzing, and writing, and he could do all that from behind the counter when there were no customers to attend to. Sure, he could easily do all three at home, but he liked having the smell of coffee and the white noise of insignificant conversations floating around him as he read a dreadful Charles Dickens novel. Sometimes he wanted to hit himself in the head for choosing to study modules such as Victorian literature. What was he thinking?

Changbin sighed before going back to making coffee for himself as there were no new customers. It was 9:56 a.m., and the ones present in the café looked well occupied enough, immersed in their reading or speaking in low volumes to their friends. One of them, though, was thoroughly studying and typing away at their laptop at a table close to the counter.

Of course, it was law student Lee Minho.

For him, Changbin’s café “Streetlight” was like a second home. The table near the counter was his table, and he could always be found studying or resting there if he wasn’t out with his beloved boyfriend. It was a rare sight, seeing him without the other boy around, but they were both their own individuals who studied different things—they needed their own time and space to get work done.

“Binnie, can I have another latte please?” Minho asked, briefly looking up at Changbin who was about to pick up a novel from his stool.

“One latte coming right up.”

Changbin took a cup from beneath the counter and began making it when the news came on at ten o’clock sharp. He glanced at the TV every once in a while as he prepared Minho’s latte, just in case something important came up.

“Breaking news for the people of Miroh Campus: the murderer strikes again,” said the reporter, a man no older than twenty-five. He stood at what could clearly be seen as Pace Park, surrounding the manmade lake in front of the main building of the university. “Two bodies identified as Choi Hwa Sung and Park See Hyun were found here at the Pace Park jogging track this morning, believed to have been victims of a homicide incident last night.”

Hearing the gasps of the customers, Changbin placed Minho’s cup aside and turned the volume of the TV up for them to hear better. As the reporter continued speaking, he took the latte and brought it to his friend’s table, placing it beside his previous cup and taking a seat across from him.

“Police have arrived at the scene and the ongoing investigation will be carried out by the finest detectives of Bay 8. Sources of death have not been confirmed, but it is believed that the victims were violently beaten up to death, despite no weapons being found on the scene.”

Minho whisteled lowly as he turned away from the screen, instantly picking up his cup of hot latte and taking small sips of it.

“Who do you think did all that?”

Changbin shrugged, his eyebrows knitted together in a frown as he met his friend’s eyes.

“Honestly? I have no clue. It’s hard to tell the good guys from the bad ones these days, and the killer could be walking among us without us noticing at all.”

“Well, whoever it may be, this clearly isn’t the first time.”

Just then, the bell jingled above the main entrance and in came Hyunjin, dressed in matching black sportswear. His skin glistened with sweat, and he used the small towel around his neck to dry it.

“Look who it is,” Changbin grinned while his best friend made his way towards their table. “Where were you? It’s already ten.”

Hyunjin pulled a chair from the next vacant table and sat down between the two.

“Running, duh? Where else would I be?”

“Bro, you stink,” Minho pinched his nose dramatically.

Hyunjin only made a funny face at him in reply, sticking out his tongue. He wiped his face with the small towel while the TV behind him switched from the news to a detergent advertisement that no one cared about, so Changbin used the remote to decrease the volume once more.

“So, who do you think the murderer could be?” asked Changbin.

Neither of them noticed, but Hyunjin almost choked on his own spit and stopped his movements abruptly as soon as the words left his friend’s mouth. He felt his heart hammering in his rib cage, the sudden urge to throw up building at the back of his throat and clawing at his skin.

“Murderer?” he replied slowly, his voice barely audible. The look of confusion on his face only made Minho and Changbin chuckle, which he received with a sigh of relief.

“Oh my god, you’re clueless!” said Minho, slapping his right arm lightly. “They just informed on the news that there’s two dead bodies found at the park, where you always run at, and you don’t even know.”

“He only cares about running, Minho. He even forgot he’s supposed to meet us here forty minutes ago. Now we gotta push our meeting to another time.”

Hyunjin didn’t know why his friends sounded so calm when the news of two students being found dead just dropped on them, but he gulped and tried to put on his best nonchalant tone anyway, smiling smugly at his friends.

“Please, I’d rather run until my lungs give out then sit here and hear you two discuss your conspiracy theories.”

Changbin stood up, Minho’s previous cup of latte—now empty—in one hand.

“They’re not conspiracy theories,” he said, defensive. “They’re actual crime cases that Minho studies and I’m interested, okay?”

“Then why the hell do you need me here?” asked Hyunjin. “I’m not interested in that.”

“You’re here because you’re my best friend and I need you to back up my points against this lawyer wannabe.”

“Aw…” Minho smirked, lightly punching Hyunjin’s arm in a teasing manner. “Changbin and Hyunjin sitting in a tree—”

“You better shut the fuck up,” Changbin pointed at the older man from behind the counter, his eyes shooting daggers at the latter who was laughing in his seat.

Minho’s phone rang right then, and he excused himself to answer it.

“Must be the love of his life,” Hyunjin teased, wiggling his eyebrows at Minho.

“Shut up,” he whispered before holding his phone to his ear. “Hello?”

When he was done talking twenty seconds later, he ended the call and began gathering his books, placing them in his backpack.

“Let me guess, Master Han Jisung awaits?” Changbin raised an eyebrow, amusement glinting in his eyes.

“You know he’s gonna whoop your ass if he knows you call him that, right?”

“Not if I whoop his ass first.”

“Well, tell him I said hi,” Hyunjin said, pulling Minho’s latte towards himself since the man didn’t look like he’s gonna take it with him.

Minho nodded, “Will do. He needs help with his photography assignment on the other side of campus, and also, I’m a great model so...”

The two friends made gagging noises at him as he laughed, and they waved goodbye until Minho walked out the door, making his way towards his motorbike.

“Okay, that reminds me,” Hyunjin started whilst standing up, “I need to meet Felix and discuss about our short film, so I’ll see you later?”

Changbin pouted for a second before sighing.

“Fine, see you later. And you’re paying for Minho’s latte.”

Hyunjin groaned and gave Changbin the money while the latter laughed at him.

After giving his best friend a quick hug, Hyunjin took one step out the door, and his smile disappeared with it.

[ CHAPTER TWO ]

#hwang hyunjin #hwang hyunjin angst #stray kids #skz #serial killer au #voices au #bang chan #lee felix #lee minho #han jisung #seo changbin #kim seungmin #yang jeongin #skz au #stray kids angst #voices #stray kids au

[suhoerections]

Impulse Control || Part 1

⟹ Racer!AU || Gang!AU || Biker!AU

⟹ Genre: Smut, Fluff, Angst || Rated: M 

⟹ Word Count: 7.9k

⟹ Paring: Junmyeon x reader

⟹ Summary: Junmyeon is caught up in the tragedy he finds himself in, but can you cope watching him lose himself?

⟹ Warnings: Mention of abusive family || Mention of drug use || Mention of smoking || Mention of illegal activities || 3k long smut || Daddy kink || Oral: female receiving || Soft Junmyeon || Body worship || Praise || Unprotected sex (use condoms pls) || 

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6

Tag List:@byunfirstlady​ @strikingsilouettes​ @chanyeolol​ @letsmakeitforever​ (If you would like to be added please send an ask or DM me :))

A/N: This is a collab with some lovely people called EXO Customs!! And a spin off based on @ninibears-erigom​ fic Pretty Little Vixen check out the other collabs here!  @fairyyeols​ @kyungseokie​ @kimjongdaely​ @kpop---scenarios​ @yeoldontknow​ @skjdln​ @baekwell--tart​ 

Not advised for younger viewers

Additional note, this is set 8 year prior all the fics within this collaboration as this series focuses on the backstory of Junmyeon

Junmyeon’s heart skipped a beat as he walked into the bar with a few of his friend’s trailing behind. He couldn’t help the love sick smile that fell upon his boyish features as he watched you go about your work. 

Junmyeon liked you, everyone with half a brain knew that. And he got teased relentlessly for it - whether it be from his best friends, the gang of boys he was close enough to call his brothers or his actual brother. 

But he didn’t care. He couldn’t.

Even though he had the classic “bad boy” reputation he’d been sporting since highschool, you were his weak spot. The black leather jacket, cigarette hanging off his lips, piercings adorning his ear and the classic Harley he rode everywhere; he gave off a ‘not to be fucked with’ energy. 

“Hey baby cakes,” You heard Chanyeol coo, his lips lifting into a smirk as he leant on the table you were cleaning, “Mind getting us a table?” 

You huffed an amused smile at him, gesturing to a booth in the back of the bar, “That big enough for you and your butt buddies, Channie?” You teased back, still wiping down the table.

“Perfect,” He smiled, walking toward the booth with the rest following behind.

Except Junmyeon. 

He leant against the table like Chanyeol had, but his height meant he wasn’t towering over you, his lips curved into a warm smile as his eyes met your own. 

You’d known that smile since forever. His eyes always crinkled and his cheeks would flush slightly - it was your favorite thing about him. Junmyeon had that smile since you’d met him in high school, his academics surprisingly high despite his reputation. But you’d grown close, being in most of the “academically challenging” classes together. And you’d often forget about his rep in the small moments you shared together studying after school at the library or at your house. 

For a while you liked him, your teenage self falling head over heels for him. Though you gave up, his bad boy reputation preceding him along with a line of girls ready to drop dead at his wish. It’s why you gave up, the raging threat of estrogen stopping you from wanting to even attempt something with him. 

Though it didn’t matter, your senior year proving to be more successful within the dating scheme of things. Your first love appeared; Choi Minho stealing your heart and virginity, though, college soon had him leaving. So you never really cared too much about romantic feelings towards Junmyeon and you assumed he felt the same.

Yet, you were questioning that.  

“Your shift ends in an hour, right?” Junmyeon questioned, cocking an eyebrow quizzically as if he didn’t know the answer already.

“Yep,” You hummed, “Though you would already know that.” A teasing smile crept onto your face as you walked toward the bar, placing the cloth on the polished wood.

Junmyeon smirked, “Of course I did, just wanted to know if you need a lift home?” He offered, moving to lean against the bar instead of the table. 

You shrugged, letting yourself admire how the warm light of the bar hit his handsome features, “I don’t mind going for a ride.” You hummed, smiling at the offer. 

“I don’t mind taking you for one,” Junmyeon replied cockily, sending a wink your way before walking back off to the booth with the others, a few wolf whistles greeting him. 

The remaining hour of your shift passed quickly. The night was slow, so you mostly spent time chatting with Junmyeon and his group of friends. 

“Where’s Jongin?” You questioned, noticing his absence among the group.

A shit eating grin fell upon Baekhyun’s face as he started to speak, “Little Nini’s out with his sweetheart,” 

“You sure he isn’t in his sweetheart?” Chanyeol snickered, shoving Baek teasingly. A few laughed at his remark, a smile of your own forming on your features.

“Has it been an hour?” Junmyeon asked through the group’s talking, eyes meeting your own as he spoke.

You hummed, looking to the small watch on your wrist, “Yep, I’ll go grab my stuff.” You smiled at him before walking off to the staff room. 

Butterflies fluttered in his stomach as you sent him the warm smile. Junmyeon hated how love sick he was, so he tried to mask it - yet, he couldn’t help the way he melted at your small gestures or the way his stomach did flips at every smile you shot his way. 

He had felt like this a few times before, though never like this. His crush for you was a crescendo of emotions built up since high school. He’d never really thought about dating you until senior year - when he realised he would rather be the one you stole kisses from in the hallway, or how he’d imagine it was you he was making out with behind the bleachers. Though he disregarded it, your friendship being more important to him than a romantic relationship that would turn south as you were already with Minho. 

He’d felt like this on and off, though his 21st was easily the tipping point. It was the way the late afternoon breeze hit you perfectly; the wind catching your hair, smile lighting up your features and he swore you had never looked more beautiful than that day. The almost summer night being full of laughter and fun, though he always found himself gravitating toward you - the feelings he’d bottled up exploding in the singular moment where he felt like you held his heart. 

It had only happened a month or two ago; summer being in full swing now. Though his feelings never waned, not once. 

“I’m ready,” You walked back out, a small bag of your things swung over your shoulder and a small smile on your lips. 

Junmyeon nodded, a bashful smile painted across his features as he watched you walk toward the table. “I’m gonna take y/n home,” He spoke, making sure to say the words a little louder than Chanyeol’s booming laugh. 

A shit eating grin lit up Yeol’s face as he winked at Junmyeon, whispering a remark to Baekhyun and Jongdae that had equally shit eating grins forming on their faces. 

Junmyeon rolled his eyes, getting up and holding his hand out to you, “Let’s go,” 

An appreciative smile fell upon your lips as you grabbed his hand. He was warm and inviting, the calloused skin comforting as it cupped your own.

Junmyeon led you outside into the cool night wordlessly, the small breeze sending a shiver down your spine as you felt the temperature drop from being inside the heated bar. 

“Its lovely,” Junmyeon hummed, his eyes trained on the twinkling stars above the you both.

“I remember when we went stargazing that time,” You whispered into the night air, rubbing your arms gently as the wind licked at your skin, “The stars always remind me of you,” 

He turned to you slightly, eyes twinkling much like the stars stretched out above you, “Really?” 

“Yeah,” You hummed, leaning into him for warmth as the summer night proved to be cooler than anticipated, “I don’t know why, they just do.” 

Junmyeon wrapped a comforting arm around you, pulling you into his body as an attempt at warming you. Your body instinctively reacted, moving to further press yourself against his warmth. It caused the familiar smell of cigarettes and worn leather to tickle your nose. He’d always smelt like that - yet it wasn’t acrid or invading, it was comforting. There was an undertone to it that always had him smelling like home. 

“Take my jacket,” Junmyeon urged, moving to slip the worn leather off his shoulders. You nodded, threading your arms through the jacket casually. He’d had the jacket since forever, and it wasn’t the first time you’d worn it. The black leather knew you well, it was soft and soothing, coaxing a warmth into your skin that the breeze snatched away.

Junmyeon walked a little further to where he parked his pride and joy - a Harley his brother, Dongkyu, had bought for him as soon as he got his motorbike licence. It meant a lot to him, the bike being his one relief when things got too thick at home with his parents. He was always able to escape - and after graduation he did, moving in with Dongkyu and starting a new life. 

You wrapped the oversized jacket further around you, humming in content as you let Junmyeon’s scent wash over you. 

“Here,” He handed you his spare helmet, slipping his own over his head. You followed his actions, buckling the helmet on with ease. 

“Can we go through the city?” You asked, watching him seat himself on the bike, a smirk resonating on his lips as his eyes flicked to your own. 

“You want a joy ride?” Junmyeon asked, his biceps bulging slightly through the thin cotton shirt as he adjusted himself on the bike. 

You nodded in response, “Please,” His body was warm as you shuffled on behind him, wrapping your arms around his torso tightly and situating yourself on the bike.

Junmyeon smirked to himself as he felt you press up against him, his wrist cocking to rev the engine of the Harley, the deep rumble making you grip him tighter.  

“Hold on tight, baby girl.” 

Your giggles mixed with the heavy sounds of Junmyeon’s laughter as he parked the bike outside your small house. 

“So I assumed you enjoyed it?” He smirked, eyes twinkling mischievously in the dim light of the street lamp.

“Yeah, until the cops started chasing after you for speeding!” You whacked his arm teasingly, the smirk on your face giving away your enjoyment of the chase. 

“Yeah, yeah,” He teased, a grin twisting on his lips as he helped you out of the helmet, “You still enjoyed it.” 

You hummed, smoothing down your hair as you watched Junmyeon remove his own helmet, “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t,” You winked at him, walking up to the porch and pulling out your keys, “You’ll never know.” 

He huffed, placing a hand on the small of your back as you unlocked the door to your house. “I think the smirk on your face gives it away,” Junmyeon cooed, poking his tongue out in childish annoyance. You giggled again, the sound causing the butterflies to resurface in his stomach. 

“Okay, okay, I liked it,” You caved, smiling up at him as you leaned on the wooden door frame. Junmyeon’s smile lit up at your admittance - even though you’d been obvious about your distaste for his clash with the law, you couldn’t deny the adrenaline rush that came with winding down the back alleyways and the whine of the sirens. And he couldn’t help but get a kick out of the way you succumbed so easily to the past time you scolded him for. 

“Thank you,” Your voice was deeper, more serious as you let yourself get lost in the twinkle of his eyes. 

“Any time,” He spoke, a smile lighting up his words as he leaned on the front door, “I’m glad you had some fun.” 

You huffed a small smile, reaching up to pat down some of his hair that stuck up from the helmet. Junmyeon couldn’t help the way he so easily melted into your touch, eyes fluttering closed as he relaxed and let you smooth down his hair.

“Big baby,” You muttered, slipping your hand down to poke his cheek, “You haven’t changed since high school.” 

He melted, the smile on his face softening as he brought his hand up to cup your cheek, Junmyeon once again being unable to help himself. You leaned into his touch, the callouses caressing your cheek in a comfort you found only he could provide. 

“Dummy,” He whispered back teasingly, unable to come up with a good enough remark. 

You giggled, stomach fluttering in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time. You sensed the way your body wanted to inch closer, move into Junmyeon and melt into him. Part of you disregarded it - but the other part, the one that you listened to all those years ago when you were in school, told you otherwise. 

His eyes flicked to your lips and your breath hitched slightly, your body anticipating his next move.

Junmyeon leaned in slightly, enough so you could move away if you wanted - but you couldn’t. Your feet were rooted to the porch, your body planted there as he closed the gap. 

The kiss was gentle and despite your frozen state, you managed to kiss back. His lips moulded with yours in a delicate dance you’d both been wanting to take for years. 

Part of you still believed that you had gotten over Junmyeon; but you suppose you hadn’t, not when you so instantaneously kissed him back. It was natural, the way your body moved into his, pressing against his broad chest as you both deepened the kiss slightly. 

Junmyeon pulled away first, his lips pulling away only slightly, eyes boring into your own as if they were searching for what you were feeling. You looked back at him openly, leaning up slightly to peck him gently before pulling away properly. 

“Thanks Jun,” You smirked, slipping his leather jacket off your shoulders and holding out to him. It took a moment of registration before his own smirk crept onto his face, grabbing the jacket off you before leaning in again and landing a chaste kiss to your lips.

A giggle sounded from you as you moved toward him, letting yourself be swept up in another kiss of his. Junmyeon smiled into it, one hand resting on the small of your back and the other cupping your cheek as he kissed your breath away. 

“I really have to get inside,” You giggled between kisses, squeezing his biceps and attempting to pull away. 

He couldn’t help the goofy, love sick smile that spread across his face, “I won't keep you any longer,” Junmyeon chuckled, reluctantly moving back to let you in. 

A light blush scattered your cheeks as you opened the front door, walking in and turning around to face him, “Goodnight, Junmyeon.” 

“Goodnight,” He smiled, leaning in to steal at least one more kiss from you; which you did enthusiastically, unable to hold back the smile as you kissed him for the last time that night. 

Junmyeon pulled away, landing a peck to your cheek with a wide smile spread across his face - which you mirrored with your own. 

“See ya,” He cooed before turning around and wandering back down to his bike.

You stood there for a bit, leaning on your door frame and offering him a small wave as he strapped his helmet back on, not properly going inside until you saw him speed up the street and off into the night. 

“Dongkyu!!” Junmyeon barged into their shared house, the entranceway leading straight off into the messy living room where Dongkyu sat. 

“What?” He replied, chewing on a sandwich and kicking his feet up on the coffee table, a rerun of some shitty cooking show lighting up the dark space.

Junmyeon flopped on the couch next to his brother, a love sick smile lighting up his features, “Guess.”

“Ya, you shit just tell me,” His older brother whined with a mouthful of sandwich, flicking him in the head playfully. 

“Something happened,” He replied, his smile widening as he remembered the stolen kisses.  

“Yeah, and spit it out,” Dongkyu sassed, cocking an eyebrow and taking another bite. 

“I kissed her,” Junmyeon sighed, staring off into the distance with that love sick grin as his memories replayed the moment over in his head.

“Which one?” Dongkyu teased, a shithead grin rising on his face as Junmyeon slapped him in the arm. 

“You know which one, dumbass.” He scoffed, shoving his brother with his foot playfully. 

“Ahhhh, the one that you’ve been into since high school.” Dongkyu said casually, continuing to munch on his food.

“I haven’t been into her since highschool! Only at my birthday!” Junmyeon replied defensively. 

“You punched a hole in the wall when she got a boyfriend,” Dongkyu swallowed, “You’ve liked her since highschool.” 

Junmyeon rolled his eyes, “Shut up, Kyu.” He huffed, getting up to walk into the connected kitchen. 

“You love me,” He called out to his younger brother, attention now back onto the TV screen in front of him. Junmyeon chuckled, starting to prepare some dinner for himself.

“You sure about that?” He smirked, slapping some cold meat between some bread.

“Absolutely certain,” Dongkyu said cockily, walking up to the sink and putting away his dirty plate, “You ask her on a date or did you just suck face?” 

“We just kissed,” Junmyeon sighed, taking a bite of his food, “Though I’ll ask her on one.” 

“Make it special, you haven’t taken a chick on a date properly before,” Dongkyu advised more seriously.

“Hey-”

“Don’t even try to deny it, you’ve been blowing your load and hitting the road since high school, Jun. Now you’ve finally got a girl, make it special. I know you want to woo Y/N, so take her out on like a picnic or something.” He cocked an eyebrow at Junmyeon, “You got that?” 

Junmyeon rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah,” 

Dongkyu raised his eyebrows, “Shit head, don’t ‘yeah, yeah’ me, I’m giving you advice.” 

Junmyeon chuckled, looking toward his older brother, “I’ll take her out then.” 

“Good,” Dongkyu huffed a small smile, ruffling his brother’s hair, the thick stands matching his own.

Dongkyu and Junmyeon were about as close as brother’s could get. They shared the same handsome features and thick hair as well as academy smarts, and even the same house. Their upbringing making each other the only people they could turn to when things went out of control with their parents - Dongkyu even going as far to try and adopt Junmyeon when he turned 18. It was the least he could do to try and get his brother away from his parents. 

Though it didn’t go to plan, government adoption policies forcing their way between the relief Junmyeon needed. It was one of the things that made him realise the law never really was the help that him and his brother needed, his rebellious streak growing throughout his teenage years when shit really started to hit the fan.  

But he always had Dongkyu to turn to, and even though he wanted to talk to you about it, it was hard when he knew you couldn’t relate to what he was going through. Junmyeon didn’t need sympathy - he needed his brother. 

“Go shower, you stink,” Dongkyu smirked, poking his brother in the side playfully.

Junmyeon scoffed, swallowing the last of his dinner, “Not as bad as you,” He retorted, wandering off toward the bathroom.

“Idiot,” Dongkyu muttered to himself, huffing a smile as he continued doing the dishes. 

Junmyeon was surprisingly nervous.

He waited outside the bar casually, leaning on the worn brick with a cigarette between his teeth. He knew your shift would end soon and you would walk out the front just like you always did. 

Though this time it was different. He hadn’t spoken to you since last night and he was worried that you were just being nice, that maybe it hadn’t mean anything and he was just overthinking it.

It was sending him into a spiral of love sick thoughts, ‘what ifs’ swirling around his head in a destructive path. Junmyeon had never been this impacted by a girl - he never got feelings or into relationships. 

His heart skipped a beat as you walked out of the front doors and into the night. You didn’t notice him at first, too focused on putting something in your bag.

“Y/N?” Junmyeon asked tentatively, standing up properly rather than leaning on the wall.

“Myeon!” You smiled widely, turning to him. It was a pleasant surprise finding him out here, relief and nervousness washing over you as you sensed what he was going to talk about.

Junmyeon’s face lit up in an equally wide smile, flicking the cigarette butt into the nearby bin and walking closer to you, “How are you?” 

“Good,” You responded, a light blush scattering on your cheeks as you sensed the tension between you both - the tension of an unspoken event, “You?” 

“I’m great,” He said nervously, reaching up to scratch the nape of his neck like he always did when something was bothering him, “But I’m not really here to talk about that.”

“What’s up?” You hummed, trying to disguise your erratic heartbeat or the way your palms were sweating. 

“I was, uh, thinking about last night…” Junmyeon trailed, eyes flicking to the ground as a blush of his own scattered his cheeks.

“And?” You prompted, desperately trying not to chew your lip in anxiety.

“I wanted to know if you wanted to go on a date sometime?” His hand stilled on his neck, a new found fear of rejection pumping through him.

“I’d love to!” You lit up, a weight being lifted off your shoulders as your heart swelled. You’d been scared that maybe Junmyeon didn’t feel the same, even though all the signs were saying otherwise. The kiss had reopened old feelings that had been waiting to burst for a while - sometimes seeping through the cracks when you would indulge in his beauty or the way his laugh always cheered you up. But it all flooded out in a climax of last night; the kiss. 

“Great!” Junmyeon’s smile widened, the anxiety easing away at your enthusiasm. 

You giggled, unable to contain your happiness. “I have a day off tomorrow if you wanna do something then?” 

The goofy smile on his face was contagious as he looked to you, “Tomorrow night then?” 

“Sounds like a date,” You teased, winking at him.

Junmyeon chuckled at the gesture, holding his hand out, “Need a lift home?” His smile twisted into a smirk as you reached out to hold onto his calloused skin. 

“Only if I get to wear the jacket,” You giggled, squeezing his hand and interlacing your fingers, leaning into him slightly.

“Deal,” 

The hum of cicadas filled the summer night air. 

It was beautiful, the moonlight dancing over the calm water, the small summer nights breeze keeping the weather from being stagnant. 

But Junmyeon’s hearty laugh easily topped all that. 

He sprawled out on the picnic blanket, laying on his side and looking up to you sitting close by. 

“So you’re telling me that Dongkyu told you to ask me out?” You giggled, reaching over to brush some hair out of his eyes. 

“I was gonna! It's just that he was nagging me!” Junmyeon pouted, gently leaning into your touch. 

You laughed, the melody making him light up as the wind carried the sound away. “Its okay, I know this is your first sort of date,” You hummed, smiling at him gently, toying with the strands of his hair.

Junmyeon scoffed, “I’ve been on plenty of dates-” 

“Baby, making out behind the bleachers isn’t a date.” You giggled, leaning down to kiss him gently. 

“Well I haven’t been on a date like this,” He mumbled into your lips, “Nor have I ever taken anyone here before.”

You hummed, letting the sound of the small waves fill the silence on the cliffside, “You haven’t?” 

Junmyeon shook his head, “I’ve been coming here for years, it's my little escape.” 

Your smile widened, sitting back up to watch the ocean over the cliff, “Its lovely,” You were flattered, unable to ignore the way your heart squeezed as you realised he was letting you into the intimate parts of himself. 

“I know,” Junmyeon sat up properly, scooching closer to you and snaking his arms around your waist, “I wanted to share it with you.” 

His warmth and familiar scent surrounded you as you leaned back into him, getting lost in the small bubble you shared. 

“I figured out why the stars remind me of you,” You whispered into the night, looking up to watch the expanse of the night sky twinkle with the little jewels.

“Why’s that?” He hummed, nuzzling your neck affectionately.

“Because your eyes, they twinkle like the stars when you’re happy,” You giggled, smiling up at the moon. 

Junmyeon huffed a smile into the supple skin of your neck, his lips placing a fleeting kiss before pulling back, “Really?” 

You hummed in agreement, tracing patterns onto his hand, “Yeah, they always get this little spark in them.” 

He looked at you adoringly, leaning in to steal a kiss from you under the moonlit night. His kiss was a drug, taking your breath away, his lips moulding your own, sparking a light in you that no one else could - Junmyeon being the only person to have this affect on you.

You pulled back slightly, resting your forehead against his. You allowed yourself to indulge in the intimacy of the moment; the way your hearts became one and the only witness being the moon, watching two lovers indulge in each other beneath her watchful gaze. 

Junmyeon’s cheek was warm as you brought a hand up to cup the soft skin, your thumb gently caressing the lines of his face. 

“I’ve never felt like this about someone,” He admitted, voice low and quiet as he spoke, “I think…” He trailed, tongue darting out to moisten his lips as his heart weighed heavy with the confession, “I think I love you.” 

You smiled, unable to hold in the way joy flooded your veins. You wanted to shout it from the rooftops, scream it until everyone knew that the man you’d loved since high school, loved you back. 

“I think I love you too,” You hummed, feeling relieved at the admittance. You knew it was early, that it was a ‘taboo’ thing to say on a first date. But you couldn’t help but feel like this wasn’t just a first date. 

Junmyeon’s eyes darkened, the chocolate orbs swimming under the dim moonlight as he brought his hands up to cup your cheeks, “I want to be the reason you smile… the reason you laugh, the reason you’re happy. I want to see you everyday and I want to be the one you say good morning and good night to… I just want to be with you so much it hurts, Y/N.” He was still whispering, though his voice was serious, “I love you so much it hurts.” 

You melted, slipping your hand down from his cheek to rest your palm over his chest, letting Junmyeon’s touch take over. 

“Jun…” The nickname fell off your lips in a choked whisper, your brain jumbling as you tried to collect yourself from the tidal wave of emotion that overtook you.

He didn’t need words, the emotions you felt being released in the deep kiss he brought you into. You tried to pour all your love into it, kissing back with a burning passion you’d been suppressing all those years, your hands bundling the fabric of his shirt up as you held onto him for dear life. 

Junmyeon kissed back, letting himself be engulfed by the searing passion of your lips. He knew you didn’t need to tell him anything back - he already felt it in the way you kissed him. 

You both pulled away, breathing heavy in the small space between you. Junmyeon rested his forehead against yours, closing his eyes, basking in the moonlight and your love. 

“I love you, Junmyeon,” You whispered, letting your own eyelids flutter shut. 

“Thank you for tonight,” You said, smiling up at Junmyeon as you both stopped on your front porch. 

“The pleasure is all mine,” He hummed, a goofy smile still planted on his lips as he remembered all the stolen kisses and moments you shared on the cliffside. 

You chewed on your lip nervously, a light blush scattering your cheeks as you worked up the courage to ask, “Would you like to come in?” 

Junmyeon shrugged, lips twisting into a small smirk, “Sure,” He hummed, watching you unlock the front door. 

“You don’t have to,” You stated, walking in while trying to make an excuse for wanting to spend more time with him, “I just thought you’d want to. Get you out of Dongkyu’s hair for the night.” You chuckled, trying to make it light hearted. 

Though the way Junmyeon’s hand sat heavy on the small of your back, or how you were hyper aware of his burning presence right behind you, made the situation anything but light hearted. 

“Its fine,” Junmyeon’s voice was thick in the dark entryway, his heel gently kicking the door shut behind him and enclosing you in the small space with him. He seemed to pick up on the way your breath hitched, how your body tensed up in anticipation. 

It caused the tension in the room to change dramatically, Junmyeon’s breathing mirroring your own as he reached out in the darkness and pulled you into his body. His hand was on your cheek while the other one held you against him on the small of your back. 

“Is this okay?” He asked, the darkness only revealing a silhouette of him.

“Yeah,” You breathed, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck and pulling yourself into him. 

“Good,” Junmyeon leaned in, closing the gap and bringing his lips to yours heatedly. He tried to keep it sweet, yet he couldn’t restrain the want and lust that projected through it. His grip on you tightened, pulling you further into him as he stumbled toward your room, keeping the kiss. 

You gasped into it, fingers tangling in the thick locks of his hair as he haphazardly walked down the hallway. Junmyeon’s hands started to travel, the hand on your back now slinking down to cup the curve of your ass while the one on your cheek held onto your side. His touch was burning through your clothes, your body arching into him as he continued to clumsily fall back onto your bedroom door. 

“Fuck,” He muttered, breathing heavy and letting go to open the door and stumble in with you.

You were on him instantly, his touches leaving you aching with want and desire as you slipped your fingers under his leather jacket, discarding the worn material. Junmyeon responded with his own wandering hands, reaching down to pull your shirt off roughly, his lips crashing against your own as he threw it into the depths of your room. 

There was no need for words - the heavy breaths you shared being the only go ahead you needed. Junmyeon’s lips traced a dangerous line down your jaw and neck, nipping and sucking in all the right places while his fingertips danced across your back to unclasp your bra. A small moan fell off your lips as the fabric fell onto the floor, his quickened pace heightening the desperation and lust rushing through you. 

Junmyeon backed you up against the bed gently, giving you a soft push toward the plush surface. You fell back onto your back reluctantly, though you didn’t argue as you watched him at the foot of the bed.

His nimble fingers were already discarding his shirt, allowing you to see the silhouette of his defined muscles in the low light. The moonlight pouring in through the window allowed Junmyeon’s features to light up, the silver of his countless scars shimmering in the dull moonbeams. Your eyes raked over his body as you shuffled up the bed, your teeth tugging on your lip as you continued to appreciate him before you.

Junmyeon huffed a smirk, eyes flicking to your own as he noticed the arousal you got from watching him strip. His fingers unbuckled his belt, allowing him to pull down the tight jeans from his thighs. 

A strange feeling washed over you as you watched the muscles constrict in the low light, or how the toned skin disappeared above the hem of his boxers. You wanted to mark them - the desire leaving you breathless as you continued to watch him take off his pants. 

He left his boxers untouched, opting to move onto the bed. Junmyeon’s body moved fluidly as he brought himself over the top of you, caging you to the mattress. 

“Do you want to stop this before it goes beyond the point of no return?” His voice was thick, lips barely touching yours as his breath fanned over the sensitive skin.

“No,” You whispered back before crashing your lips into his. 

Junmyeon growled into the kiss, his body flush against yours, his arousal hard and thick through his boxers as it pressed against your abdomen. His lips started to wander once again, placing wet kisses down your jaw and neck, tracing the red and purple marks he left before. 

Though he started to go further south, nipping your collarbone before trailing toward your breasts. Your fingers tangled in his hair once again, winding in the thick strands as you watched him place a fleeting kiss to your nipple. 

Junmyeon smirked as he felt you tense at the action, enclosing his lips around your nipple and sucking on the sensitive bud. His action sparked a small moan to fall off your lips as you felt arousal pool in your clothed core. 

He pulled away, blowing on the nipple to make sure it was hard enough; sensitive enough for him to toy with. You felt yourself clench involuntarily, watching him work you up as his lips continued to suck on the sensitive nub. 

Your thighs rubbed together through your pants, trying to get some friction to your desperate arousal, but Junmyeon wouldn’t have it. One of his hands slipped between your thighs, opening them slightly as he settled himself between your legs, stopping you from closing them. 

“Focus on me,” He whispered, lips swollen and a dark shade of pink you couldn’t see in the low light, “Focus on the pleasure I’m giving you.” He finished, going back to your nipple and continuing to push you to the edge. 

Once Junmyeon was satisfied with the heavy breaths that fell off your swollen lips and they way your chest heaved with every flick of his tongue, he moved to the next nipple. His lips repeating the action on the other one, tongue and lips mirroring the pleasurable strokes he had given to the other bud. 

You couldn’t help the moan that you elicited into the dark room, the noise replacing the heavy breaths and small whimpers you had been making. 

“That’s it baby girl,” Junmyeon muttered into your supple skin, placing a fleeting kiss just above your navel, “Let daddy know how good you feel.” 

You felt like you imploded as he spoke the word, your arousal heightening to a point where you felt your clit throb, desperate for attention. A loud moan cascaded off your lips, unable to hold in the way you felt about the nickname. 

Junmyeon smirked at your reaction as he continued his kisses, placing one last peck to your skin as he reached the hem of your pants. Though he didn’t waste any time, fingers hooking in the sides and pulling the fabric down and off your legs. 

You sucked a harsh breath in as you felt the cool air lap at the wet patch on your panties, a small anticipatory moan falling off your lips as you felt his fingers dance up your thighs.

“Princess, you’ve soaked your panties,” Junmyeon cooed, kissing you through the cotton fabric. 

“I-I’m sorry, daddy-” 

“Don’t be,” His voice was stern, cutting off your embarrassed whisper, “I love it.” His eyes met yours, the moon once again lighting up the swirling arousal within the chocolate orbs. Your breath hitched and you threaded your fingers in his hair once again, tugging on the strands in anticipation as the emotion flooded your body. 

Junmyeon’s eyes flicked back down to the wet patch on your panties, his hands rubbing up your thighs to pull your underwear off in a swift motion. A small smirk was planted on his lips as he was revealed your soaked sex, his hands pushing your thighs further apart to see better. 

“So beautiful, baby girl,” He muttered, smirking at you before licking a long stripe up your slit, “Tastes even better.” Junmyeon cooed, his long tongue making the action more pleasurable than you could imagine, a moan being the only thing you could respond with. 

He circled his arms around your thighs, bringing them to sit on his shoulders as he brought his face closer to your pussy, his breath fanning over your soaked arousal. You could barely comprehend anything other than Junmyeon, the anticipation of him clutching your body in a vice like grip as you waited painfully for him to do something. 

Yet he didn’t waste any time, bringing his lips to your dripping heat in a soft caress that had you melting into him. His lips sucked deliciously against the bundle of nerves that had a coil of pleasure already tightening in your stomach. 

“Daddy,” You moaned the name unabashedly as his tongue flicked your clit, his own lips parting to moan into your pussy, the vibrations sending a shot of pleasure coursing through your body. Junmyeon was slow and precise, your juices coating his chin and lips as he lovingly ate you out, urged on by your moans and tugs at his hair. 

His tongue slid down toward your entrance, the muscle entering you slowly as he curled it up to find your gspot. You moaned for the upteenth time at the sensation, his long tongue making the action effective as the tip grazed your spot, coaxing the coil to tighten and your clit to throb from lack of attention. 

Junmyeon moaned again into your pussy, the taste of your juices causing his own arousal to heighten and his cock to harden, though this wasn’t about him. He was focusing on your pleasure, not his own. 

He coaxed the tip of his tongue against your spot, urged on by the way your thighs shook, the muscles threatening to clamp around his head. Though he loved the way your hips lifted into his face, desperate for more yet his grip pinned you to the bed, leaving you at the mercy of him. 

Junmyeon pulled his tongue out slowly, licking another long stripe up your slit, a moan filling the dark space as the muscle grazed your sensitive clit. The coil in your stomach tightened and you were desperate for the snap, the plunge into the abyss, yet he was edging you with his slow pace. 

“C-Can I cum?” Your voice was breathy, the question left hanging in the air, “Please daddy?” You tried to choke it out between moans as he delivered a harsh suck to your clit. 

Junmyeon growled against you as you spoke the name - his cock throbbing from the way you half whined it. The two syllables sending him crazy as he pulled away from your pussy slightly, your glistening arousal dripping from his lips. 

“Of course,” His eyes flicked to yours momentarily and your grip on his hair tightened as his lips connected back to your clit. Junmyeon was sure to focus on the sensitive nub as he brought his tongue flicking over it, lips sucking harder on the bundle. 

All you could manage was small whimpers as you felt his pace pick up drastically, the fast and hard strokes the complete opposite of the slow and steady ones before. The coil in your abdomen tightened, your pussy clenching around nothing as you felt yourself cascade toward an orgasm. 

The heat pulsating throughout you built up to a stifling climax that had a broken cry of Junmyeon’s name fall off your lips, the coil snapping harder than you’d ever felt as you plummeted into the abyss. Your toes curled, your back arched and your legs shook from the intensity of a release that his lips brought you toward. A choked moan filled the space as he coaxed the orgasm out of you, grip tightening on your thighs and keeping you planted there until he was sure you were satisfied. 

Junmyeon pulled away from you with a smirk, tongue darting out to lick up the remnants of your orgasm off his lips. “So tasty, Princess,” He cooed, voice thick as he kneeled before your wrecked state. 

Your breathing was heavy as you came down from your high, your body succumbed to him yet the burning in your loins left you craving more. The moonlight hit him once more, the silvery light illuminating him discarding his boxers and revealing his prominent arousal. 

You gulped at the thick length, his cock completely hard, the head red, just begging for attention as he started to move back over you. 

“How was it?” He brought his face up to yours, eyes swimming with lust and desire as he positioned himself over you. 

“Perfect, daddy,” You whispered, cupping his cheek and bringing your lips up to his in a tender kiss.

Though Junmyeon soon broke it, pulling back to position his body and ask a muttered, “You ready?” Your nod of confirmation was all he needed, settling between your legs and lining himself up as you relaxed into the bed, anticipation once again flooding your senses. 

Junmyeon groaned as he entered you with ease, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he buried himself to the hilt. A small moan escaped your lips, the stretch of his thick girth was delicious as you let yourself accommodate to his size. 

Junmyeon’s breath was hot on your neck as he waited for your go ahead, “Just say when you’re ready, baby girl.”

“I’m ready,” You whispered, snaking your arms around his sides and holding onto his muscular back.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the skin of your neck as he started to move his hips, keeping the pace slow. His thrusts were hard yet unhurried, taking his time to please you, savoring the slight contraction of your walls around his girth.

A moan fell off your lips as he started to thrust harder, his hips absolutely pounding into you, yet his pull back was slow, letting you feel every inch, ridge and vein of his cock. Your nails dug into the hard muscles of his back as his cock rubbed against your spot, a choked moan escaping you. 

Junmyeon grunted, the sound sending shivers of pleasure straight down your spine and into the heat of your arousal. He continued to place small kisses to your neck, planting small love bites along the supple skin as he continued to fuck you hard. Though his muttered praises would send you closer to your second release with every syllable.  

“You take daddy’s cock so well, Princess.” You felt his lips graze your neck and his breath fan over the shell of your ear, the sensation causing your back to arch into him, your nails digging angry crescents into his back as a small whimper fell off your lips. The sound caused Junmyeon’s hips to stutter as he neared his climax, his fingers tightening in the sheets as he tried to hold out for you. 

You ground back onto his thrusts, the need for release already gripping your body as the coil started to build up again, though he stilled as you did so, pinning you to the mattress with his hips.

“Please,” Junmyeon whispered into your ear, “Let me take my time,” He placed a fleeting kiss to your shoulder, “I want to make this special.”

You smiled gently, letting your eyes flutter shut as he pulled back, “Of course,” You whispered back, choking a small moan as he pounded back into you. 

Junmyeon snaked a hand between your bodies, bringing the pad of his thumb against your throbbing clit and rubbing tight circles into the sensitive nub. The action caused your back to arch and a string of lewd moans to fall off your lips as the combination of his cock and his thumb brought you closer to the edge. 

The coil within you started to build up to a familiar high, your body gripped with a vice like apprehension of your oncoming release. Your walls clenched around him involuntarily, causing Junmyeon’s hips to stutter as his thrusts became sloppier. 

“Baby girl, I’m gonna cum,” He groaned in your ear, rubbing faster on your clit but still never speeding up his thrusts. 

“C-Cum in me, daddy,” You half moaned, half whined as you felt yourself edge impossibly closer. 

Junmyeon couldn’t contain it anymore, his climax exploding as he buried himself deep inside of you to cum. A low moan left his lips as he came, hips still trying to thrust through to bring you to your own release, his thumb caressing your clit faster.

Though you didn’t need it, your own climax crashing down on you as he came, the sensation sending you over the edge as your body succumbed to its second high. A loud moan sounded throughout the room as you came, your body shaking from the intensity. 

Junmyeon groaned, the sound heavy in the room as he tried not to flop on top of you, his body exhausted from the sex. He rolled off you, pulling out and leaving you with an empty feeling as the mattress shifted to accommodate him flopping next to you. 

“Thank you for that,” He whispered, breathing heavy and still coming down as he settled into the sheets. 

“No problem,” You smiled, rolling over onto your side with a small wince as you felt the aftermath of his hard pace.

“I can stay the night, yeah?” Junmyeon asked, reaching out through the sex stained sheets to pull you into him. 

“Of course,” You hummed, resting your head against his firm chest, your body melting into his familiarity. 

“Thank you,” He sighed, eyes fluttering shut and letting out a small breath of relief, “I’ll go grab a towel to clean you up.” He stated before placing a small kiss on the crown of your head and getting up. 

Junmyeon shot up, the shrill sound of his phone carrying throughout the dark bedroom. The sudden action caused you to rouse from your sleep, the heels of your palms rubbing your tired eyes as the ringer cut through your dream state.

Junmyeon grabbed the phone haphazardly, answering the call while scrubbing his tired face with his other hand.

“Yeah, what is it?” His groggy voice sounded throughout the room as you rolled over to face him a small mumble of “who is it?” falling off your lips. 

The tension in the room changed as you heard a serious voice through the receiver; “Is this Kim Junmyeon?”

“Yes,” He answered, swallowing thickly with an instant change of tone, “Who is this?”

“I’m Dr Jang from Ridgeside hospital, I’m calling in regards to your brother Dongkyu.” The tone was serious, their voice heavy and you felt the way Junmyeon tensed, the way his voice cracked as he confirmed;

“Dongkyu?”

#this took me three days to write heck #taenibearsnet #junmyeon #exo #kpop #junmyeon smut #junmyeon fluff #junmyeon angst #junmyeon x reader #exo smut #exo fluff #exo angst #exo x reader #kpop smut #kpop fluff #kpop x reader #kpop angst #suho #suho smut #suho x reader #suho angst #suho fluff

[eilonwiiy]

Bookends ; a Witchlands AU

Summary: Iseult det Midenzi never expected to go to a top university, so when her mother falls ill and she is forced to drop out to make ends meet, life has never seemed so unfair. But when she starts working at the local library and is unexpectedly assigned in the Children's Room, a certain monosyllabic man and his thrice-damned demon child start showing up and Iseult begins to wonder if the threads of fate have a plan for her after all.

Ships: Iseult/Aeduan, Safi/Merik, minor Ryber/Kullen (and more... stay tuned!)

Tags: modern AU, college setting, family, friendship, humor, fluff, slow-burn, romance, eventual smut

Read on AO3: here

Tag list: (please let me know if you’d like to be added!) @lseultdetmidenzi

*   .   *   .   *   .   *   .

chapter 1

811.34 Courrier

811.34 Gaines

811.34 Vasiliev

Iseult reached for another book from the cart.  She ran a pale finger along its spine, noting the title vaguely, before settling on the call number at its base.

813.01 Balthazar

Her gaze lifted to the long line of books shelved in front of her, scanning for one in particular, before bending low and craning her neck to read the next row underneath. A twinge of discomfort radiated through her neck protesting the awkward angle, but she stayed hunched over, reading the call numbers until she found what she was looking for.

813 Allein

813.2 Husmond

Ah. She slipped Balthazar’s book neatly between the two titles, then drew herself up with a tired slowness. Stifling a sigh, she rolled her shoulders and let her head loll back before rotating it from side to side. Standing upright was decidedly more comfortable than the 90 degree angle she’d bent in and out of all throughout the day, but no amount of stretching seemed to ease the ache in her neck and back. An unavoidable caveat of working at the Venaza City Library.

Five months ago when she’d taken the job, Iseult det Midenzi had not considered the physical toll books could have on a person. Sure, she had read Eridysi’s Lament enough times to know books could break your heart worse than any one person could. But books existed to exercise the mind. The most Iseult had exerted herself for a book was forcing herself to stay awake long enough to read just one more chapter a dozen or so times before resigning herself to being a filthy liar. And that was admittedly more a testament to her mental willpower than any physical endurance she may have possessed. Besides, the price she paid for a sleepless night was well worth the reward. It certainly didn’t leave her physically disabled.

Yet here she was, 22 and condemned to live in the body of a 90-year-old woman. All because she shelved books for a living.

Safi told her she’d have the ass of a model by the time she quit, what with all the squatting. Iseult had yet to notice any improvements. (Not that she was checking, of course.)

Maybe it really was time to go back to the gym, she thought as she massaged the painful knot at the base of her neck. Finally start going to yoga again like her best friend had been nagging her to do every Saturday morning since school term had started. A year ago it would have been Iseult dragging Safi out of bed at 7 A.M., succeeding only by using the one means of bribery she possessed: the promise of a double chocolate double whip hazelnut macchiato from the campus coffee cart, followed by a hash brown heist from the dining hall. Nothing quite curbed a sugar rush more than an adrenaline rush and some grease.

Iseult dropped her hand. The spot on her neck faded into a dull throb at the thought of her and Safi running from the dining hall, pockets stuffed with hash browns wrapped in napkins and a breakfast sandwich fisted in each hand, while cafeteria staff shouted after them as they escaped with their spoils.

No. She hadn’t stepped foot on campus since she dropped out. She wasn’t about to now. And not just because she and Safi now had copies of their student I.D. photos posted on the community board in the dining hall asking students to keep an eye out for the notorious thieves.

Drop out. There wasn’t an aspect of her life that didn’t seem to revolve around those two words. She could hear Safi scolding her.

“Don’t say that! ‘Drop out’,” she'd said one evening while they closed up her uncles’ coffee shop shortly after Iseult had made the decision. “You didn’t drop out of anything. You made a graceful exit. To do something more noble than any of those old toads sitting cushy in the administration have likely ever done, might I add! They should consider themselves lucky that you’ll even be coming back!”

Iseult fingered through the books on her cart. Well. That had been back in September. It was now January, the first week of second semester had just wrapped up and Safi had changed tactics.  Instead, she ranted about how the collegiate system was the world’s biggest scam, squeezing their generation of every last drop of money and happiness they had, and that she should drop out too just to have the satisfaction in giving Dean Henrick a big FUCK YOU. It was a touching offer, though, not exactly the most ambitious plot for revenge. Safi was running on a free ride. Henrick’s deep pockets wouldn’t be any lighter if she left. He’d still be sitting pretty on the proverbial throne.

“Iseult.”

Iseult looked up to see Evrane gliding down the aisle towards her, thoughts of school and Safi interrupted. As always she was impeccably dressed, from the silver dangling from her ears all the way down to the perfectly polished stilettos she wore. Her long white hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail, leaving her bronze face bare, radiant even under the library’s miserable lighting - a feat aided by sorcery, Iseult could only assume. It was a wonder what patrons must think of her roaming the halls, what with her pale moon skin and midnight hair. She looked more like the ghost that was rumored to haunt the library tower.

But Evrane wasn’t the library’s director for her otherworldly cheekbones or dazzling emerald eyes. She was also the sharpest person Iseult had ever met and someone she couldn’t believe she had the privilege of calling a mentor.

Iseult hastily tugged off her earbuds. “Hi Evrane.” Her voice cracked; sshe cringed inwardly. She hadn’t spoken a word to anyone during her 8 hour shift. Evrane didn’t seem to notice.

“How are you, dear?” Evrane asked. She nodded to Iseult’s cart of books. “Tackling the nonfiction, I see.”

“Good,” Iseult replied, this time willing her voice to sound normal. “I’m almost done with the nonfiction, and then I have some books I need to bring down to Children’s. I think someone may have mixed up the carts. My shift ends soon, but I could stick around to shelve them. There aren’t too many but...” She trailed off watching Evrane shake her head, as though amused.

“That won’t be necessary,” she said, then adding, “Pleased as I am with your progress, I was actually wondering how you were doing… How was your trip home?”

Iseult stared blank-face at Evrane. She should have expected this. Evrane had taken to Iseult from the moment they’d met, always seeking her out between bookshelves, pulling her aside to talk about the latest book Iseult was reading or simply inviting her back to her office to join her for tea. Secretly, Iseult was pleased. To have a woman like Evrane be genuinely interested in what Iseult had to say… well.  It was more than she could have dared to hope for.

Which was exactly why couldn’t help asking herself, why?

Iseult never did come up with an explanation for why Evrane hired her in the first place. She could only assume the woman had done it out of pity. Her resume had been woefully thin to the point of being downright pathetic with only her part-time barista gig at Mathew and Habim’s coffee shop to her name. She had no other achievements. No special skills. And of course, now, no academic prospects to boast. Iseult had nothing to offer.

And yet... here Evrane was asking the one question Iseult wished she wouldn’t.

Home was the same as always. Saldonica never changed. It was still the grimy, cut-throat city it had always been, with its streets teeming with crime and illegal trade. That was the accepted way of life there. But it didn’t phase Iseult. She never really considered it home anyway. She hadn’t grown up there. There was only one thing, one person, who made Saldonica home.

Her mother. The true subject of Evrane’s inquiry.

So how was she?

Sick. Very sick. And showing little improvement. Though, she’d probably be worse if not for Alma caring for her day and night. If not for the money Iseult sent home each week to ensure she was getting the medication she needed. If not for her mother’s damned stubbornness to shirk life’s more unsavory aspects and persist in the face of uncertain fate. That in itself was likely aiding Gretchya more than Iseult and Alma’s contributions combined.

“Fine,” Iseult said, expression unchanging. It was automatic. Succinct. Gretchya would have approved.

Evrane merely hummed, bowing her head slowly. As though Iseult’s meager reply required deep and philosophical deliberation. “You know,” she continued after a moment, “I know this,” her eyes panned the bookshelves on either side of them, “wasn’t exactly where you expected to be by now. I am sorry your plans to return to school didn’t work out as you had hoped, Iseult… but I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you that I’m happy to have you with us for a little longer.” Evrane raised a hand to Iseult’s arm and gave it a reassuring squeeze, a gesture that should have been comforting, yet only turned Iseult to stone. “If there’s anything I can do to help, my door is always open.”

Iseult tried to nod. Swallowing suddenly became painful. Speech, impossible. Mercifully, Evrane let go of her arm and changed the subject.

“Now tell me, where is that cart you were talking about?”

“O-oh you d-don’t have to -” Iseult stammered. She immediately snapped her mouth shut. Hell-gates, did she have to stutter like that now?  In front of Evrane!

The woman seemed to take no notice and simply waved a hand. “I am the director of this institution, am I not? I think I am more than capable of handling a couple books.”

“By circulation,” Iseult forced out. Evrane gave her an appreciative smile, then walked away, her silver circlets tinkling prettily in the quiet of the library.

For a moment, Iseult simply stood there, staring down the aisle where Evrane had left. Eventually, she untangled her earbuds and popped them back in. She opened Spotify on her phone and swiped through the playlist she’d been listening to before Evrane showed up. However, after a few minutes of mindless scrolling, stuffed her phone into her back pocket, abandoning her search. Silence filled her ears.

Iseult grabbed a random book off her cart. She read its cover, though not really taking in the the words, and when she went to find its place on the shelf, it was as though she had not read it at all. This happened with every book she picked up over the next ten minutes, and when she finally forgot the author of The Autonomy of Dalmotti - a book she had personally read at least five times - she finally gave up.

Frustration prickled the back of her throat. Gripping the book tight, she leaned her forehead against the oak bookcase. The smell of old paper filled her nose as she let her eyes to sink shut, breathing in the musty air through her nose. What she would give to fall head-first into a book right now...

Stasis, she told herself. Stasis in your fingers and in your toes.

Gretchya sick.

Stasis.

Evrane. Broken words. Broken.

Stasis.

Drop out. Drop. Out. Drop. Out.

Stasis. Stasis. Stasis.

Over and over again Iseult silently whispered this to herself, until a familiar calm resettled in her chest, until every last thread of emotion was pulled tight. Nothing out of place. She took several more slow, deliberate breaths for good measure, then, she opened eyes.

That’s when she saw them.

Through the narrow opening between shelves, Iseult spied Evrane standing by the circulation desk. But it was who she was speaking with that caught Iseult’s attention.

It hadn’t taken Iseult long to familiarize herself with the people who passed through when she began working at the library. Though Venaza City was largely populated, the library had its regulars, and even those who visited only once in awhile had become catalogued in Iseult’s memory like the books she shelved. In fact, on more than one occasion, she found herself recognizing patrons outside of work - an oddly unpleasant experience. She already spent enough time dodging former college peers whenever she ventured out into the city. They now had competition.

That being said, Iseult knew nearly everyone who came to the library. Except for this man talking to her mentor.

Even from behind, there was something striking about him. He towered over Evrane, his imposing figure standing impossibly still in dark form-fitting jeans and a muddy burgundy leather jacket. Iseult wished he’d turn around so she could see his face. Regardless, two features immediately stood out. Or rather, accessories.

First, a blue, opal earring in his left ear. And second, the child held in his arms.

These two things seemed to clash together in Iseult’s mind. The girl, she guessed, was no more than five. A mop of dark hair obscured most of her face with only a red, chubby cheek visible resting on the man’s shoulder. As for the earring, Iseult wasn’t old-fashioned enough to believe men couldn’t wear jewelry. In fact, depending on the piercing’s style and placement, she found them rather appealing. However, the more closely Iseult looked at the gemstone, the more it called out to her as some sort of statement - and not one of the fashion variety. It lent little to the rest of his dark ensemble and stuck out like a sore thumb. It was too ornate. Too deliberate. Something worn out of habit.

Iseult inched forward, bracing a hand along the edge of the shelf as she watched from her hiding place amongst the books. She knew she was teetering on the edge of polite observation and straight-up creeping, but she was too curious to care. Evrane stood close to the young man, too close for him to be an ordinary patron. And there was something in the way that she looked at him that gave her the impression that she wasn’t simply giving him a book recommendation. Even through the warmth Iseult was so familiar with in her expression, she couldn’t miss the urgency in her eyes. Her lips were moving carefully, and she imagined the melodic gentleness of her voice, the same voice that had spoken to her only moments ago. Soft words only meant for him.

As if on cue, Evrane reached for his arm.

Iseult immediately noticed the mystery man’s shoulders stiffen. It was the first indication of life she’d seen from him during the entire encounter. A pulse ticked in his jaw, the only sliver of his pale face she could see. Evrane had stopped talking, but kept her hand on his arm, her thumb gliding back and forth, and appeared to be listening attentively to the man’s response. But as the seconds dragged on, her eyes - never wavering from his - glimmered with a touch of something new. Sadness, perhaps. Her expression dimmed, and eventually the hand holding his arm stopped moving and returned to her side.

Iseult’s nose was practically brushing the books blocking her from view now. Who was this guy? Evrane had never spoken of family or a significant other. On one occasion, she had mentioned a nephew - something about how he’d just returned home after studying abroad. But other than that, no one else. This couldn’t be him, could it? He had a child with him. A child who - Iseult suddenly realized with a jolt of horror - was staring right at her.

“What are you doing lurking in the shadows?”

The Autonomy of Dalmotti dropped to the floor with a rustle of paper and a soft thump as she whirled around. How her best friend had managed to sneak up on her in the dead silence of the library without her hearing, Iseult didn’t know, but the self-satisfied look Safi was pinning her with made her curse the Moon Mother for turning her momentarily deaf.

“If by lurking you mean shelving books,” Iseult replied smoothly, kneeling down to pick up the fallen book as though nothing had happened, “I’m working. It’s kind of in my job description.”

Safi cocked her head to the side, eyebrow arched. “Is spying on hot guys in your job description? Can’t see his face, but the view from behind is certainly enough to go on.”

Iseult felt a rush of unwanted heat flood her cheeks, but aside from that, her face betrayed nothing. Yes, she had been spying. But not in the way Safi thought, and the idea that she had been caught not only by her best friend, but by that strange little girl made her want to tear every book from the shelf and bury herself underneath them.

“What?” Safi persisted innocently as Iseult turned her back to her. She slipped The Autonomy of Dalmotti between two volumes, not particularly caring whether or not that was where it belonged so long as she didn’t have to see the infuriating smirk on Safi’s face. “I don’t blame you. You can’t be expected to stare at dusty, old books all day - no matter how much you love them.”

“Wanna bet?” Iseult muttered. For all her love of the library, she had thought she’d be back in school by now, trading in its dusty, old books for overpriced textbooks.

“I’d love to. Tonight, in fact. At The Cleaved Man.”

“I - ” Iseult began, but Safi’s hand slashed through the air cutting her off and she pointed a finger in Iseult’s face.

“Don’t say you can’t! I’ve barely seen you all week!”

“As if that’s my fault,” Iseult countered, grabbing another book and the opportunity to turn the tables. The last thing she wanted to do right now was spend the night in an overcrowded bar. “Where were you last night? You never came home.”

Safi picked up a book from Iseult’s cart and examined its cover. “Polly’s.”

Iseult paused mid-shelving. “Leopold’s?”

“Mhm.” Safi opened the book, casually flipping through its pages.  Silence stretched.  She looked up. “What?”

“I thought you weren’t going to see him again,” Iseult said, watching her friend carefully.

Safi lowered the book and frowned in confusion. “Not see him? What are you - ?” But as soon as the unfinished question left her mouth, Iseult saw the life in her eyes freeze for half a heartbeat, and comprehension slowly dawned on Safi’s face. A second later, her expression hardened. “Hell-gates, Iz! I didn’t mean him.”

Him. Or as he was known as in their apartment, the Chiseled Cheater. To the rest of the world, he was simply Caden. Handsome, strong-jawed, infuriatingly charming Caden.

Safi gave Iseult a disparaging look before snapping shut her own book and stuffing it onto a shelf where - Iseult noted - it should not be. Now wasn’t a good time to be pointing out mistakes. The hard line of her pursed lips may have grown taut like she was fighting to feign indifference, but Iseult knew when her best friend was hurt. And this time, it was her fault. Safi crossed her arms tightly over her chest.

“Like I’d ever,” Safi huffed, tossing her unruly sun-streaked hair over her shoulder, looking anywhere but Iseult. She let out a strained laugh and shook her head as though the thought of her and Caden together was ludicrous - though, it didn’t stop a tinge of pink blossoming across her cheeks. “Spend the night with him. Honestly, Iz. You know we’ve never - I’ve never -”

Pink turned to a vibrant red as she struggled for words before making a disgruntled noise and giving up.

“Sorry,” Iseult murmured, her expression void of all emotion. “I was just worried.”

Safi finally met Iseult’s gaze. The silence of the library was deafening. Then, she shook her head. “It’s fine,” she relented, and Iseult was relieved to hear sincerity in the statement that was universally known to mean the opposite. “I don’t blame you. I mean... he is Polly’s roommate and it’s me so…” Safi’s eyes darted away self-consciously and she took a fortifying breath, arms unwinding from her chest and hands bracing themselves on her hips. When she spoke next, there was no question as to whether or not they were moving on from the subject of the Chiseled Cheater. “By the time we got out of Two Left Feet and grabbed dinner, it was so late that I just ended up crashing at his place.”

“Two Left Feet?” Iseult repeated.  

“Modern dance," Safi replied, as though this was the most ordinary explanation in the world.

“Oh.” Iseult wasn’t sure what to say to that. “I didn’t know we had a modern dance company.” Or that Safi was interested in modern dance. “Um, how was it?”

“If that’s what modern dance is, then I’m not sure what I’ve been doing at the club all these years.”

“Two Left Feet.” Iseult paused. Her mouth twitched. “Seems like a counterintuitive name.”

“Ohh no trust me, they hit the mark on that one.”

Any hint of a smile left Iseult’s face. “Please tell me you didn’t heckle them.”

Safi’s hand flew to chest and she gasped. “Heckle? Us? Two purebred members of high society like ourselves? You insult me.”

“Don’t scoff. Last year you two almost single-handedly disassembled Pobody’s Nerfect.”

Safi shrugged half-heartedly. “It was an improv show. It’s supposed to be interactive.”

“You made that freshmen kid cry! I could have sworn I overheard him talking about transferring as we were leaving.”

“Audience participation was encouraged!” argued Safi. “Besides, the fact that we even went to their little dance performance was generous enough. You think I wanted to spend the first Thursday night of the semester watching people roll around on the floor trying to sell it to me as art?”

“Then why did you?”

“We were expanding our horizons?” Iseult rolled her eyes and turned back to her books as Safi laughed. “I don’t know. We were walking around campus after class and saw the sign and I was like, “Well, I have nothing else to do” so -” She stopped suddenly, as though a thought had just thought of something. “Should I have texted you? It didn’t even occur to me that you’d want to go to something like that.”

The concern in the question made Iseult pause… which irked her. The concern or the pause, she couldn’t tell which. Maybe because if she had been on campus with her and Leopold, there wouldn’t be a question of whether she’d have gone. Safi would have dragged her in there whether she liked it or not, and Iseult would have gone along with whatever Safi wanted to do as she always did - good idea or not. Modern dance would have been decidedly not. That never stopped Safi, though. Or Iseult.

“No,” Iseult simply answered.

Safi nodded, and though it was almost imperceptible, Iseult saw her lips purse, like she wasn’t entirely convinced. “Next time,” she only promised.

“There’s going to be a next time?”

“You never know.” Safi’s sea-blue eyes flashed mischievously. “Come on, I’ll show you a couple moves I learned at the Cleaved Man.” She gyrated her hips for emphasis, causing Iseult to look away embarrassed on her behalf. This only prompted Safi to bump Iseult’s hip with her own.

“Saf, I wasn’t kidding before,” Iseult insisted, stumbling over her feet as Safi went in for a second, more forceful hip check. “I really can’t -”

“Hey, you owe me after that comment about Chiseled Cheater!”

“30 seconds ago you were saying that I was right!” Really, the grudges this girl could hold. Iseult almost felt sorry for Caden.

Safi heaved a wistful sigh. “You know, if I could come keep you company at work, I would.”

“I’d never get anything done,” Iseult said, gesturing the pile of untouched books on the cart between them.

“Right. As if I’m the one distracting you, you little stalker.”

“I wasn’t -” Iseult began to protest, but Safi was already backing away down the aisle, doing what had to be the world’s worst attempt at the moonwalk.

“I’ll be warming up the car!” Safi whisper hissed, rattling her car keys in the air for emphasis. When she reached the end of the aisle, she spun around on the spot theatrically, and then she was gone.

Iseult shook her head after her ridiculous, wonderful best friend, then peered down at the pile of books in her cart. An hour ago she had been daydreaming of ordering the Arithuanian take-out that Safi never wanted to get and hunker down with one of her all-time favorite books, The Raider King. She’d be in bed by 9 and asleep by 9:15.

So much for that.

It was ironic, really. Safi could rant all she wanted about the injustices of the modern day collegiate system, but no amount of theoretical scheming to take down the patriarchy would change the fact that Iseult missed college.

She missed waking up every day and knowing where she was going and what she was doing. She missed her textbooks. She missed late night cram sessions at the university library with Safi and getting nothing done, aside from gaining 15 pounds from vending machine snacks. She missed misty morning walks to her 8 A.M. seminar. She missed the notes Leopold would pass her during Professor Rosa's soul-killing lectures. Heck, she missed her lectures.

And of course, she missed the dining hall hash browns.

So naturally - naturally - the only thing she didn’t miss about college was the one thing she couldn’t escape.

The college bar scene.

Iseult hadn’t taken Safi seriously when she announced one day just before summer break that she would be getting her bartender license. It seemed to be the thing every college student said the second after they turned 21. For Safi to voluntarily subject herself to 40 hours worth of training courses was enough to give Iseult doubt. However, unlike the rest of those drunk idiots, Safi was true to her word, and in no time, she started bartending at Venaza City’s most popular college bar, the Cleaved Man.

Moon Mother, kill me now, Iseult prayed as she pushed her book cart down the aisle. Its rickety wheels squeaked horridly in the cavernous hall. She cringed inwardly knowing that the second she turned the corner, all eyes would be narrowed on her, silently shaming her for disturbing the peace. Halfway down, though, she hesitated. The wheels grinded to a halt.

Ignoring the sick embarrassment bubbling in her stomach at what she was about to do, Iseult cast a look over her shoulder to make sure Safi was truly gone. Then, she leaned forward and peered between the stacks of books.

The mystery man and his little companion were gone.

#the witchlands #witchlands #baesult #iseult det midenzi #aeduan #witchlands fanfic #iseult x aeduan #safiya fon hasstrel #merik nihar #safik #truthwitch #mine #my fics

[truthofherdreams]

is this clickbait? (#7)

also on ao3

GOING BACK TO HIGH SCHOOL WITH MY GIRLFRIEND

Peter Kavinsky • 5.8M views • 3 days ago

 A middle-aged woman sits behind a desk, round glasses on the tip of her nose as she types away on a computer who was already old a decade ago. John skips toward her, shit-eating grin on his face and hands clasped behind his back. She looks up at him, then at Peter and Chris behind him, and lets out a long, tired sigh.

“Gooood morning, Ms Brown,” John singsongs. Behind the camera, Peter snorts softly.

“How many times will I have to tell you, Mister McClaren. This school is staff and students only, of which you are neither.”

“At least one more time? We won’t be long, I promise.”

There is something to be said about how smooth John is in that kind of situation, holding the box of chocolates he was hiding behind his back with a smile that is now downright charming. The old secretary is unimpressed, of course, raising an eyebrow at the obvious bribe. It doesn’t stop her from taking the chocolates and hiding them under her desk, though.

“You have one hour.”

“Thanks, Ms Brown!”

“You’re the best, Ms Brown!” Chris chimes in.

“Now go away before I remember how many detentions you never attended.”

Chris needs little more to scurry away, John following close with one last grin at their old secretary. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head at him, but the hint of a smile curls up the corners of her lips. That is, until she turns back to Peter.

“What else do you need, Mister Kazinsky?”

Behind the camera, his shit-eating grin is far less adorable and convincing than John’s, but at least he gets some points for trying. With one arm around LJ’s waist, he moves closer to the secretary’s desk. “Ms Brown, this is my girlfriend, Lara Jean.”

“I know,” the woman replies, deadpan. At both their stunned faces, she adds, “My granddaughter got me your book for Christmas. Far more useful than whatever this loser does on the daily with his camera.”

Said camera LJ grabs from Peter, just to capture the utter look of surprise and betrayal on his face.

 …

 “Model UN Champion three years in a row has to be the nerdiest thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life,” LJ states, looking at the medals on the other side of the glass window. John’s name is engraved in all three of them in its full glory - John Ambrose McClaren III - which makes it all the more ridiculous.

“I’ll have you know both Barack Obama and Samuel L. Jackson were Model UN students in high school. Does that make them nerdy too?”

“Yes,” Chris replies without blinking.

LJ smiles. “Which country were you?”

“Macedonia,” he replies, somewhat pitifully. “I looked great in a suit, though!”

Peter scoffs. “You look great in everything, that doesn’t count.” Then, after a beat, “Nerd.”

John glares at him through the camera, even though it doesn’t carry that much heat. The two of them are very bad at fake outrage, after all. “Someone’s bitter.”

Peter takes the bait. Hook, line, and sinker. “Excuse me? What is that? What is that?”

He gives his camera to LJ before he skips-runs down the corridor a bit, from the academic trophies to the sport ones. In front of one particular display, he opens his arms with a slow, quiet ‘tadaaaaa’, along with some spirit fingers.

LJ zooms in on the display, shiny cups from a Lacrosse State championship, and the framed picture next to it. A tiny, grinning teen Peter is on the first row, holding the cup, cheeks full of mud and sweat. He looks cute, but that says nothing -- LJ always thinks he looks cute, no matter what.

“Yeah, but do you have you full entire name on the cup?” John teases back. “I think the fuck not.”

“At least I’m not a big fucking nerd.”

 …

 “Oh look,” LJ breathes out softly, grabbing his arm.

Peter films away from his old locker - the carved P+G fading under layers of paint but still present - to look where she’s pointing.

“The library!”

His laugh echoes through the empty corridors.

 …

 Chris somehow finds herself with Peter’s camera, which is ridiculous. Nobody, ever, should trust her with such expensive equipment, but that’s on Peter and she’s not going to point out the obvious. Not when she’s sitting on the bleachers with John, looking down at Peter and LJ from across the pitch.

They sits at one of the tables in Lovers’ Corner, that little patch of grass between the admin building and the football pitch where people go to have a romantic moment instead of making out under the bleachers or behind the art building. Back in the day, Peter and Gen were more of a behind-the-art-building couple, but that’s none of her business.

Peter sits on the wooden bench with his back against the table, LJ sideway next to him. It’s too far to really notice details, but Chris is pretty sure LJ’s leg rests above Peter’s. That’s some disgustingly cute couple thing they do all the time.

“Do you ever wonder?” John starts. Chris looks away from her best friends to stare at him, oblivious to the end of his question. It could go in so many directions. “What would have happened, if Lara Jean went to our school?”

John is the only one who still calls her by her full name, the same way LJ still calls him John Ambrose. It’s cute too, in its own way.

“You mean…”

They don’t need to elaborate on what he means. They both know. Would Peter still have gone crazy for Gen, if LJ had been in the picture? Would he have left Gen walk all over him, when he had much better options? Would it have changed anything at all?

“I don’t know, man,” Chris answers sincerely. “All I know is high school would have been less fucking lonely if she’s been my friend.”

“Homemade cookies for snacks every day.”

“Oh, word.”

In the distance, Peter leans down to kiss LJ.

Chris stops recording.

 Lucas Krapf ✓ 3 days ago

We stan Ms Brown and all the bullshit she went through! A real American hero!

View 59 replies v

 MrsCovinsky 2 days ago

LJ x books is the true, understated relationship in this squad, like if you stan

View 25 replies v

 Bram Greenfeld’s #1 Fan 3 days ago

find yourself a boy who brings you back to his high school just so you can have A Moment TM on Lovers’ Corner with him

View 31 replies v

#covinsky #covinsky ff #covinsky fanfic #to all the boys i've loved before #fanfic #ff: tatbilb #ff: do it for the views #but at least I'm writing!!!! #I WROTE A THING!!!!!!!

[captainhookcaptainfreedom]

Study Buddies. Just Study Buddies. (a Sherlolly fanfiction)

This was written for @katfevre for the Sherlolly Fic Exchange 2017.

Prompt: Sherlock and Molly at university. They keep running into each other in the library: looking for books in the same section, hiding/studying in the same secret corners. Small polite exchanges develop into longer conversations, which develop into a friendship and eventually into a snogging session in the book stacks.

Molly Hooper was a scholarship student. The only reason she was able to attend the “Doyle School for the Gifted” was her brilliant test scores. That and the abnormal love she had for anatomy at the age of 11 which had intrigued the school board and admissions staff. She had been accepted into the school at age 12 and had been going there for 5 years now. As a senior, Molly Hooper would be expected to complete a final (and impressive) research project before heading off to university. Most Doyle students could choose to go to whatever university they wanted. Molly, however, knew that her family would struggle to fund her future academic ventures and knew that she had to make this last year at Doyle count. In order to do this, Molly found herself studying in the library every day for many long hours.

William “Sherlock” Holmes was from a so called “legacy family” at Doyle. His older brother, Mycroft, had attended the school. As had his mother. His mother’s father had gone to Doyle and his father before him. The Holmes had always been students at Doyle ever since its conception. It was expected that Sherlock would not be the last Holmes to attend Doyle School. Of course, that was the opinion of the school and of the Holmes parents and ancestry. The opinion of Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes was, in fact, that they would be the last two Holmes to attend Doyle. Mycroft was not inclined to procreate anytime soon due to his extreme lack of interest in women and his abundant appreciation for the male form. Sherlock had proclaimed on more than one occasion that he found everyone, no matter their sex, far too dull to even be bothered with and that he had no intention of ever tying himself to one of them permanently. Sherlock preferred to throw himself into the quest for knowledge, useful knowledge. During his senior year at Doyle, unlike most of the teenage boys running rampant on the property, he’d spend most of his time cooped up in the dusty old library.

 Doyle School for the Gifted was attended by students of all sorts. The one thing they all had in common was that they all were “gifted” in some way. Not all were the blatantly intelligent like the Holmes brothers or even Molly Hooper. Many were intelligent in certain areas, but some simply had impressive talent. Doyle employed staff of all sorts to meet every need of their students. Even their stranger needs would be met. Molly’s own small circle of friends displayed this. Molly herself did as well.

She had a therapy cat. His name was Toby. He had been a gift from her father and was the only thing that helped calm her down after a bout of her social anxiety. She was allowed to keep him in her dorm room. There were vets available to her in case he ever needed anything. If needed, she was even granted permission to carry him with her to her classes.

Then there was James Moriarty. Molly was friends with him, or at least she was friends with parts of him. She was friends with what they (their little group of friends) kind heartedly referred to as “techie Jim”, “gay Jim”, and “shy Jim”. There were probably a few other “Jims” she got along with, but those three were what she deemed Jim’s best. Jim Moriarty had a personality disorder. A multiple personality disorder aka dissociative identity disorder. Despite this apparent “setback” to Jim’s learning, he’d instantly been accepted to Doyle. Jim was beyond clever. Somehow, Doyle had gotten ahold of expert therapist and counselors to work with the Moriarty boy and attempt to help him when his darker personalities came out to play. Occasionally, they were unsuccessful and James would attempt arson or suicide, but they always found him before anything went too far.

Then there was Sebastian Moran. He was Jim’s right hand man. Sebastian would stay by Jim’s side through all the personalities. (Molly had noted more than once that “gay Jim” was the most likely to willing and excitedly stick to Sebastian side.) He himself had a few anger issues and had been called a sadist more than once. He’d been accepted to Doyle at 16, far later than most. He’d already been sued twice when caught hunting on private property. Doyle didn’t mind the criminal record.

Of course, there were also Meena and Mike who didn’t seem to have special needs of any kind.

Molly was content with her small and odd group of friends. She had no interest in pursuing new ones. The mere thought made her skin crawl.

 Sherlock Holmes had no need for people. He had no friends. Well, he had one friend at Doyle. John Watson had somehow wormed his way into Sherlock’s nonexistent social circle. He had easily grabbed the title of “best friend”.

 A blur of black and purple rushed into the Doyle library. It was Sherlock Holmes. His sharp, pale features were an extreme contrast from his dark hair. Already there, in a quiet and dusty corner, was Molly Hooper.

Sherlock took a seat at the opposite side of the large library from Molly. The two did not even notice each other’s presence.

The librarian at the Doyle School, a lovely older woman with a spunky attitude by the name of Martha Hudson, knew both Molly and Sherlock very well. She had not been fond of the previous Holmes students, but she thought Sherlock was an absolute dear. She had declared Molly Hooper to be “as sweet as pie” the first time they had met and her opinion of the girl had lasted. When the old grandfather clock in the library rang out that it was already midnight, Mrs.Hudson collected her things and left the library, locking the doors behind her. All the students had been gone for hours. Well, all the students but two, Molly Hooper and Sherlock Holmes. Neither student reacted as Mrs.Hudson left for the night. They had both gone through this before.

 At around 2am, Molly Hooper stretched out her arms, rolling her sore shoulders. She had sat here looking over these endless documents for hours. None of it even seemed to be helpful to her research. She got up and wandered the stacks, knowing that it always helped her think. As she passed the shelves she would occasionally stop and pull out a book she thought might possibly help her project until she reached her destination. She already had five books in her hands, but knew that she must fit one more. Trying not to drop her selected tomes, she reached up, stretching her short body, and barely grasped her fingers around the desired item. A play. A Shakespearean play. Today it would be Much Ado About Nothing . Last night it had been Romeo and Juliet . Tomorrow night it might be -

Molly stopped. It was missing. Richard III was missing. Molly knew she had put it back after she’d pulled it a couple weeks ago. No one else came into the Shakespeare section. No one. At least, she didn’t think so. She had never seen anyone other than her there before.

Molly turned around, her brain preoccupied with what had happened to Richard III , and instantly knocked into something very solid. Something that should not have been there. Something that was actually a someone.

“Holy fucking hell,” Molly shouted. Her breath coming in gasps as she stared shocked at the other body. The body she was sure had no business being here at 2:30 in the morning. “You scared me half to death,” she accused him. The library was only dimly lit at this hour but she could still recognize her companion. Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock freaking Holmes.

He eyed her. “I didn’t realize you were here. The library is closed after all.”

Molly started turning red from anger (but perhaps also a bit from embarrassment. She had shouted so crudely and all her books had fell from her arms onto the ground. It made her look careless and as much as he was a prat, Sherlock Holmes was a gorgeous and frightfully intelligent prat.) She stumbled over her words as she begin, “I have, I mean, Mrs.Hudson she gave me special permission to be here after hours. Not just today. I’m here every night. She gave me a key. It was only because I explained that I needed the extra time and resources for my research. I don’t sleep anyway. She verified my insomnia with the nurse and-” Molly closed her mouth realizing she had already said too much. She was rambling. She didn’t want to ramble in front of Sherlock Holmes! Well, at least Jim had said her rambling was cute. Maybe Sherlock would think so too. Who was she kidding? Of course he wouldn’t. Wait, that’s right. Sherlock was here. What was he doing here? “What are you doing here so late - er, early?”

Sherlock stepped past her. She had not noticed the book he carried in his hand, but he slipped it back on the shelf. “Mrs.Hudson has let me stay here as long as I please since I was thirteen. I can assure you that I as well am here almost every night.”

Sherlock the turned away from her and walked out into the depths of the library, disappearing within the shelves.

“Huh,” Molly sighed. She collected her books from the floor and the turned back to the Shakespeare shelf. Richard III had returned to its rightful place. “Huh,” she repeated to herself.

 The next day, Molly scoped out where Sherlock sat in the library. He spent much of his free time during the day there, just as she did. She only wasted a few hours finding his preferred spot.

That night, when Mrs.Hudson left, Molly collected her belongings and moved across the library to where Sherlock sat. She quietly placed her things down on the table  next to Sherlock and sat.

He didn’t startle, but raised one perfect eyebrow at her. “What are you doing? You can’t sit with me.”

Molly smiled. “I just thought it might be nice if we spent the night together. Um, the nights here. Studying.” She was already flustered.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Well, you were wrong. It will not be ‘nice’.”

Molly was not about to give up.

Their first few nights together (studying! Only studying!) were filled with poor jokes on Molly’s side and contempt from Sherlock. Eventually, however, he would start to smile just a bit when she laughed at something delightfully morbid. He also began showing her his research on bees. She was instantly enthralled. He found that she made

a good research partner. Molly was more than willing to help out anyway she could. Sherlock even found himself interested in her own work on human tissue. Dead human tissue.

The days turned into weeks turned into months. Then, one night they were both there. Molly had left earlier but come back around 3am, never wanting to miss a night with Sherlock. She had gone to attend the Christmas party that Jim was secretly hosted in the dorms. She knew Sherlock wouldn’t come but had silently hoped that perhaps he would show up. She knew she looked nice. Her hair done up and her makeup a brilliant shade of red. So, when she went to see Sherlock she left herself done up. Hoping to evoke a reaction.

She did.

Sherlock found himself looking at her again and again that night. He wanted to kiss her. He’d never wanted to kiss anyone before. But Molly, Molly Hooper.

It’d just be an experiment. Sherlock said that to himself over and over. It’d just be for science’s sake.

So he kissed her.

Her lips were soft. She tasted like mint and ginger. It was positively brilliant. She was positively brilliant. Molly sighed into the kiss. This. This is what she had wanted. He was what she had wanted. Needed really.

Sherlock would never admit it, but he needed her too.

And since experiments always should have more than one trial, he kissed her again.

I'm fairly certain I hadn't posted this on tumblr yet. If I did - well, lucky tumblr gets it twice!

#sherlolly #sherlock #bbc sherlock #sherlolly fanfiction #alternate universe #fanfiction #Sherlock holmes #molly hooper

[phoenixshaman]

Everything is terrible and I will now complain at length.

My life seems to be crumbling about me and there is little I can see that I can do about it, if I’m honest its been a slow degradation for years (based on recent revelations probably since ‘86), the kind of slow erosion that comes with ‘putting a brave face on’ and not actually being honest with yourself or others about the issue until it’s far too late, but it is only in the last decade or so that the ground beneath me began to fall away.

2007/2008- Is where life started to put the boot in, in earnest, sure my childhood was constructed of a cycle of continual abuse and denial, but there was at least the lack of serious responsibilities that were mine. 3rd year of my degree, placement year, I’d managed to get a placement actually digging, the thing I really wanted to do, I knew it was going to be hard work, I was ready for that, what I wasn’t ready for was everything else.

During the interview I swear blind they told me it would be better to stay in my current student digs and commute, otherwise I would have found a place or stuck with the archiving placement I had (the job I had been looking forward to least, and enjoyed most), but when I started working they asked me why I hadn’t gotten a place in town like the others; so I was grudgingly told to come in a hour late as I was having to commute 2 hours each way. I was commuting by train, and despite my best efforts there is only so much I can do when the trains regularly ran late, if I were to got an earlier one I would be leaving at the same time I would have had to to get there the same time everyone else was, every minuet I was late was held over me, “I checked the timetable and it said it wasn’t running late, so you can’t tell me that is why you weren’t here on time”, despite the fact that the web page doesn’t or at least didn’t work like that, it didn’t update in real time. I did my best to work hard to make up for it, pushing myself more than was perhaps healthy, I constantly got sent to the far edges of the site or the less important ones, partly because the others hung out with the superiors after hours (I had to leave directly after work or I had an hour wait in a cold section of station for the next train) so wanted to work together, partly because later on as everything began to wear me down I began to make mistakes. I ended up on the one section of site that didn’t get sun and stayed frozen all day, while the others dung in slush, I had to mattock off the topsoil, and then literally froze to the ground while working. As it went on I began having trouble getting to work, constantly feeling exhausted, the site’s placement manager kept asking if I was on meds, as it turned out the student accommodation I was living in had an integrated vent system, and the people who were stealing my food (like all of it constantly to the point I lived off of cans I kept in my room), were also blowing their pot smoke into the vent thinking they were getting rid of it, but actually just spreading it everywhere else (the building managers just ignored our complaints), I would get in at a little past 7pm go straight to bed, they would spark up at 11, I would get stoned in my sleep then had to get up at 5am to get to the station, while feeling like shit, vomit on the way there (every day), and go to work where I was given the shit jobs and made to feel like I didn’t svn deserve them. I discovered the problem when I got in late one day, reported this to my manager, who accepted my report but clearly thought I was just smoking and lying about it, I got put on revue a few months in, told if I didn’t improve they were ceasing my contract, the main part being I could never be more that 15mins late (unless there was something obvious like the flood that they couldn’t deny mad me late), and I threw my all at it, I really wanted this job, I ran from the station each day, I got put on office work digitising all the hand produced plans, and collating all the data collected, within a week (or possibly 2) I had taken the stack of leaver arch folders and transferred them all, I worked faster than any of the others that occasionally joined me, but no less accuratly, to the point where they just left me to it and reassigned the others, in all that time there was one day I was later than the 15min allotted because there was trouble on the line, but it was not reported on the site so I was lying, at the end of the revue period (either a week or a month I am not sure anymore) I was told that I still wasn’t trying hard enough, and clearly didn’t want this job and at the end of the week I was being fired. Perhaps I would have fought that harder if it were not for the fact I had spent all the meagre grant I got that year and all my savings, I literally did not have enough to keep coming into work, the next day I was even planning on handing in my notice, which I did, and the bloody manager let everyone believe I left because I didn’t want to be there, didn’t mention they were going to fire me, didn’t mention I had run out of money, so whenever I ran into any of them I kept getting asked when I was coming back or why I didn’t want to, I broke my spirit to be turned away, it broke my heart that I couldn’t go back.

My dissertation proposition was accepted tun immediately changed by my tutor making all the work I had don in preparation over the last year (that I might add we were only told we /should/ have ben doing the next year) completely invalid, in fact what I was actually doing was not what I submitted (and I have a suspicion my idea was given to a masters student), but the research paper my tutor was supposed to have written, he then changed the topic on me three times, the last ‘because I was struggling’ was just to academically tear apart a book they disagreed with, which they tun proceeded to leave for a month with the only copy available (it was a niche german translation that was his personal copy, as there wasn’t on in the library system). I failed the year on two points; the first unsurprisingly was the dissertation th second was due to something that had happened in second year, a group project; we had had to submit the time spent on a presentation for each person, one person without telling anyone had summated it, claiming that I hadn’t done much as I only had to make the power point, (the fact that I had to do all the research for it as none of them had done theirs until the night before meaning that I would not have been able to make it if I had waited was ignored), I went to see the lecturer he basically told me I was making a fuss over nothing and told me not to report it, I didn’t and failed that module because of it.

After I failed my dissertation I decided to seek help from the education aid people. I had gone in my first year the test had crashed on me but instead of restarting thy told me to continue, then based on that info look at the below average english and maths and the way above average comprehension and told me that the percentages were balanced out so they wouldn’t help me, as I wasn’t ‘bad enough’, because of my comprehension they expected me to scrape by, instead of helping me excel. When I went to see them that second time they denyed ever seeing me, turns out my second year a new system and staff came in but no one had bothered to tell returning years, so just told me I should go do the self assessment program that I /should/ know about, so I did and the next day received a panicked email to come in. and so began the most hurried passage through paper work and assessments, in the most frenzied arse covering I had ever seen, they fucked up and knew it, and I’m pretty sure the only reason they passed me (at the bare minimum) was so I couldn't sue or apply to redo the year (which the uni would have to pay for).

The Student loans contacted me during my dissertation year, told me that I shouldn’t still be in education, long story short the entire year was a battle with them (which really helped with the academic struggle), they fucked up my paperwork 3 times until they could ‘legitimately' re-asses me by the new pay scale and then demand a thousand pounds ‘over-pay’ back, I had to red submit a copy of the original signed agreement before they would admit the fuck up was theirs, they almost stopped me graduating by refusing to pay the last instalment for my course, then proceeded to lose the proof every year after and harass me for the money until I resubmitted it, until on year after a move I couldn’t find the paperwork.I kept getting them contacting me every few months to see if I had a job yet, constantly intoning that I legally had to tell them if I did, implying they thought I was hiding it, constantly referencing the signs agreement, I constantly bit my tongue from pointing out they had already reneged on their side. Finally my parents set up the minimum pay per month to get them off my back, but they still contacted me every year to ‘check I could be paying more’ despot being explicit ally told to remove my mobile no and given alternate contacts they still phone me, even when my father went on record with them saying I tried to kill myself (which was partly untrue, though not entirely) so stop calling that no. use the one he supplied.

Once I graduated I tried to find work, eventually I was forced to sign on, I applied for all the jobs that were viable in the first week, and spent the next few meetings being threatened with sanctions as I had not applied to the minimum I was set, regardless of the fact they had not got any new listings, it was in that time one advisor asked why I didn’t apply for a job at a pharmacy as it had training, I had to point out that in the spec it required a degree in pharmacy. I got chucked from employment initiative, to initiative, pretty much always either the oldest, the one with the most qualifications, or both, I restructured and re wrote my CV so often I had around 8 different variations, each purportedly the ‘best version’. Finally I got chucked to the government program that paid places (specifically not for profits and community programs) to employ people, I got taken on to archive the records of the incredibly old local theatre, but in practise redecorated rooms, worked box office, ushering, tech, display, and trued desperately to keep the records and artefacts safe from the skipping clear outs, or the artist’s collective that had previously used original 30’s score sheets as wallpaper. I loved my team and the building, the management was a shambles and the manager a crooked fucker who was skimming the theatre’s funds and staffing his business with those supposed to be working at the theatre, part of the employment initiative was that if you found staff that worked well you could fill a form and keep them on and the council would keep paying them to do so, but he worked out he could get more by overlapping the employment, taking on new staff a few weeks early so ‘the old staff can train them’, considering the money that was allocated to send us to training had mysteriously never appeared, we were all working untrained and unlicensed, and I suspect in several cases illegally. We were told by both dole and theatre that if we keep volunteering we may get jobs later, several months down the line I nearly lose my isa because they never issued me a p45, and that I was volunteering more hours that was legal without pay so- they were going to stop my money because I was doing enough work to justify pay but wasn’t being paid, and this was my illegal action not the place refusing to pay me, so they were going to take my benefit away for being used.

While I was working I had one landlord decide that after owing it, they would rather than renew the contract with a name switch (one person out new person in) that they wanted a new contract, but to do that we had to move out of the house for a week before we could start a new contract, which would leave us with nowhere to go for a week so we had to start looking for a new place for when the contract was up, this was the week of xmas, the contract ended in January/February. I managed to, with a couple of people I knew from Uni find a shitty place in the run down part of town, I spent the entirety of my inheritance on the exorbitant safety deposit & first 3 months rent required upfront, & white goods for the unfurnished place. That place broke me, partially the problem was personality clashes, but what person waits till the weekend someone goes away, to text them once they are away, to say they have decided to unpack your stuff and throw things they decide are rubbish away without your convent or presence? I lost stuff while there, the move had ben so fast I had just had to sling stuff in black bags, they had a habit of half filling rubbish sacks and leaving them lung round, then grabbing what they thought was a bin bag and chucking it, not to mention when I finally moved out deciding some of my stuff was theirs.

So I go to York because my parents have been paying my rent and figure moving me in with my brother will be cheeper, and my uncle has paid my fees to go  back to Uni in york and try to retrain, so I have to be there anyway, we find a nice place, find an uneasy equilibrium. Only the rent is more than expected, my brother changes job and it pays less, parents too are having a hard time, especially when they get broken into (because the neighbour leaves the gate open that lets them in to the back, then when the banging starts assumes they are workers because they wear gloves, and he is a fucking moron.) So while I am trying to manage Uni we start getting pressured to find a new place, weekends being dragged around places far out of town, finally we settle on the least objectionable (or so we thought at the time) place, it is (supposedly) agreed that we will take the move slow, allowing us to decorate and move things in and unpack systematically so we don’t end up living around boxes. The guy trashes the place before he goes, still haven’t fixed all, then after a few weeks of spending a weekend trying to organise we are told that we are moving when the rent contract comes up for renewal (it was a monthly one) in a few weeks, that we should have finished sorting the place by now somehow between my uni work and his actual work (his then job being rally crappy for overworking him), so during the time when I had to be doing work for all of my courses (they issued it all at once quit often) I instead had to throw things into boxes and mov into a half done house. Then my father decided instead of letting me build our ikea kitchen or pay ikea to install to get a cowboy in who constantly needed watching and still fucked it up, I got bad grades that term unsurprisingly.

I was getting academic help in my first year, and I was explicitly told that I didn’t ned to re-apply each year, that was a lie, they also failed to tell me that they could back pay after application so instead of going almost a year without help because I couldn’t handle the work, the move, and the form all together, I could have seen someone to help me apply. When the form was finally sorted 2/3 of the way through they didn’t give me help for the last 3rd when I really needed it, someone fucked the paperwork up and applied it to the next year instead of the one I was in. Then the course I was on was slowly bing dismantled, lecturers were unprofessional, and I got repeatedly stuck with a group that did no work took all the credit and gave me all the blame.

The house is too small for the two of us really, I don’t have any storage because while we were out father bought a mattress off the back of a lorry for a bed that I wasn’t going to use as it filled the room, but the money for a new bed just went on that mattress, so I lived with things stacked in piles on the floor, most stuff was in the living room, most stuff was still in boxes as neither of us had the time or storage space to unpack. The my father decided he liked York transferred his job here without discussing it and moved him and my mom into the living room ‘temporarily’. It took almost 4 years for them to find a place to move into (selling the only family home I had ever known, again the actual move was in a rush without time for the rest of us to deal with things properly, things were left behind that I now try not to think about).

But those intervening years worsened my personal brain glitches, that began forming during that terrible placement year, to the point that I can only make my environment worse, I don’t have the capacity to ‘fix’ things, because it takes all my energy to not focus on the things that affect me; the kitchen doesn’t work right, the lights are mostly piped, the bathroom is full of mould and often sprinkled with other peoples hair clippings, my nice mild sented soap is impregnated with my brother’s lynx and my father’s shower gel that makes my seances hurt, my room feels like it closes in on me, the mattress & the sofa bed are both broke so wherever I sleep I hurt. I can’t cope with anything, and just freeze up, I don’t have the spoons to fill out the isa forms and honestly think I would die if I had to go back there, I grid to apply for jobs but it just wasn’t happening, finally the last of my confidence went when: the day after a row that ended with me walking out of the house, then being dragged back by police as a missing person, I crashed with friends, and knowing I needed to get out, and as such needed a job, took a cv in to a store a friend worked at and knew were going to be looking soon, I went all over town that day looking. a few days later I stopped back in just to check the cv had gotten to the manager (whom I also knew) and was told that I had somehow ‘left a bad impression’ by quietly asking someone at the till to leave a cv at the desk so I wasn’t loitering in the store waiting for them to get back, and would not be even getting an interview.

I hav always had ups and downs, but recently I only seem to have downs and plateaus, I am supposedly on a waiting list for help after the police intervention but it has been a year, and nothing other than an offer to join a drugs trial that may cause suicidal tendencies (no thanks). I hurt all over, am always tired, have had constant problems with my digestion and intestines since infancy, but always get dismissed for being over weight despite the fact it seem increasingly likely that my weight is a symptom. I have a lump on a tendon that always hurts but have been told is nothing, the last time I sought help instead of what I was there for got lectured bought my weight, despite the fact that I was there because I hurt myself being active and eat a mostly pescetarian (and gluten free) diet. I just don’t have the energy to anymore to keep having my pain dismissed, or the cope to seek out another practice.

Recently I discovered part of the reason I was always ill was gluten, so now any supplies I need cost more, and often taste horrible, and being now entirely reliant on other people, am constantly reminded of how much I am costing, and asked why I can’t just sort my life out. I spent my xmas money this year as pretty much every gift money has been for several years, on just grabbing supplies so I don’t have to ask for something for a few more days, despot the fact I was trying to save for something I really need.

In the last year or so i have finally realised I am queer, I identify as non-binary but am currently in an internal battle with the fact that I am feeling more and more male. I really want a binder so I can see how it feels being read as male, and was hopping I could get on with gift money hence asking for it, as I have tried to talk to my parents about it and have been ignored or met with concern and confusion.

My mother told me at xmas that my father has fuck up the finances, so they are in trouble, she is currently selling off her things to try and get cash. She had a cancer scare this year, and my father seemed to only see it as an inconvenience, so on xmas day when the two of us were alone she confide in me that she wants to leave him, that she has just been pretending for 30 years, because she had no other place to go and no money, but has finally decided to just go as her time may be short now. I am 30.

I have tried to find work but no one wants me, I have tried to set commissions for my art but I am terrible at putting myself forward, and am torn between charging what ppl will pay, and charging the correct amount for work done, and the fact that I always del like my work is inadequate, I considered patron, but I don’t have faith anymore that I could reliably produce content anymore, plus my laptop and tablet are breaking and stopping working more and more, soon I won’t even have them as an outlet. I have even considered crowd sourcing, gofundme or similar, but I am terrible at asking for help, and don’t feel worthy of charity anyway.

Money everything comes down to fucking money, I just want out but I can’t afford to, my family are falling apart and increasingly can’t afford to support themselves, I just can’t anymore…. I just...

Don’t mistake me, this isn’t a sob story to beg for assistance, this is just needing to not hold this inside anymore, because I need in the worst way to scream, this is my voice, this is my scream into the void.

#angsty rambling #read at your own risk

[glare-gryphon]

if you're keen literally any of those writing prompts you just reblogged would be amazing for obikin

Sure thing!

Rating: T

Pairings: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker

1,945 Words

Prompt: I gave you the most heartfelt love letter, but you gave it back to me with spelling and punctuation corrections!?

Additional Tags: Teacher/Student relationship, both parties above legal age of consent.

Send Me More Prompts?

Anakin is hallway through his semester of Professor Obi-Wan Kenobi’s composition class when he turns in the first letter. It’s a long thing, heartfelt if hastily written, tucked between the pages of his latest essay. He drops the packet on the designated spot on Kenobi’s desk, and flashes the man a smile. It’s not great, considering the nausea roiling in his gut, but it’s the best he can do. Before the professor has a chance to offer one of his own, Anakin turns tail and flees back to his desk.

This was, he thinks as he sits, a terrible idea. Unfortunately, it is far too late to backtrack, and Anakin can only watch helplessly as Kenobi straightens the stack of his and his peers’ essays before tucking the neat pile into his briefcase and dismissing them all with a wave of his hand. He is, perhaps, a bit more enthusiastic in his flight from the room than he normally is, though he likes to think he has an excuse this time.

It’s not fair, really; Anakin can think of no other reason than the machinations of a cruel and powerful god as the reason the universe had dropped such a perfect specimen as Professor Obi-Wan Kenobi practically into his lap. Fair skinned, with grey-blue eyes and auburn hair that’s just beginning to grey around the temples, Kenobi may as well have stepped out of one of teenaged Anakin’s wet dreams. Though shorter than Anakin and always swallowed up by oversized sweaters he insists on wearing to class, there is a grace in the way he moves that suggest power hidden beneath all that fabric. Anakin would like nothing more than to divest him of those layers and discover just what lay beneath; to feel the scratch of the man’s well-groomed beard against the soft skin of his lips and hear that infuriatingly crisp voice crack with pleasure; to raise dark bruises on pale skin that the world may know his claim.

Hence the letter. He can’t help but feel a bit like his nine year-old self, crafting a letter in still-shaky scrawl to the eleven year-old girl who lived down the street to proclaim his undying love, but nineteen year-old Anakin hadn’t really seen a better option. It’s not like he could meet Obi-Wan in his office and confess his attraction. The worst that can happen is that Kenobi says no; Anakin trusts he won’t turn him in to the school board for any unwanted advances. At least he’d have closure on the matter and would be able to move on from this ridiculous crush, just as he’d done when Padme Amidala had promptly but kindly informed his nine year-old that she currently had a crush on a girl in her class and therefore could not be his girlfriend.

The class period following the submission of his letter are perhaps the most nerve-wracking of his life, made all the worse by the fact that Kenobi doesn’t even acknowledge the fact that Anakin has laid out his heart on a silver platter and thrown a wrench in the cordial relationship they’d cultivated over the first half of the semester. In fact, Kenobi continues along as though nothing has happened—as though he never received the letter at all. Perhaps it fell out from between the pages somewhere between the library, where Anakin had printed his essay, and the classroom, to be swept away as garbage by the college’s apathetic janitorial staff. He can’t seem to decide whether this thought is a relief or not.

In fact, it is a full week later that Anakin finally gets his answer. Kenobi passes back the essays, lingering perhaps a bit too long by Anakin when he drops his onto his desk, and Anakin flips through the pages only to spot something tucked between them: his letter. It’s not, however, as he submitted it. Instead, it is covered in the signature green of Kenobi’s grading pen. Everything from grammatical and spelling errors have been marked as meticulously as the essay Anakin submitted the letter with. He scowls at it, but it continues to not make any sort of sense. He flips it over, but there is nothing written on the back; no polite rejection or any kind of acknowledgement of the letter’s contents. Just the corrections.

Anakin catches Kenobi’s eyes when the man dismisses them, but his expression is unreadable.

The second letter is submitted with his next assignment, Kenobi’s corrections taken into account. He’s not entirely sure it’s what Obi-Wan wants, but it hadn’t been a straightforward no, so he’s going to go for it. In fact, as he hands the essay to Kenobi, the man thumbs through the pages as though looking for Anakin’s response before sticking it on the pile with all the rest. He smirks at Anakin as he does so, and the youth’s mouth abruptly goes dry.Again the letter is returned to him with his assignment, though there is significantly less green on it than the first attempt. Kenobi’s hand settles on his shoulder very briefly as he passes Anakin’s desk, and the heat that radiates from his palm seems to linger on Anakin’s skin long after he’s left the class and continued on with his day.

It becomes something of a game. He’d submit a letter, Obi-Wan would grade it and give it back. Each time he’d make less and less mistakes, and would spend his free time pouring over their contents in attempt to decipher just what he’d done wrong and how it could be improved. The remainder of the semester flies by, and before he knows it he’s handing in his final essay—his final letter with it. The thought leaves a pit in his stomach.

When grades are finally passed back, he flips desperately through the pages only to find the letter absent. The pit in his stomach seems to grow, swallowing up all of his insides as a sense of betrayal falls over him. Kenobi, for his part, acts as though nothing is wrong; as though he has not violated the arrangement they’d come to over the course of the semester. If Anakin is brooding and unresponsive for the remainder of their final class period, he likes to think he has a perfectly valid reason.

“Mr. Skywalker,” Kenobi calls when the class is dismissed for the last time, catching Anakin just before he slips out the door, “I’d like to see you in my office, please.”

Anakin nods morosely, and waits for the man to pack up his things before following him through the crowded halls. He’s never actually been to Obi-Wan’s office, despite everything. It had seemed too private—to isolated for Anakin to trust himself to not make any rash decisions. Not like it matters now.

The door closing and locking behind them is vaguely ominous, cutting off the sound of students talking as they make their way to their next class; the glass in the window is frosted, making it impossible to see what is going on outside the office—or within. Anakin does not move from the doorway until Kenobi steps around him, settling in his own chair and gesturing to one on the opposite side of the desk. “Please, Anakin, sit.”

He does, shuffling deliberately slow across the room and dropping unceremoniously down into it. It might have been comfortable in other circumstances, but Anakin is too on edge to really take notice. Kenobi does not comment on the matter, instead opening one of the desk drawers and rifling through it until he finds what he’s looking for: Anakin’s last letter.

“Congratulations, Anakin,” he announces as he pulls a pair of glasses from his breast pocket with his free hand. Anakin’s only seen him wear them a few times. “You’ve finally written me a flawless letter; it seems like you’ve learned something from my class after all.”

“Have I?” Anakin mutters, though it’s mostly to himself.

Obi-Wan answers the question nonetheless, setting the paper down to gesture with his hands. “Of course! Over the course of the semester, your grades drastically improved. The improvements you began to make here,” he lays a hand on the letter, “translated directly to improvements in your assignments for class. You spotted and corrected mistakes more easily in you editing, and your overall skill level improved. I’m very proud of you, Anakin,”

“Is that all this was to you?” Anakin spits, temper finally getting the better of him. He snatches the letter from Kenobi’s desk and waves it at the man like a prosecutor presenting evidence to a guilty party. “A fucking academic exercise?”

The outburst earns him a slow blink from Kenobi, who is silent for a moment before his lips curl into a small smirk. “Of course not, Anakin,” he purrs, leaning forward and plucking the letter from the boy’s grip and smoothing the now wrinkled paper on the surface of his desk. “I want you to be mine just as much as you desire to be; I simply had to ensure you actually took something from my class before we got distracted by… other things.”

Anakin has to stifle a whimper when Obi-Wan pushes his chair back from the desk, gesturing for the younger man to approach with a beckoning motion of his fingers. He doesn’t have to be told twice, scrambling out of his own seat and around to the other side; a small part of him can’t believe this is actually happening.

Kenobi guides him up onto his lap despite the soft protest of the chair, Anakin’s knees bracketing the man’s hips. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you,” he murmurs, holding gently to Anakin’s hips as he situates himself. “You have no idea how hard it was to not just give you what you asked for in your letters.”

Anakin thinks he has some idea, having dealt with his own desire over the course of the semester, but he does not say so; they’ve done enough talking, in his opinion. Instead he leans down, catching the man’s lips with his own with the urgency of a starving man. Kenobi doesn’t seem inclined to reprimand him for ending the conversation early, returning Anakin’s affections with the same passion. It’s easy to lose himself in the sensations, everything he wanted and so, so much more. Chapped lips and a rough beard and the aftertaste of tea that Obi-Wan drinks in class. He wants more—wants everything the man has to offer.

When they finally break away to draw breath, Kenobi’s grin has morphed into something predatory. “Would you like to go home with me, Anakin Skywalker?” he asks, and Anakin is nodding frantically before he’s even finished the question.

“Yes,” he gasps. “Yes, yes, please.”

The moment is abruptly ruined by a knock at the door and a jiggling of the handle, a very confused call of, “Mr. Kenobi? Are you in there?” sounding through the glass.

Obi-Wan sighs, gently pushing Anakin off him and attempting to straighten his clothing, which has been irreparably wrinkled by the younger man’s clinging. “I suppose that’s our que to return to the real world.”

“I guess,” Anakin replies, smoothing down his own tee shirt. He doesn’t look nearly as rumpled as Kenobi, only because he always looks a bit of a mess.

“I will see you later then, darling; I do believe you have another class in a bit. Meet me here afterwards?”

Anakin nods his ascent, and Obi-Wan stands to give him one final, chaste peck before striding over to the door and unlocking it to usher Anakin out. “Until then, Mr. Skywalker.”

#gryph fic #prompt fill #obikin #obi-wan kenobi/anakin skywalker #gryph rants #the-obi-wan-for-you