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janeyseymour · 1 month

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Hey so I was wondering if you could do a fic about a Melissa X daughter reader where we start working at the school and nobody catches on that we are Melissa’s daughter and the keep putting the pieces together until they finally get it. Maybe something like where Janine and Jacob go to Melissa’s house for cooking lessons and we are just like there and that’s how they find out. Or alternative idea where we are Melissa’s daughter and we start dating someone from Abbott like Ava or Janine and how that would play out. Sorry that’s a lot. Thanks

Relatively Related

written in the midst of the week before spring break and hoping that it isn't absolute trash :)

WC: ~2.5k

Growing up with Melissa Schemmenti for a mother, you saw what it was like being a teacher. You grew up hearing the horror stories that came with being a teacher in a center city school in Philadelphia, and you knew the horrors of growing up in a different part of Philly and going to that neighborhood school. While she didn’t much mind what you did with your life, she had always thought you would be a good teacher. And when you decided to go to college for education at West Chester University, she knew Abbott would take you in a heartbeat. It didn’t even matter that you were her daughter and she was quite the accredited teacher- West Chester’s name had enough to secure you a job anywhere in Philly that you wanted. You had vehemently denied working at her home away from home for quite some time, and yet here you were, with a bit of nudging from your mother, interviewing to become the new third grade teacher at Abbott Elementary.

“C’mon, hun,” she had sighed over dinner a few weeks ago. “I think if you would give it a shot, you would like it… I know Abbott ain’t no suburban school, but it’s a hell of a lot better than some of the places you’ve applied.”

“I just don’t want people thinking I got the job because you’re my mom,” you tell her truthfully through a mouthful of ziti.

“Y/N, if you wanted the job, I could get it for you without an interview.”

“Isn’t that essentially what would happen if I applied and checked off that I have family within the district?”you challenge as you raise a brow.

She rolls her eyes. “You act like they actually look at resumes. Please, they’ll take pretty much anyone who has a pulse and a certification… how you think I got stuck with Darlene as a part of my team?”

“I guess.”

“And besides, you have your father’s last name… how are they gonna know you’re my daughter if you don’t have my last name?”

You have to admit, she’s right. So you send in your resume. And two days later, you receive an email saying that they’d like to see you for an interview.

Your interview is practically a joke, and you’re offered a job on the spot. That night, Melissa and her work wife Barbara take you out for dinner.

“To Abbott’s newest member of the team,” Barbara makes a toast to you. “May it take you far in life.”

That was three years ago, and since then a lot has changed. A new principal has come in, there’s been a massive turnover in teachers, and you find yourself as a first grade teacher now. The only thing that hasn’t changed? The only one who knows you’re true identity at the school besides you and your mother is that Melissa Schemmenti is your mother.

This year, a few new teachers start: Jacob Hill as the eighth grade social studies teacher, and Janine Teagues as the other second grade teacher.

And as much as your mother loves to rip on new coworkers of yours, you find yourself quite drawn to both of them. Sure, they’re a little nosey and love to hear all of the new gossip and find all of the deep secrets that are hidden in the walls of this old bomb shelter turned elementary school, but you like them. They haven’t found you out, not that you or Melissa really care, but it’s quite nice to have that little bubble around the two of you.

They’ve come close though. Like the time that it came about that you share a name with Melissa’s daughter- who at this point they’re starting to believe doesn’t exist with the lack of pictures or stories.

“I’m telling you, I have a daughter,” Melissa rolls her eyes as she taps away at her phone. “I’m texting her right now.”

That is true- she is indeed texting you. Sure, she’s just texting you to tell you that you need to pick up lentils on the way home, but she isn’t lying to them.

“Show us.”

The redhead rolls her eyes, but she shows the two of them your conversation. “See? I’m just telling her she needs to pick up lentils if she wants me to make dinner tonight.”

Jacob’s brow raises as he catches the name at the top of the screen. “That’s odd… your daughter shares the same name with Y/N!”

“Well that would make sense,” your mother sighs, and you know she’s about to just out the two of you.

“It’s not like my name’s uncommon,” you jump in quietly. “I mean… really. Y/N. Not the most unique name in the world.”

Barbara raises a brow in your direction, and you give her a pleading look. “She’s right,” is all your mother’s work wife says.

That seems to stop the conversation for now, but the adrenaline rushing through your bones doesn’t quit until you safely pull into your driveway that day- lentils in hand.

“I’m home, Ma,” you call as you open the front door. Her head pokes out from the kitchen. “And yes I got the lentils.”

“Good,” is all she says before heading back into the kitchen. You follow in her direction and set them next to her before picking up the glass of wine she’s already poured for you and sipping on it.

“Aye,” she clicks her tongue. “No hello? No ‘how was your day?’”

“I saw your forty minutes ago,” you snort.

“An’ a lot coulda happened in forty minutes,” she replies. When you raise your brow at her, she sighs. “Okay, so in that forty minutes I drove home, changed into my lounge clothes, and started dinner… but I was also thinkin’-”

“That’s dangerous,” you quip. At the look she gives you, you raise your hands in surrender. You might be a grown woman, but Melissa Schemmenti was still your mother.

“I was thinkin’… you reacted kinda weird when I went to say that you were my daughter.”

You shrug. “I just don’t see why it’s anyone’s business but ours.”

“There’s gotta be more to it than that, hun,” she says as she stirs in the lentils.

“Jus’ don’t want anyone thinkin’ I’m some sorta nepo baby,” you sigh. “I got this job on my own, an’ I don’t need shit from the Abbott crew.”

“They ain’t gonna give you shit, ‘specially once they know you’re mine, and I know a guy,” she laughs,

“Little do they know, half the time, I’m your guy,” you tease her.

“Well, if that’s what it is, that’s fine. I won’t say nothin’.”

“Thanks Ma,” you smile as you kiss her cheek. “I got some grading to do, so if you have anything that needs graded, just put it next to my stack.”

As time goes on, the group starts to catch on a bit more… like:

The fact that you’re just as good a cook as your mother. You’re always bringing in new things in your Tupperware containers- that just so happen to match Melissa’s… because they came from the same house. You quickly cover that one up with a roll of your eyes and a, “So we both shop at Marshalls, the containers ain’t that special.”

Or when you manage to get pink eye from one of your kids, and Janine notices that you have the same emerald eyes as your mother. “Green eyes aren’t as rare as you think, Janine,” you huff as you grab your lunch from the fridge before leaving for the day.

There’s the instance where you’re getting fiercely protective of your students as one of the teachers from Addington makes their way over to flaunt the fact that they have more resources down the street, and you fold your arms over your chest and square up with the woman in true Schemmenti fashion. That time, Gregory takes notice, but he’s new at this point, and you just roll your eyes as you storm away down to your mother’s room to rant.

But no one ever really finds out. Not until…

“Kid, I’m having some people over for dinner tonight,” your mother tells you. “You joining?”

“Nah, I have some grading and prepping to get done tonight if I can,” you say. “But can you save me a bowl?”

“For a price,” she smirks.

“Hand me your spelling tests I know you’ve been stalling on grading,” you chuckle. She just points to her bag, and you go and pull them out before heading up to your room. “Have fun with your friends tonight. Love you, Ma.”

“Love you too, you little shit,” she calls back lovingly.

You’ve spent hours grading papers, and now you’re pouring over your lesson plans for the next week. You realize that you should probably do a craft that has to do with the upcoming holidays, and you find a few cute ones online. You know that you and your mother have a plethora of crafting supplies in the basement- you just don’t know what of. So, you start to make your way down the steps when you hear two very familiar voices: Jacob’s and Janine’s.

Knowing though that if you don’t go and look in the basement now, you never will and will just end up buying all new supplies and adding to the ridiculous amount of pipe cleaners and glitter glue you have stashed away.

You make your way through the kitchen. The three of them seem to be deep in a cooking lesson while also snacking on a few of the things your mother had already whipped up and don’t have a clue you’re walking through.

“You need any crafting supplies while I head down and see what we have?” you casually ask your mother as you pass.

You stop to watch as your two coworkers’ heads whip around in a near comical unison, mouths dropped in shock.

“Y/N?”

“Hey,” you give a half-committed wave.

“What are you doing here?” Janine asks.

You furrow a brow and fold your arms over your chest. “I live here?”

“You live with Melissa?” Jacob gasps.

“Yeah? She’s my mom?”

“She’s your-“ Janine points a finger at you before turning around and looking at Melissa. “You’re her-”

“I told you guys I had a daughter, that she wasn’t fake,” your mom smirks. “You believe me now?”

“How did we never know?!” Jacob admonishes.

“Well, for starters: I don’t have the Schemmenti last name. Secondly, who’s business is it to know who my mother is?” you quip. “You know how private the Schemmenti family can be.”

They both look beyond shocked. “Well, why don’t you join us?”

“I really do have to go check for pipe cleaners and paper plates, and I know how to cook,” you laugh. “But I’ll see y’all tomorrow.”

You head down the steps, and you hear your mother call, “The big jawns!”

“That’s what I figured, Ma!”

“What the hell?” Jacob whips around to your mother, and you laugh because you know she’s about to get grilled on the fact that you were indeed her ‘secret’ daughter.

You find what you need before heading back up the steps and for your room. “Have a good night y’all!”

The next morning, you’re sitting in the lounge sipping your coffee and sulking over the fact that you forgot your lunch on the counter this morning. Luckily for you, your mother brings it with her when she sees that you left it on the counter. She slips it into the staff fridge before sending you a text that it’s there. She preps her coffee and settles in next to you to grade a few more papers before everyone else stars trickling in to watch the news.

“Uh, hello?” Jacob questions when he walks in and everyone else is here now too. “Are we not going to talk about this?”

“Talk about what?” you and your mother ask at the same time.

“You two!” He gestures wildly between the two of you. “That you guys are related!”

“You two are related?” Gregory asks with a brow lifted.

“Uh, yeah!” Janine tells him.

“How do you know?”

“She told us last night when she called Melissa ‘Ma’!”

“Why didn’t any of us know this?” Jacob continues on.

“Know what?” Ava asks as she comes waltzing into the lounge to grab a coffee.

“That Melissa is Y/N’s mother!”

“I knew,” Barb states with a smirk on her face.

“Oh, damn! I was starting to think Melissa being a milf was just a rumor. I am happy to find out that it is entirely the truth,” the principal grins. “Greg, grab me a tea bag so I can sip on this tea!”

“There isn’t any tea, Ava,” you roll your eyes. “Yes, Melissa is my mom, but it really ain’t that big a deal.”

“Oh, it definitely is! Why were you so secretive about it?! Hmm?” Jacob asks as he sits next to you.

You shimmy away from him just slightly with a huff. “Because nobody needs to know a Schemmenti’s business except a Schemmenti. And, I didn’t want nobody thinking I got this job because of who I’m related to.”

“Y/N, please. You’re good at what you do, hun! You could get this job without the Schemmenti name, and you did!” Your mother cuts in and jostles you slightly.

“I also didn’t want to hear you-“ you look to Ava. “-calling my mother a milf more than I already do.”

“She is! And now that I see the two of you next to each other, I definitely see where your future is heading too!”

“Ava!” You, your mother, and the rest of the group scold.

The principal just shrugs. “Jus’ sayin’ the truth. Bye, y’all.”

Once she’s gone, you’re bombarded with questions. What’s it like having Melissa for a mother? Is your father really as bad as your mother makes him out to be? What was it like growing up? If you saw the horrors of Abbott, why did you work here? What were you like as a child?

“Enough,” you finally groan. “This is why I didn’t want people knowin’. I may be Melissa’s daughter, but-”

“Isn’t it weird calling your mom by her first name?” Jacob cuts you off.

“I’ve been yelling her first name since I was fourteen and realized she didn’t always respond to Mom or Ma, but always Melissa,” you reveal. “Now: she may be my mom, but I’m still a damn good teacher who got this position on my own volition. And y’all better stop asking these questions, or I know a guy.”

“And I’m the guy,” you mother states proudly, a proud grin on her face.

“No you ain’t. Uncle Vin is my guy.”

“While we’re at it,” Melissa sighs. “Stop asking me to get weed from my guy and just ask Y/N instead. She’s my guy for that.”

#melissa schemmenti fanfiction #melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti x reader #abbott elementary fanfic #abbott elementary fanfiction #abbott elementary

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holllandtrash · 1 year

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better late than never | lando norris, pierre gasly

pairing: lando norris x reader, pierre gasly x reader part 3 to better left unsaid (the better series)

the first race weekend after the break is filled with drama, tension and words that you all wished could be taken back, and you're not even referring to what happened on the track

word count: 5.1k tags: angst lmao also more social media stuff

“What if you just quit your job?” Pierre asked. You told yourself he was only joking, but when you glanced away from the computer screen to look at your propped up phone and his charming eyes on facetime, you knew he wasn’t joking.

“I’m not throwing away six years of post secondary education and thousands of dollars of tuition because you’re batting your pretty little eyes at me,” you looked back at the computer screen that held the blueprints for an upcoming gallery exhibit. As an assistant curator at an art gallery, you had a lot on your plate and you had a dozen things to catch up on before your next trip out of the city.

“You think my eyes are pretty?”

Of course that was the only part he heard.

“Pierre I can't-” you cut yourself off when someone in the background called Pierre’s name. It took a second but you recognized the female voice as one of the student engineers at Alpine. You waited until Pierre and her finished their quick conversation and he turned back to you.

Pierre smirked at how your expression dropped. Even when you forced yourself to focus on your computer screen, those forehead lines could be spotted through the bad quality facetime call.

“Ma chérie, don’t tell me you’re jealous because I’m talking to another girl,” Pierre laughed. You had half a mind to hang up on him.

If you were being honest, the female voice did speed up your heart rate a bit until you figured out who it was. Pierre was somewhere in a hotel, you weren’t sure where because his face took up most of the screen, but you knew he wasn’t alone.

And you didn’t have a right to be jealous either. You and Pierre still weren’t an item, despite what the rumour mill was saying.

You just talked everyday and he sent you flowers to your place of work and he bought your next plane ticket for you to watch the race and you were constantly thinking about how nice it would be to wake up beside him.

For fuck sakes, you liked him.

A lot.

In a matter of weeks you had fallen for him. And he hadn’t even kissed you yet. There were a few times when it came close, but the moment was never right. You weren’t going to rush into anything either, especially not with Lando being an ever lingering thought in the back of your mind that you couldn’t seem to get rid of.

“I’m not the jealous type,” you told him. Lies. You liked when his eyes were on you and only you. You liked how he had treated you during the break. You couldn’t get enough of it.

Pierre didn’t seem to believe you, but he changed the topic regardless, “Did you watch qualifying today?”

“P7 baby,” you grinned, hitting send on the last email before calling it a night. “Alpine’s kicking ass in the midfield.”

“So you’ll be watching the race tomorrow?”

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good,” Pierre liked knowing you’d be rooting for him. “I wish you were here now, though.”

With yours and Pierre’s relationship, or whatever you wanted to call it, starting at the beginning of the summer break, you had yet to accompany him during a race weekend.

That would change next weekend. You were set to attend the Monza Grand Prix.

And for the first time, you wouldn’t be hanging out in the McLaren garage. Pierre had to pull some strings to ensure you’d be allowed access, but once he made it clear that you didn’t have any affiliation to the papaya team, he sent you the paddock pass and flight information.

Pierre really wanted you with him that weekend. He had won in Monza before, he considered it one of his lucky tracks. Plus Italy was like a second home to him, he wanted everything to be perfect and your presence was a crucial part of that.

You weren’t sure if you were ready for the fans to share their opinions online. Lando had a huge following, and because of that, most of his fans knew who you were. You could only imagine what people would be saying when you were spotted in the Alpine garage for a change.

It shouldn’t have bothered you, but you weren’t as strong as you wanted to be.

“Chérie,” Pierre’s voice had the ability to calm your nerves, even if it was just temporary. “If you’re having second thoughts about Monza, please let me know.”

It was insane how well he knew you. In a few short weeks, Pierre was able to recognize even the slightest change in your mannerisms when something was bothering you. He was observant and it showed.

“No,” you assured him, or maybe you were assuring yourself. “No, I want to be there with you.”

He believed you, why wouldn’t he? These last few weeks with him were otherworldly to say the least. You wanted to keep this going for as long as possible. Pierre left you feeling hopeful and optimistic and after the fallout with Lando, you needed that.

Pierre couldn’t replace Lando, not like you wanted him to, but you knew you had room in your heart for that French driver.

And you were going to see things through.

———————

pre-race press conference

The pizza had just been delivered. You poured yourself a rum and coke. You had on booty shorts and one of Pierre’s Alpine jumpers and you were ready to watch the race.

What you weren’t ready for, was a knock at your door.

“Who the fuck…” It was a Sunday, you weren’t expecting anyone. You put your drink down and headed over to the front door. You rented the bottom half of a house, it wasn’t ideal but the private entryway was nice.

You pulled the door open and was quite literally taken aback to see Max standing there. A case of beer in his hands as he sported a Quadrant sweater.

“Hi,” you said, hearing Will Buxton's voice coming from your speakers. It was only a few minutes until lights out.

“Want some company?” Max asked.

You missed him, there was no doubt about that. He had been so intertwined with Lando’s life these last few weeks that you genuinely thought he forgot about you after your phone call. You didn’t even see him in Monaco until you stopped by Lando’s place.

You weren’t going to question why he was in London. He, like you, was always flying back and forth. At least he had the decency to reach out this time.

“Always,” you stepped aside, making room for him to come in.

Max didn’t comment on your apparel. He also didn’t comment on the state of your place which was always in slight ruins. You had been travelling so much and when you were in the city, most of your time was spent at work and you just could not be arsed to hang your jackets up when you got home, or put your shoes away properly.

It was a little awkward when Max sat down. Not because he wasn’t comfortable in your home, he had been there dozens upon dozens of times before. But because you hadn’t spoken in weeks.

And now here he was with a case of beer acting as an olive branch. You were both hoping it would work, honestly. You didn’t want to have to rely on Lando to be the glue in your friendship. He didn’t own Max.

“How’s Pierre?” Max asked, eyes glued to the screen.

You laughed, reaching for a slice of pizza and sliding the box across the coffee table for him to grab one. “We’re not dating, Max.”

“Kind of seems like it,” Max chuckled as well. You shot him a look, one that basically said shut up and he held his hand up in defence. “I’m just saying, Y/N, he seems to make you happy. It’s not a bad thing. You deserve to be happy.”

“Thanks,” you smiled as he opened up one of the cans he brought but the second it started foaming over the sides, he jumped up in a panic. You covered your mouth with your hand to keep from laughing at his mess and he just stared at you with wide eyes.

“For Christ sakes women, get a towel!” He tried to drink what he could but excess liquid was streaming down his chin.

You held your hand out towards the screen, “The race is about to start! I’m not cleaning up your mess!”

“I’m using the pillow as a towel then,” Max scoffed, wiping his hand on his jeans and grabbing one of the round pillows from the other couch. He did what he could to clean up the spill with the pillow, but your attention was on the screen. You could help him later.

The second the five lights went out, the drivers were off. You held your breath as the twenty cars fought to be the first to make it to that first corner, but all in all it was a pretty clean start. Pierre gained a place. Lando lost one. They were currently P6 and P5.

Why were you even watching the McLaren?

Don’t kid yourself, you still cared.

You cleared your throat, “How’s Lando?”

Max seemed surprised that you asked. So much so that he paused to make sure he actually heard you correctly, “Yeah he’s good.”

“Is he?” The question slipped out. It wasn’t that you didn’t believe Max was telling the truth but you just knew there was more to it. Lando was never just good. And especially after your last conversation…part of you knew he was struggling as much as you were, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

‘See you around then, maybe.’ He said. He could have just said goodbye. He could have just stayed quiet.

Max sighed. It wasn’t a good sigh, but he kept his eyes on the race. Probably for the better. If you saw the hurt he was feeling for his friend, it would have broken you.

“What do you want me to say, Y/N?” Max asked. The air in the room suddenly felt heavy. You weren’t hot a minute ago but your mouth was dry now and your hands were clamming up. “He’s been better, that’s for damn sure. I know he regrets what he said to you and I also know he hates seeing you with Gasly. He nearly breaks his phone every time a photo of you two pops up.”

“So why hasn’t he reached out?” You weren’t under the impression Lando regretted anything. He might have missed you, but he seemed to stick by his words, as did you.

Max turned it around on you, “Why haven’t you reached out?”

“It’s not on me to fix anything.” your voice trembled. Focus on the race. Pierre was doing good. He defended one of the Aston Martin’s seamlessly. He was catching up to Lando. “Plus I-”

Nope, you didn’t need to say it. You shook your head, shoving the last bit of crust into your mouth.

“You still love him?”

And then you were choking on said crust. Max swore under his breath and grabbed your drink for you, encouraging you to take a sip and clear your airways. Water would have been better but maybe chugging the rum and coke would make this conversation a little easier.

You dabbed the corner of your eye, “No Max I don’t,” you inhaled a heavy breath, “I mean, it’s hard to say, okay? Part of me will always love Lando, but I need it to be a different type of love. I need to be content with knowing that him and I will never happen, that we were never supposed to happen. I want to be able to look at him and be his friend but not have it hurt and I just- I don’t know how I’ll ever get to that point.”

Max nodded. You could tell he was trying to understand but you were feeling way too many emotions at once and spilling that beer on his Quadrant hoodie was probably the most traumatic thing he’s had to deal with in the last month.

“So do you want him to reach out or not?” Max asked after a few minutes.

You slumped further into the corner of the couch, “I really don’t know.”

The two of you could have dived deeper into this topic. There was no one better to bounce your thoughts off of than Max. He knew you, he knew Lando. He wouldn’t purposely steer you in the wrong direction and secretly, he was rooting for the two of you to make up.

But the race suddenly got interesting.

You both saw it. Your eyes were glued to the tv throughout your conversation and while the multitasking had worked, now the only thing that mattered were the drivers.

It was only lap 10 of 72, but Lando braked early going into turn 13. Too early, like he knew Pierre’s Alpine was within DRS range behind him and wanted to purposely fuck with him before the start/finish straight.

Pierre usually had better reflexes. But Lando shouldn’t have braked when he did.

The front wing jammed into the back of the McLaren, sending both cars off the track. Lando’s tyres locked up and he spun out but Pierre went directly into the barrier. The cars behind them managed to avoid it, but there was no salvaging the damage on either car. Pierre would have to retire and the hit from the Alpine caused a sudden hydraulics issue in the McLaren.

They were lucky, honestly, it could have been a lot worse.

But you didn’t give a shit about the cars. You were watching the drama unfold on screen as a red flag was announced to pull both cars off the track.

Pierre climbed out of the car first. A marshall tried to usher him towards one of the exit holes in the gate, but he turned his attention to Lando who was also being escorted by a marshall.

Pierre pointed his finger at Lando. The cameras couldn’t pick up what they were saying but you knew it wasn’t friendly. Not by the way the marshall had now positioned himself in between the two drivers.

“He did it on purpose,” Max voiced what everyone and their dog was thinking.��

“He wouldn’t,” you wanted to believe that Lando just made a mistake. “No, he wouldn’t sacrifice a race like this. Not to be petty.”

Max could argue that in a second. He had seen first hand how livid and unbearable Lando had become recently. He wouldn’t put it past his friend to pull a dirty move like this.

The camera followed the drivers getting into the separate golf carts as they were driven back to the pit lane. From body language alone you could tell how frustrated Pierre was. This wasn’t his own error that caused him to retire, it was all on Lando. There was no doubt about it.

Somewhere along the lines you had reached across the couch to grab Max’s arm. The anticipation killed both of you as you watched in silence. You didn’t know if one of the drivers would approach the other in the pit lane but you were praying they would stay in their own garages.

“I told you,” Max whispered. “Lando hates that you’re with Pierre.”

“Lando’s an idiot for screwing up his own race because of some childish jealousy,” you said through clenched teeth.

The screen was only showing Pierre now as he pulled his helmet off to speak to his engineers in the garage. His usually charismatic and inviting features were cold and hardened as he vented for anyone to hear. You wished the camera was able to pick up on what he was saying but it was for the better that it couldn’t.

He wasn’t injured, thank god. That was always a fear you had when you watched collisions. But now there was a new fear.

The media was going to have a field day over this. And because you weren’t necessarily private about hanging out with Pierre after having such a public friendship with Lando, you knew that one way or another, you’d be dragged into this.

“I have to call him,” you said, more to yourself than to Max, but he nodded in encouragement. “Before this blows up, I have to talk to him.”

"Him, who?" Max asked, wanting clarification. There were two drivers involved in that accident. Two drivers that had taken up two very different spots in your heart.

You grabbed your phone from the coffee table and your mind turned on autopilot, calling the one driver that you knew you had to speak to first.

“Don’t say anything,” Amelia, Lando’s PR assistant, instructed. “Not to the media, not online, no public statements until we sort this out, do you understand?”

Lando nodded and Amelia waited until she got verbal confirmation that he wouldn’t turn this into a bigger mess before leaving the drivers room.

“Yes, don’t worry,” he huffed out. “Lips are sealed.”

“God you make my life difficult,” Amelia pulled out her phone and walked back into the motorhome, shutting his door with more force than necessary.

Lando changed out of his fireproofs, knowing he wouldn’t need them to watch the rest of the race. He slid on a McLaren polo t and a pair of black joggers. He combed his fingers through his hair and grabbed his phone off the table. He didn’t usually look at his phone much during race days, but he was dying to know what people were saying, what sort of assumptions were being thrown around.

He had just opened twitter when your name showed up on his phone screen. The image being one of the two of you a few years back. He remembered setting it as your contact photo even though you hated how your side profile looked.

Lando wasn’t sure if this was a mistake or not. He had retired early from races before and if you weren’t watching in the paddock, you wouldn’t call him until the race completed, giving him the time he always needed to cool off or collect himself.

But you were calling him now.

Lando slid his finger across the screen and brought the phone up to his ear. He didn’t even get a word in, not like he would act as this was a normal conversation anyway. You were calling because Pierre was involved. Hell you probably already called him first and talking to Lando was just additional damage control.

“What the fuck, Lando?”

He missed your voice. He didn’t miss you scolding him.

“Y/N I-”

“Tell me it wasn’t on purpose,” you demanded. He could hear it in your voice, the shakiness of your breath, the false confidence. You were mad at him, but up until recently, you were never one to paint him as the bad guy so this was completely new territory for you.

Lando sat down on the edge of the couch, foot tapping against the floor, “I didn’t intend to ruin both our races.”

That wasn’t the answer you were looking for and all you could do was sigh in defeat.

But that single breath into the receiver made Lando regret every single wrong action he had ever done. It didn’t matter that you weren’t in the same room, that one goddamn breath ringing in his ear had a way of hitting Lando the way no words ever could.

It reminded him of when you two were twelve and you spent a week at his place with his family and he yelled at you when you tried on one of his karting helmets. You didn’t mean anything by it, you just wanted to see if it fit. Lando yanked it off your head and lost it on you, telling you to never touch it again.

Your eyes welled up immediately. You didn’t even apologise, you couldn’t. You just inhaled and exhaled the heaviest breath your twelve year old lungs could handle and Lando knew he crossed a line more than you had. You shouldn’t have touched his helmet but he shouldn’t have raised his voice. He spent the rest of the day making sure you didn’t hold it against him. He didn’t want to hurt your feelings, he never wanted to hurt your feelings.

And in these last few weeks, that’s all he’s done.

Pulling that one reckless move on the track didn’t just risk hurting Pierre. Lando knew how much Pierre meant to you, for some fucking reason, and he knew that you’d be watching. He knew that move would hurt you.

“You braked early on purpose,” it wasn’t a question. Your assumptions were correct. You just needed to hear it.

“I wanted to get him off my tail,” Lando tried to defend his choices but he didn’t sound the least bit convincing. But that’s what he did when he felt as though he was backed into a corner, even if he was in the wrong, he always tried to talk himself out of whatever mess he made. “Gasly’s reaction times are off the charts, Y/N I just thought I’d mess him up a little. I didn’t think he'd crash into me.”

“God you are so full of yourself,” you spat out. “Lando, we haven't talked in weeks. I’ve been happy hanging out with Pierre, I’ve left you alone like you wanted and you go and pull this shit?”

Lando instantly became defensive, he had to. “Oh I’m full of myself? Why are you assuming this had anything to do with you?”

“I- because-” you stammered. “Lando, come on. You and Pierre have never had issues on track before.”

“He’s been getting on my nerves lately.”

“Since when do you bring your outside problems into the car with you?” You asked.

“He’s been getting on my nerves all weekend, Y/N,” Lando clarified. Why did he feel the need to explain himself?

Maybe because this was the longest you had spoken in weeks and even if you were arguing, he’d rather keep you on the phone and listen to you snap at him than hang up and not know when he’d hear from you next.

You paused, “What do you mean?”

“He’s been dragging my name through the mud since the press conference, did you not watch it?”

You had been at work during the press conferences, plus they weren’t always entertaining so no, you had missed it.

“Subtle jabs here and there,” Lando went on further. “He thinks because you’re his now-”

“I’m not his,” you were quick to interject. You weren’t some piece of property that the guys would fight over. You were a goddamn human being and you didn’t ask for this mess. “I also was never yours.”

That shut Lando up. It was a harsh slap to the face. The painful reality he had to accept but didn’t want to because you should have been his.

He should have worked harder to keep you in his life.

He should have realised how important you were to him before letting you slip through his fingers.

It shouldn’t have taken him seeing you with Pierre to know that he needed you.

“I know,” Lando couldn’t argue with you. You were never his. “I didn’t mean it like-” God this was harder than it should have been. “It’s just- you care about Pierre now, is all.”

You hesitated. Lando wouldn’t have been surprised if you hung up. This conversation didn’t seem to be going anywhere.

And then your voice dropped to a whisper, like you were even debating letting the next words out of your mouth, knowing they would only add fuel to this fire.

“That doesn’t mean I stopped caring about you.”

Lando froze. Quite literally. His legs went numb, thank god he was sitting down. He counted each individual breath you took and he was asking himself why you weren’t there with him, to say this in person. He could only imagine what you were like right now.

He had no idea that you were curled up on the couch, fingers trembling as you held the phone to your ear. He had no clue that Max was staring at you, mouth agape as you said the words that could have single handedly fixed what went wrong. Lando didn’t know that you called him first and that Pierre would just have to wait to hear your voice.

You continued, “Lando we both said some hurtful things, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. You’re-” you chuckled and Lando instantly felt a weight lift from his shoulders. When was the last time he heard your laugh? “It’s not easy to throw away fifteen plus years of friendship, you idiot.”

“I guess that’s true,” he agreed, a smile forming on his own lips. Things weren’t permanently broken between you. There was damage, but it wasn’t a shattered mirror. You could put the pieces back together and not have the remnants of the incident ruin your relationship moving forward.

“I think space is needed, though” you then said. Lando’s heart sank a little further into his chest. “I don’t want to be reliant on you anymore, Lando. For so long, you were all I cared about and I can’t keep living like that.”

You needed the time to get over him.

Lando understood what you were trying to say. You didn’t want to love him anymore. You wanted a clean slate of friendship, something that wouldn’t keep you up at night, haunting your thoughts with all the what-if’s.

He could wait.

He had no choice, essentially.

You weren’t ready to let him go and he was going to do whatever he could to get you back in his life. These last few weeks were hard enough with you. He didn’t want to go the next few years without you at his side.

“Y/N I-” Lando paused, taking his lower lip between his teeth. He’d been holding onto that night in the club for so long, he had to let it go. “I’m sorry.”

If he could see you right now, he’d probably laugh at the way your forehead wrinkled as your eyebrows pinched together.

“For the braking?”

“For everything I said,” he ran his fingers through his hair. It would be so much easier if you two were in the same room. “For making you feel as though I was paying for your friendship. For cancelling your flights. For being a shitty person, you didn’t deserve any of it. Especially knowing how you feel- how you felt, I mean. I made everything worse and I'm sorry.”

This time when you let out a breath into the receiver, it sounded more hopeful, if that was even possible. It sounded like the type of breath you’d take before rolling your eyes at him.

“You couldn’t have apologised the morning after?” You asked. Your tone was finally starting to lighten up. “It took you causing an accident during a race to realise you fucked things up between us?”

“I’m an idiot.”

“I know.”

You were both silent. Lando didn’t want to hang up first. He wanted to keep you on the phone for the rest of the day.

But he knew he couldn’t. His team was waiting for him in the garage. There was still a race going on. He had to sit and watch and think about his mistakes. He should probably apologise to Pierre.

“Are we okay?” Lando asked.

“We will be.”

You didn’t hesitate, but it wasn’t the answer Lando was hoping for. He had to be patient.

“I’ll talk to you soon,” he said.

You knew he meant it.

When you hung up, Max was waiting on the opposite end of the couch for an explanation. He only caught bits and pieces of what Lando said and he couldn’t piece together anything.

“He apologised,” you said.

The smile that spread across Max’s face was photo-worthy. He’d been waiting to hear that. He’d been telling Lando to say sorry since you ran out of the club with Pierre.

“Thank god!” Max fist bumped the air. “Does that mean we can finally all hang out again? I love Lando, I just can’t deal with him alone. He-”

“Woah, okay, slow down,” you felt bad, but you couldn’t let Max get ahead of himself. “I still need time. I can’t just hang out with him and pretend I never loved him, I need to be in a place where I’m content with just being his friend.”

Max’s face dropped, “How long is that going to take.”

You shrugged. You didn’t have an answer. All you knew was that things were going to be okay. You didn’t lose Lando like you thought you had. He was still there and he would continue to be there, waiting for you to return to his life when you were ready. When you could look at him and not see the face of the man you loved.

You then thought about what Lando said about Pierre’s comments during the press conference.

“Hey, what did Pierre say to the media?” You asked. “Did you watch the press conference?”

Max’s face said it all. He inhaled a sharp breath through clenched teeth and you regretted asking the question.

“It wasn’t what he said, it was how he said it,” Max clarified. “He talked about the competition between himself and Lando, but the underlying tone…you could tell it wasn’t just about the points or the driver standings. Pierre was referring to you. As if you were the prize.”

That wasn’t the least bit flattering, but you made a mental note to search up the clip after the race.

At that same moment, Pierre’s face showed up in a split screen on the tv. You couldn’t put into words how mad he was that his race was over as he sat in the garage, watching the other drivers continue on without him. You knew he had a few choice words for Lando and honestly, you couldn’t blame him.

You had to talk to Pierre, about the incident, about what Lando said, about where you two stood. But after your conversation with Lando, you decided that Pierre could wait.

You were leaving for Monza on Friday anyways, which was a good thing. You were going to need those extra days to prepare for what was to come.

part 4 here read all parts here

#pierre gasly x y/n #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly x you #pierre gasly #pierre gasly fanfic #lando norris one shot #lando norris instagram edit #lando norris social media au #lando norris au #lando norris #social media au #f1 social media au #f1 requests #f1 one shot #f1 #holllandtrash

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laguezze · 9 months

Text

PAC: What you should be confident about

Theme: Focus by Ariana Grande

I am kinda back guys! Feeling better and ready to step into a new, confident energy! So here are some reasons why you should be confident!

Warning ⚠️: it's honest, also there is a +18 pile soooo. Minors DNI.

Let's see the piles!

Pile I

Pile II

Pile III

Pile IV

Pile I

(+18 only bc i don't wanna be calling a minor sexy and alluring)

You are sexy. Period. Like you have something so alluring and attractive about you. There's something so seductive in your aura. You're charming and talk well. I'm hearing your voice may be very attractive and siren-like. You might get tons of compliments on your voice.

Your calmness also makes you incredibly mesmerizing. You seem mysterious, but also playful. You're like a femme fatale fr (no matter the gender, it's the energy they bring to the table)

You just know, subconsciously at least, how to pull people in.

You speak well and are educated. You understand social customs and the way conversations work, so you make people very comfortable.

You should be more confident of your energy, like you're so charming and hot like genuinely charming and irresistible.

Look around at the room, see all those eyes? Yeah, they're looking at you bc you rock. That's why.

Pile II

The way you walkkkkk like we got a strutter here. I'm hearing the way you walk accentuates your curves very well and makes your body look very good. People notice the way you carry yourself. I'm seeing someone walking around the city with a handbag and a good fit. Fashion may be your strong suit too.

People might see you as someone fashionable and confident, whether you are or not. You definitely carry a strong energy with you. People love it.

You make heads turn a lot more than you realize. Like omg feel free to ignore this but I'm hearing you may have a good dump truck if you know what I mean. Like you're just built different in that department what can I say? People admire that. People wanna be you and be with you.

You also have such a positive energy to you, like your confidence shines through and people want to be around you a lot bc of it. They want to be like you.

Pile III

I knew I was gonna get this pile. You guys are my brains pile. The smart ones, very intelligent people. That's one of your strongest suits and I think you know that. You definitely do, yeah. Well, I'm here to tell you what you already probably saw coming. You should be confident about it. Own that IQ babes. But ALSO I'm hearing some of you are not satisfied with this answer. Maybe you read some of the previous piles while scrolling and you're like "bro why is everyone being called hot and I'm out here being called smart??? Am I not hot or what?" Calm down. You are hot. Your intelligence makes you extremely hot. Sapiosexuals would kill for a day with you fr.

BUT since you wanna hear something physical maybe, I will mention, there's something about your cleavage area and eyes. Maybe some of you wear glasses and people love that look. Your look compliment your personality. Very neat and clean, it's effective and attractive. People love that.

You might not be physically strong, a lot of people like how dainty and fragile you look because of your strong personality and brains. They love the contrast and so should you.

Pile IV

Hmm... You're probably expecting me to say your body. A lot of you guys might party a lot and get told that your body is hot and this and that. And although you take pride in that, deep down you are tires of hearing it. You want to be called "beautiful" while someone stares at your face. Not looking down.

You are beautiful, I'm seeing your soul is wounded a little bit. You may have had a rough time and got over it but the scar still hurts sometimes.

Your soul is beautiful. It really is. You want the real thing, you're passionate about life and love. You came out of a Renaissance painting literally like you're just so idealistic and it's hard to be that way in such a dull world full of hookup culture (note! I'm not judging anyone for hooking up. I respect decisions and personally don't see anything wrong with it. I'm just saying for some people that are more hopeless romantics looking for their one true love it might be hard to navigate a world in which hookup culture is very prevalent)

Your soul and your inner life makes you stunning. Your body is, of course, hot and beautiful. But the main thing you should be more confident about is your inner self. Your kindness and deep thoughts.

You will be loved the way you love one day 💕

The End

#tarot readings #tarot #free readings #tarot blog #free tarot reading #pick a card #tarot pick a card #tarot pick a pile #pick a pile #Spotify

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dearbraus · 8 days

Text

Good Luck, Babe ! - Chapter 1: You'll Need It.

— Aizawa Shōta

⊹ Details. 18+ minors dni, fem!reader, sfw, reader has hair that can be run through, reader is a teacher, reader is a slight author self insert, first meetings and a not so cute meet cute. ⊹ Run time. 4.2k ⊹ Note. This has been marinating in my brain for a while! So I decided to bite the bullet and write it, enjoy :3

❝It's your first day on the job, teaching at the overly prestigious hero school, U.A Academy, what could go wrong? Apparently a lot.❞

masterlist || next part

September's early morning chill was a bitter reminder that summer would soon come to an end. An unwelcome reminder that with summer gone so too would the precious tendrils of young adulthood. It was a frightening truth. Though you’d been one of the lucky ones. Employed only six months after graduating from university, with a fairly cushy gig that most could only dream of. The pay was good, you had an ample amount of sick days and vacation days. It was far more than you’d been expecting for a glorified student teaching position.

Still, the prospect of embarking on a new journey without the support of family and friends felt like too much for you to bear. Your stomach twisted itself into knots that refused to be undone no matter how many little reassurances you chanted to yourself. On the brink of thinking yourself sick, you forced your gaze upwards to the campus ahead. It was the stuff of legends, only something you could have dreamed of as a teenager.

The U.A High gates were an imposing sight to behold, far more akin to that of a fortress wall than your run of the mill boarding school. A twinge of pain shoots through your neck when you crane your head to drink in every last bit before you brave the next big adventure– actually going inside the building. Sweat gathers within the palm of your hands, you reflexively drag them down the length of your shirt, hardly flinching under the scrutinous stares of the passing students who need no invitation to head back onto campus after a weekend away. Your nerves fail to scatter the longer you peer upward but your eyes begin to burn as the sun shifts from behind the building.

“No big deal, this is no big deal,” you mutter beneath your breath, “This is just the start of your career, it’s not like failure is going to make or break it.”

You blanch for a moment, your mouth running dry.

Failure could ruin your career, it wasn’t everyday that the ministry of education hand selected educators to work with a school as prestigious as U.A. Rarely, had they taken interest in newly graduates with too many opinions like yourself. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity to prove that all your hours spent researching pedagogy, writing papers on the merits of student-led learning, and focusing your dissertation on why hero courses were intrinsically detrimental to their social and emotional development, weren’t wasted because you couldn’t hack it in the classroom. Smoothing out the rumpled fabric of your dress shirt, you fought the urge to nervously swipe your sweaty hands against cotton once more.

“There’s nothing to worry about, today is going to be a great day!”

Your voice carries farther than you intend for it too, it catches the attention of two students who loiter nearby. They cast you a perturbed glance before shuffling toward the school. You offer them a toothy grin in response, hoping it’d disguise your nerves and give those kids the impression that you belonged here. It was laughable. You belonged at U.A even less than the countless number of journalists who milled about in search of an exclusive story. That lot hardly gives you a once over, as if they could smell the mediocrity wafting off of you. Your quirk wasn’t very interesting and you hoped you looked too old to be a student. So, there was no need for anyone to chase after your coat tails when you finally pried your feet from the cement, and walked past the school gates.

The sidewalk feels as though it’s fused to the soles of your oxfords, your legs like lead as you attempt to shuffle forward. You're rendered still by the nerves that eat away at your belly even as the clock tick closer and closer to eight. Sucking in a deep breath, you force yourself to step forward though the pace is still painstakingly slow. You regret not shaking out your nerves before you arrived at the school. Tension gathered in your joints and painfully fused your limbs together. You couldn’t rid yourself of the stress that clung to you not matter how many deep breaths you sucked down.

The main building possessed the same grandeur as the gate. Its front doors are ornate, with gold lettering detailing which door was designated for each year. You quickly yank open the door with the large letter one atop it, hoping you’d made the right choice. The email you received for this position stated you would be working with a first year class so, this seemed like the most logical choice by far.

If it wasn’t, you’d fake it ‘til you made it.

You remember a professor of yours telling you that confidence was key. Nothing could go wrong if you looked like you knew what you were doing, others would trust that you did. If you looked like you belonged, no one would question why you had a seat at the table. Holding your head up high, you walked towards the administration office, thanking whatever cosmic force that despite all its quirks, the ground floor layout was the same as most high schools in the area. The principal, a small marsupial looking man, Nezu pops his head out from the office before you’ve finished rounding the corner. The scar that cuts into his short white fur and left eye was slightly disconcerting, somehow more so than a talking animal.

Based on your googling during your commute, he’d once been an ordinary animal that developed a quirk– truly one of a kind, sentience and an IQ that surely surpassed your own was just the surface level of what Nezu had been blessed with. Though, there was little information detailing how and why he was given the position of principal. That struck a chord of concern. You wondered how much empathy he possessed, if he related to his students, and how he went about human affairs, even when they were personal in nature.

“There you are!”

Nezu waves you over with a paw.

“I was starting to worry you weren’t going to show!” He exclaims with a laugh, “Didn’t happen to get lost, didja?”

With as much confidence as you could muster, you shake your head, “No! No, of course not,” you mutter with a wave of your hand, “I was just taking a quick tour and didn’t realise how much time had passed!”

Nezu nods sagely as if there was some unspoken wisdom to what you said, “Oh, good! So I take it you’ve unloaded your things at the dormitory then, how proactive!”

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure I follow?”

“As of this year, U.A High is a boarding school as I’m sure you may know,” Nezu explains with a flourish, “As such, all educators must reside on campus, including temporary staff such as yourself.”

“Oh, right, yes, I was actually planning to do that after classes today!”

You chuckle unconvincingly, offering an awkward smile. Well, that solved your problem of where you’d go after your lease was up in two weeks. Still, the pressure of throwing yourself completely into this job weighed heavily upon your shoulders. You were still unconvinced that this was truly happening. Even if you did everything perfectly, there was still a chance the teachers here wouldn’t take too kindly to you bulldozing years of lesson planning all because parents, and the ministry of education were starting to listen to people like you. You didn’t want to believe that all heroes were as egoist as the media painted them out to be, but the thought still made your hands shake with anxiety every time you imagined what this new job would entail.

The smile Nezu offers only unsettles you further, something about seeing an animal's face contort like a humans, “Very well, come along now classes are starting shortly.”

He presses an ID card into your hands, a black lanyard dangles from it. Your smiling face peers up at you. The photo’s been swiped from your university's website, along with the other information– including your new job title– since you don’t recall submitting your picture to them. Slipping it into the front pocket of your pants, you follow Nezu through the halls. Your shoes click against the blue tile flooring. You’d been expecting scuffed linoleum but the tiles were smooth and recently buffed if your reflection was any indicator. The sound soothed your frayed nerves, and almost allowed you to forget how out of your depth you were. Almost.

The grandiose scale of the environment you found yourself surrounded by was intimidating. Everything at this school was large, given how massive Cementoss and Ectoplasm seemed on your tiny phone screen during the sports festival, the building must have been made to accommodate those of all sizes. Even the door to class 1-A made you feel dwarfish in comparison. It stood a good two feet over the top of your head, made of fine maple wood that had been painted brown and red. 1-A was printed in the negative space, denoting which class this room belonged to. You’d never have to worry about entering the wrong classroom, that soothed the butterflies in your belly.

Dragging your hands down the front of your shirt, you smoothed out the invisible wrinkles you swore were pressed into the fabric, “Deep breath in,” you whispered to yourself, your cheeks hot with embarrassment, “Deep breath out, you got this!”

Using the window pane of the door, you raked your fingers through your hair. Cursing to yourself when they got caught and tangled on a few strands. Pushing your hair behind your shoulders, you mechanically cranked your lips upward until a cheery smile replaced the anxious expression you wore like a second skin. Your shoulder blades slid backwards as if on cue, your spine straightening.

“Now then, go on, don't be shy,” Nezu says, nodding his head toward the classroom, “Introduce yourself to the class, tell them why you’re here, their homeroom teacher should be waiting for you inside.”

The doors hinges squeal as you struggle to open it all the way. Still, you force on a smile the way your teachers had instructed you to. Apparently, students could sniff out fear and anxiety like a bloodhound. You tried not to appear too miffed by how strenuous opening the door was, quickly stepping towards the front of the classroom. All twenty sets of eyes were glued to your frame, their conversations running to a harsh stop as you clapped your hands together.

“Good morning, class!” Your voice is chipper and perfect even just like you rehearsed in the mirror this morning, “It’s so nice to meet you all!”

The classroom was plain, devoid of any personality or signs that students had occupied the space for the better part of six months. The desk sat in four rows of five, their table tops practically sparkled beneath the sickly yellow fluorescent lighting. From here, the lack of student graffiti was evident. You supposed you could take it as a good sign. Though, following the rules and not defacing school property seemed like an entry level requirement for prospective heroes.

Principal Nezu offers your leg a pat before swiftly scuttling back out the door. There was no sign of the class’ home room teacher, even in the form of a yellow lump on the ground. Wringing your hands together, you flash the class a grin. The students stare blankly back at you in confusion. Some exchange a worried glance with one another before returning to eyeing you up.

“Are you going to be our new teacher?” A boy with unruly green hair asks. He raises his hand after he finishes speaking, a sheepish expression when he realises he spoke out of turn.

Midoriya Izuku.

You remember him from the set of student profiles you were emailed last week and the intermittent news stories he appeared in. He was a relatively good student, with only a few minor infractions here and there on his permanent record detailing unsanctioned usage of his quirk. That was out of your jurisdiction. Aside from his penchant for working himself to the point of exhaustion and his habit of breaking his bones, Izuku wouldn’t cause you much trouble within the classroom. His records from middle school told you that much.

“Ah no, actually-”

“Don’t get all excited,” a gruff voice rumbles behind you, you don’t have to turn to know it’s Aizawa, their homeroom teacher, “You lot are still stuck with me.”

A mass of loose black clothing and messy black hair begin to fill your periphery as the man steps closer to you. You hardly have a chance to greet him before he’s placed himself between you and the first row of desks. Dark circles line a pair of ebony irises that are nearly hidden by his heavily lidded eyes. The pale skin of his jaw disappears into a thin, wispy beard that Aizawa compulsively scratches at as he eyes you up. Pinned beneath his scrutinising gaze, you suddenly feel silly, like you were five years old again, caught playing dress up in your parents closet. The corduroy pants and nice dress shirt you took several hours picking out last night seemed over the top and childish.

“What are you doing in my classroom?”

“Oh!” You quickly offer your name with an apologetic smile and a bow, “I’m here on behalf of the ministry of education to audit your classroom and work alongside you for the foreseeable future.”

Aizawa looks unimpressed, but when you offer him your hand, he takes it. His skin is calloused and rough, yours, comparatively, are soft to the touch. The callouses that formed from writing seemed so insignificant to the history that marred his skin. Clearing your throat, you steel your gaze on him, smiling in hopes of covering yourself in an air of indifference.

“Did Principal Nezu not inform you that I’d be here today?” You nervously question, pulling out your brand new ID card, “He told me that you’d be expecting me.”

“Why don’t we go chat outside?” He suggests, taking your ID card to inspect. You suspect you don’t really have a choice in the matter.

You nod, ducking your head down to avoid his intense gaze.

“Start preparing for your next class,” Aizawa addresses his students, his tone even and unwavering, “Yamada sensei will be here soon for your English lessons.”

There's a mumble of agreeance that breaks out amongst the throngs of desks. You’re certain that if the walls were thinner, you’d hear far more from them once you stood outside the classroom door. Kids were nosey, you wouldn’t be surprised if a few of them pressed against the door and strained their ears to catch even the smallest morsel of information. You’d almost prefer to be chewed out in front of twenty teenagers than be left alone with the ire of a pro-hero.

“Look, I don’t know what Nezu told you but I don’t need help managing my classroom,” Aizawa says as soon as the door has clicked shut behind you, “And I certainly don’t need help from a child.”

His arms are crossed over his broad chest. Your skin prickles with insecurity as he regards you. With his hair hanging over his face, you’re unable to discern what it is that lays in the depths of his eyes. If there’s an ounce of pity or just annoyance, you’re unsure. Whatever it is, its intensity makes you squirm beneath his gaze.

“I’m not a child,” you pause, attempting to counter but you stumble a bit over your words “I have two degrees and was hand selected by the ministry of education to be here, to work alongside you.”

Straightening your shoulders, you puff out your chest. With the way Aizawa tiredly slouched, he wasn’t as intimidating as he could be. If anything, if you could imagine him to be a petulant student. It wasn’t so hard. You’d dealt with worse during your days of being a TA. Hungover frat boys were far worse than a grouchy new colleague who didn’t appreciate having their authority tested. Not that you wanted to do that. You were looking forward to working with him, even if he was resistant to change.

Aizawa hardly stifles an eye roll before he narrows his gaze, “You were just about to call me sir, see child.”

“You’re not that much older than I am,” you retorted, frowning. Of all the things you’d heard of the elusive Eraserheard, you didn’t expect him to criticise you so harshly because of your age. Your lack of experience in the classroom? Sure, fair game. But, your age meant nothing in the grand scope of things, “Even if you were, I’m still qualified for this position.”

Your face grows hot with embarrassment. Six months. That’s how long you’d been a real adult, no longer a student. Calling anyone with even an inch of authority sir or ma’am had become second nature. How quickly Aizawa had caught on, made you wonder if he was right, if you were too far out of your depth. You feel it again, the nasty little pang of self-doubt that made the new lipstick you wore feel like you’d rummaged through your mothers things rather than the understated elegance you thought it gave you.

“Still, I have far more experience than someone who's never stepped foot in a classroom,” he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, “Nezu made a mistake, and I’ll be sure to tell him myself.”

“So you don’t take naps during lessons and allow your students to do as they please?”

It’s a dirty, underhanded comment. But, you’re struggling to find any solid ground in this conversation, anything that would prove to him that you belonged in this school. Your throat feels like it might collapse in on itself as you suck in a nervous breath.

“That’s not-” Aizawa starts with a mild look of distaste.

Shaking your head, you continue on,“True? Well, Nezu listed it amongst some of your other questionable teaching practices such as threatening expulsion?”

Your hands tremble with remorse. U.A prided itself for its unique delivery of course content. They allowed teachers to do as they pleased within their classroom, even mid-semester expulsion if they saw it fit. Which Aizawa had, on multiple occasions. Apparently, he’d even expelled all twenty of his students on the first day of school a few years ago. Most of your peers dreamed of having that kind of authority in the classroom, they became starry eyed at the mere thought of being able to employ whatever pedagogical methodology they wished without having to adhere to curriculum expectation. You weren’t sure how they’d feel knowing you were expressly against such power.

“Are you trying to suggest that I’m a bad teacher?” The hurt in his voice is evident, the sincerity of it further fills the bucket of guilt that hangs off your neck.

“Not at all, just that you trained to be a hero not an educator.”

Tomorrow, or even twenty minutes from now, you’d regret reaching forward to place a hand on Aizawa’s crossed arms, “I don’t doubt that you care for those kids” the muscles in his throat tighten as he swallows and you’re keenly aware of his capture weapon sitting mere inches away from your arm, “And I’m not here to doubt you abilities, I’m just here because the ministry of education is concerned about the wellbeings of the students in the hero course.”

“They’re concerned?”

“It’s kind of hard not to be, they’re constantly in the news,” you say, sympathetic to the near constant villain attacks they had endured, “And the optics of a kidnapped student never look good no matter how it's spun, even if they’re a hero student.”

Aizawa rubs his chin with a sigh, “There’s no making this go away, is there?”

“Afraid not.”

You’re sure he feels your body shaking as you press closer. Your breath hitches.

“Besides, you’re really in no position to get rid of me,” you cringe when the words come out of your mouth but you can’t stop yourself from speaking, “Principal Nezu agreed, and if you really send me packing, it wouldn’t look too great on your end, it’d be all the more reason to question what goes on here.”

You’re right, he knows you’re right. You can tell by the way he sighs and tries to disguise it with a cough. You’re sure the way you invade his personal space doesn’t help your case or sweeten his opinion of you but it keeps you standing straight and prevents your knees from buckling beneath you.

He looks past you and down the hall, almost wistfully, “Would it really be so bad?” You ask, bouncing all on the balls of your feet, “Having me around would be a smaller workload for you to take home each night.”

The expression he wears tells you yes, it would be so bad, “You’re a civilian,” is all he says, a puff of air passing his chapped lips as he turns his gaze toward you, “If something were to happen, if there was another attack, you’d be in danger. You know that, right?”

“There are plenty of civilian students in the building, are you worried about them too?” You stupidly ask, crossing your arms over your chest. You’re sure you appear petulant, you feel petulant. You have to stop your bottom lip from jutting out in annoyance. Professionalism was still a bit of a struggle.

Your quirk wasn’t particularly flashy, but you had learned to use it for self defence as a teenager. Turns out, most didn’t enjoy being struck by lightning. They liked it even less when it came in the form of a spear— being a human sized taser had its perks. In any case, you were a nobody. No villain would take particular interest in you if their recent attacks were any indicator of their motives. They seemed to get their kicks terrorising teenagers.

“I’m worried about you,” Aizawa says with such conviction, that you’re not so surprised that he pursued hero work, “Working here, working with my class means having a target on your back. You realise this, don’t you?”

“I do.”

He clicks his tongue,“I don’t think you do,” deeply sighing, “You aren’t authorised to use your quirk even in self defence.”

“If I taught at a regular high school, I’d be expected to put myself in between my students and anyone who posed a threat without using my quirk,” you shrug your shoulders, “I’m prepared to do the same here.”

“This is different, this is serious. If you get caught up in an attack they could kill you or worse.”

Your skin crawls with an unpleasant feeling of dread. Goosebumps made your hair stand uncomfortably. What could be worse than death? You didn’t want to know. Aizawa clearly did. That’s why he didn’t find your blind acceptance endearing or brave. Just stupid.

Shaking away the nerves, you forced yourself to look him in the eyes,“The train I took this morning could have caught fire and killed me,” you say, like the thought of spontaneous combustion didn’t terrify you, as if you didn’t triple check your curling iron was unplugged each morning, “So could the raw flour in the cookie dough I ate last night.”

“You’re being far too flippant for me to take you seriously,” Aizawa doesn’t hide the roll of his eyes this time.

“Villains are dangerous, I get that,” you hope your voice didn’t sound as pathetic to him as it did to you, “I know what teaching here entails, I didn’t take this position on a whim.”

Aizawa’s dark, red rimmed eyes rake over you. He’s studying you, perhaps searching for a crack in your demeanour, for something to give reason for his refusal. A dissatisfied “hmph” passed his lips, they dip into a deepened frown. Whatever he’s going to say dies on his tongue as Yamada Hizashi– the pro hero, Present Mic– comes bounding down the hall, a tune humming under his breath, his head in the clouds. He sported his hero costume, seemingly more comfortable while dressed up than you did. His hair stands nearly straight up, a shock of bright yellow amid the calming pale blues and whites of the U.A hallways. Confidence oozes off of him, painting his aura in an alluring shade of something magnanimous.

Yamada wore the hat of hero well, sending you a toothy grin when he caught your stare.

You suddenly get the state of being star struck. His presence was startling.

“You should go unpack your things,” Aizawa suggests when he takes notice of your gaping– though, this was not a suggestion. The thin press of his lips and finite tone that edged into his voice told you that, “We can talk further, later, after the school day has ended.”

You nod numbly, slightly shocked that you hadn’t been fired before you’d even had the chance to start. This was happening. Perhaps not in the way you’d envisioned but still. You hadn’t failed, not completely, not yet. The megawatt smile you throw at him makes your cheeks ache but you can’t stop it from forming.

“See you later, Aizawa-san.”

#aizawa shota x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #aizawa x reader #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #aizawa x you #aizawa x y/n #good luck babe

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machiten · 9 months

Text

that's my seat! (pt 2)

academic rival scaramouche x gn!reader

warnings: scaramouche(bro is a whole warning), foul language(it's scaramouche we're talking about here so), bits of xiaoven (fuck you i love his ship), idk what else

4.2k words

❗not proofread ❗

the day after that, you didn't attend class which was quite unusual since there was never a day where you attempted to skip class (one time you did but it was so that you can study for another class) and it alarmed him, just a little bit. maybe you got sick? an urgent matter perhaps? but you didn't file an excuse letter so the teachers can excuse you. scaramouche wanted to ask your friends but his pride is a little too much for that. oh and he was also sent to the principal's office the same day. it's not the first time of course, trips to the office are basically routine now. when scaramouche entered, the principal is a bit surprised to not seeing you trail behind the purple haired achiever.

"oh? this is new. where's (last name)?"

"...don't know, i haven't seen her since this morning."

"that's a nice hit you got there." tye principal addressed the patches on his face. scaramouche clicked his tounge as he flicked his head to the side, as to hide his face from shame.

if he was to be honest to himself, he aready had his eyes on you since day one. someone is on par with him? really?? now he doesn't see that everyday. it changed his overall view on school. no more boring lectures with no one to debate with, no more being dragged alone to every bullshit quiz bee contests (you're also gettting dragged), and getting high scores are actually fun now because he gets to make fun of you.

so as the days go by... wait, days? how long has it been?! he hasn't seen a single strand of your hair. he already checked certain spots around the school everyday, hoping that maybe you were just avoiding him therefore the lack of your presence. he was calm, not until one of your friends went to him, asking for your whereabouts. him. your sworn enemy, is being asked where the fuck you are.

"hey"

scaramouche turned to the voice seeing aether with a frown. "what." scaramouche replied.

"i didn't think i was ever gonna ask you this but im gonna overlook all the shit that you did for now because this is important. have you seen (name)?" aether grimaced

"no, i haven't seen her. also, how the fuck should i know? we're not close." he crossed his arms, as if he just heard the most absurd question in his entire existence.

"fuck" aether cursed under his breath. "well, thanks i guess." aether waved and walked away. when he turned into a corner, scaramouche's facade fell. the hell? not even aether knows what happened to you? feeling guilt, scaramouche fished his phone out of his pocket and opened his contact list oh yeah he also doesn't have your number, you're not even friends on any social medias. he cursed under his breath. now he feels really bad, blaming himself for your disappearance, guilt eating him inside out.

the days go by, scaramouche ignored the prickling feeling inside his chest. you'll come back, right? he knows you would, you wouldn't abandon your education, right?? he just had to be patient. but he cant really ignore you, everything he sees reminds him of you. everytime he enters the classroom, he gets reminded by the chair he sits in, expecting you to come in a minute later to play tug of war with the chair. in lectures, he's always ready to spit out a comeback whenever you add something to the lesson but this time he kept waiting until the lecture ends until he realizes that no you weren't there at all to debate with him. when the teacher hands out test results, he always looks at the back (where you sit) to compare scores but everytime, he sees nothing but an empty chair.

you have perfectly blended yourself in scaramouche's routine. and everytime it happens, the guilt plaguing his mind feeds from it. he went home that day accepting the fact that it is entirely his fault and he should fix everything. that's the least he could do after everything that he's done.

"im home," scaramouche exclaimed as he entered his house, putting away his shoes on the side. "welcome home kuni- you okay?" his sister, which is a splitting image of their mother, said as she paused the tv. "yeah, anyways. im probably gonna regret this but can you both cook for yourselves today? i have to go somewhere. please don't burn the pan handle again, thanks." he said as he immediately ran to his room to change.

"where are you going?!" his sister shouted from downstairs. "uhh to my friend's house!" he shouted back.

"you have friends?!"

"what is that supposed to mean?!!"

"im gonna tell mom you're going somewhere!"

"ok!"

when he was out of the house, he took at his phone and looked at the picture of your address in you notebook when he sneakily stole your notes.

'damn they live far... good thing i have a motorcycle.' he took his keys, wore his helmet, and got the engine started.

after 20 minutes of trafic and searching for your apartment, he took off his helmet got off his bike. he can feel people staring at him (i mean, who wouldn't). he went to the elevator and pressed your floor number. he got out when he heard the ding and immediately went to find your door number.

'143... 143.... 143... 143... 143...' he chanted the number in his head. when he found your door, he took a really deep breath and knocked. after a few seconds, he heard shuffling from the other side, then the door opened. he expected to see you but to his surprise, he saw a dark haired boy fading to bright torquoise with two braids framing the side of his face.

...did he get the wrong place?

he stood there like an idiot for a few seconds until he heard the boy talk.

"so, need anything?" he sounds cheery, definitely the extroverted type. "uhm, do you know anyone here by the name (name)?" he held his helmet a bit tighter. "oh (name)? wait I'll call them." the braided boy then shouted inside his apartment. "(name)!! someone's looking for you!! again!!"

scaramouche winced at the noise-- you're inside??? then what the fuck is this boy doing in your house? is he your boyfriend? (is he too late?) then, as if the heavens opened up for him, he heard curses with an awfully familiar voice far inside the apartment.

"tell my brother to fuck off!!"

"it's not your brother!!"

"well then tell my teacher im fine!!"

"..well-! it's not a teacher either!!"

"...."

"what does he look like?!!"

"can you both stop yelling like mountain dwellers-"

"HE LOOKS EMO!!" scaramouche was offended.

after a moment of silence, the boy spoke to him, less volume this time. "sorry about that, im venti by the way! she hasn't been doing well for the past few weeks because something happened at her school or something, i hope you understand.." a sweat rolled down scaramouche's back. "it's ok, im--"

"venti who the hell-" a new participant has entered the conversation, you. and when scaramouche saw you, he felt relief and overbearing guilt at the same time. relieved that you look fine and healthy, guilty because of the things he has done. when you saw him on the other hand, rage has once again boiled in your heart.

"get out." you tried slamming the door close but his feet was faster, slipping in to the gap of the door and the frame. he winced a bit from the impact but that's the least of his concerns right now.

"wait, shit, can we talk-"

"what more do you want from me?! im finally gone from your life and now you got here to torment me more?!" if you were any stronger, you could've turned his feet into mush. "no, im here to apologize-!"

"i dont care! fuck off!" oh he is not giving up. fortunately for him (not for you) he is stronger and managed to keep the door from closing. "can you please just listen to me!!"

"go away!"

"no!"

this went on for like an eternity until someone inside your apartment held the back of your shirt and pulled you away from the door, making it swing open from scaramouche's force. "xiao, what the fuck let go!!" turns out venti called his boyfriend from their room while you and scaramouche were fighting. while xiao was holding you back from basically doing second degree murder, scaramouche carefully set his helmet down on the floor, avoiding your attempt at swings. (your previous hit hasn't even fully recovered yet.)

"(name) calm down, be rational. nothing will be solved when you're acting like a maniac and wont communicate." xiao said sternly. "how can i when he's the exact reason as to why im here right now!" at this statement, venti's expression became dark.

"what."

you got out of xiao's hold and stormed back inside your room, slamming the door close. xiao followed you in. scaramouche clicked his tougue, about to follow you when someone stoped him, "(name), wait-!"

"hold the fuck up." venti grabbed his shoulder. "you're the bitch that got them here?"

"yeah, so?"

"get out."

"let go of me." scaramouche shrugged venti off. "besides, that's what im here for." he looked at the room you went into with an unreadable look.

"do i have to repeat what i said? fuck, not only are you stupid but deaf too? get out." venti mocked him. 'what the fuck he was giggly just a minute ago.'

"ok listen, i just want to apologize to them. i know i fucked up and im basically ruining her life right now that's why i want to take responsibility. can you at least tell her that?" it is clear how scaramouche regrets what he did. venti's look sharpened. "how do i know you're being sincere?"

"(name)?? can you please open the door?" venti knocked on your door. after a few seconds, the door opened to xiao. "where's (name)?" xiao pointed at the bed in the corner of the room. there he sees you lying down, face buried in your pillow. "they won't talk. like at all, ive tried everything." xiao sighed.

venti has been your roommate ever since you got kicked out from your house. xiao is his boyfriend of 3 years and they're both two yeas older than you (xiao moved in a year ago). thanks to the both of them, they are basically your older siblings now. they did what your brother never could. they took care of you the past few days, even if they're both busy with their degrees. they would leave food in the fridge, remind you to take your medicine (they both have alarms of when you need to take your medicines), they bring you food in your room when you insist that you dont want to eat, saying, 'even if you don't want to eat, you need to. ' and proceeds to spoon feed you (even if it's embarrasing), and is just genuinely worried for you, especially when you came home that day with aether carrying you on his back.

"do you think they're asleep? how do they even breathe..." venti walked closer and sat down on the side of your bed. "hey (name), I know you can hear me so listen up, ok?? sca... or whatever his name is, wants to talk to you and to apologize for what he did and he wants to take responsibility. he said he's gonna get you back to school no matter what it takes and he is also sorry for being insensitive."

no answer.

"he's gonna pick you up at 6:45 tomorrow. i wasn't gonna tell you any of this because he doesn't seem sincere until he proved it to me earlier. just talk to him ok?? i know life is shit but you have to keep going to prove yourself to your parents." he pats your head. he looks around the room and lands his gaze on your desk which if filled with books and notes. it seems like you haven't given up yet which made venti smile.

"sleep well (name), goodnight."

as they both got out of your room, xiao spoke up. "what did he do to prove himself?"

venti winked. "it's a secret."

and that's how venti got a huge bite mark on his cheek.

oh you heard everything. what does he mean he's picking you up tomorrow?! prove himself? how?! what responsibility?! he's making it sound like he got you pregnant!!

and he actually DID come the next morning. venti informed that you didnt get ready like at all and you know what bro did? he waited. in the living room. the whole time. he went 'hurry up we'll be late for first period' as if there's nothing wrong with anything.

so fast forward, he managed to convince you to go with him (reluctantly). what you didn't expect though was to be met with his (motorcycle brand), infront of your apartment.

"i am not riding that."

"we are riding that, here put this on." he said as he hands you a helmet. you gave it back to him as you turned around, about to go back inside the apartment but he pulled you back by your collar. "fucking- PUT IT ON WERE LATE." he exclaimed as he gave you a frustrated look.

"you're lucky that I actually felt guilty and went all the way here for your stupid ass. now get on I don't have all day." scaramouche said as he slotted the helmet on your head and got the engine started. you reluctantly sat behind him, sitting funny. "have you ever rode a motorcycle your whole life?"

"I have but, not like this one!" there is an inch gap between you and him causing you to sit funny. then he jerked the motorcycle forward by suddenly revving the engine causing you to lose balance and slip, so now you're the closest to him than you ever were.

"hold on tight, I like driving fast."

"what. wait--WAIT I'M NOT REA- wAIT-! YOU ABSOLUTE AS-!"

----

this went on for weeks. he would appear on your doorstep, get you both to school and when classes end, he'd drive you back home. and, yes, you did talk but it was more like recounting the old days, sometimes laughing at the stupid stuff you both fought over before. and he apologized, of course. and it was a well said apology, it's as if he's been practicing (he was). you forgave him with the promise of him watching his mouth the next time because if he won't, then you wont be the only victim of his sharp words.

when you arrived at school that day, your friends immediately tackled you into a hug. they were saying about how they were so worried about you and that they miss the daily bickering you and scaramouche does. they also mentioned how scaramouche has been out of it these past few weeks (which is weird because why would he do that ahhahaha...). Aether literally went into tears when he saw you walking down the hallway saying he missed you and shit and that he has to eat lunch with his sister which was torture (his words not mine).

what irks you though is the funny look they give you everytime you and scaramouche walks through the classroom doors at the same time. so you were like;

"can you walk up first, they're looking at us funny everytime."

"stop being dramatic." and proceeds to tug you at your sleeve.

he's not gonna lie, he likes the look your friends are making. he also likes the red on your face everytime. ever since you've returned to school, he's making the effort to minimize your fights (except for the fun ones) and to actually get to know you better.

through this, you've also got to know him better. and this made you realize he actually isn't that bad (if you really think about it). you now know he prefers bitter food over sweet ones, he cooks really good, he has a sister that almost looks identical to his mother, he has a really short auntie, he has a list of future victims (you don't want to know what that means), and he's genuinely just a chill guy. you just got on his bad (playful) side the first time you met him.

though there are times where he gets a bit... unwell... but we all have that in us, right? the thoughts? well, i mean, i can hear it everyday so I hope you do too<3

"venti i am fucked."

"alright let's get you to the abortion center."

you looked at him perplexed, "what?"

"you said you got fucked, let's go."

"NOT LIKE THAT." you facepalmed. sometimes you wonder if he really is two years older than you.

"hehe im just kidding, what is it?" he giggles as he continues to stir the pot as he was making dinner. "i do not feel safe around him anymore." you muttered while nibbling at a piece of vegetable.

"who."

you shrieked after hearing a new voice. venti turned around to see what's going on. there stood behind you is xiao, who just got back from class, he got his piercings and everything looking like he will beat you up if you breathe. "you scared the fuck out of me, can you make some noise when you get home next time?" you calmed your beating heart as xiao apologized. "but yeah im talking about scaramouche. he's acting... different."

at this, venti perks up, "oh? what kind of different?"

"i do not like that look on your face."

"c'mon tell me!" venti now has his full attention to you as he passed his apron to xiao so that he can take over dinner.

"well, he's weird. i mean, he keeps doing weird stuff and im not saying im uncomfortable with it's just... unusual? did he really feel that guilty to the point where he drives me to and from school everyday?" you slumped on your chair, fiddling with a fork. venti let's out a hum, tapping his cheeks as if he's thinking. "have you ever considered that maybe, just maybe, he likes you?" he adds.

"what?"

venti goes around the counter and sits beside you, "like, romantically. let's enumerate! he drives you to and from school, walks you to your class, buys you coffee when you lack sleep and he KNOWS you lack sleep, wakes you up in class, picks out your favorite flovors in a pack of gummies, shares lunch with you, lends you his notes, uhhh what else...-"

"WAIT WAIT THAT'S ENOUGH!" you flung your hands, embarrassed. "how can you even be sure! aether also do some those sometimes, and we're really great friends!"

venti stared at you, "ok first of all, aether is gay he literally has a boyfriend. second of all, i know this because xiao also did all these 'cringey' stuff before and hey, look at us!" he hugs xiao and they almost fell on the floor.

"aether has a boyfrie-?"

venti squished you cheeks, "that's besides the point! listen to me (name), i am a love expert, i know what im doing. i can even tell you what xiao did that will match with what scaramouche is doing-"

"dinner's ready." a pot filled with delicious food is placed at the counter by a blushy xiao. "venti, i love you, but please shut up." he says, embarrassed.

the next day, you payed better attention to scaramouche, hoping to prove venti wrong.

and boy were you the wrong one.

the way he holds your hand when he speeds up while driving his bike, when he stays after he's dropped you off in your apartment to ensure tour safety, the way he puts more effort in his hand writing so that you can understand better, the timing he has when you are in an uncomfortable situation, the little shapes of fruit in his lunch that he shares with you, when he brings hair clips when your hair gets in the way of work,

it goes on forever.

so then you decided to confront him one day.

"scara, do you like me?"

you both are currently outside, studying for an upcoming test. scaramouche answered without a second thought.

"yeah."

"no, like, ugh... this is embarrassing, i meant, do... do you like me, romantically?" you rephrased your question. this made scaramouche ponder. should he answer honestly? lie to your face to keep whatever is going on between you two? give tou the silent treatment, perhaps?

"actually y'know what, dont answer that i-" you were cut off by the contact you feel in your hands. he clasps your hand gently across the table. he looks at your locked hands, unease creeping into his system.

then, he finally opens his mouth, "if... if i tell you the truth, would you.. still stay by my side..?" you can feel his grip slowly tightening. "i like what's going on right now, it's basically routine to me now. i... i like going to your apartment every morning, i like making you bentos, i like sharing notes with you, i like...i like competing with you every test, i like being the first one to get to your chair but i also like the light in your eyes when you get there first...!" he's shaking now. he goes quiet for a bit then goes for a deep breath.

"...i like you, okay? its not even funny anymore, i can't get you off my mind... i know i despised you before, to the point where i would steal your notes back then-"

"so that's how you found out about my address..!"

he got red,

"that's-! that's not the point! and- LET ME TALK DAMNIT IT'S ALREADY HARD WHEN ITS EMBARRASSING!!-ahem- when you didn't come back i felt really guilty and i keep looking at the damn door whenever anyone comes in expecting it to be you and i felt really stupid that time. i hate how you make me feel stupid, i hate how stupid you are, , making me do stupid stuff... but i like you and i can't help it..." you can feel his hands getting cold and shaky.

"...and if you dont feel the same, then i will just kill mysel-"

"NO WAIT HOLD ON-!" you stood up bringing his hand with you. when he finally looks up, he's in the brink of tears. you held his hand "i just asked a question and you're out here announcing suicide..! i just wanted to clarify... so that i wouldn't look stupid confessing to... you and then getting... rejected..." you trailed off. you can already feel your whole face heating up, blood boiling in your stomach.

now there's two idiots outside in the park, blushing like no one's business, staring into each other's soul. one is in the brink of tears while the other is standing straight like a statue, unmoving.

after a good minute or two, after the thoughts processed, one of them couldn't hold it in apparently. tears streamed out of indigo eyes and he hurriedly tried to wipe it away, to hide the evidence of how fragile he actually is. you scammered into your bag to find something to wipe his tears away. when you got near him, you found yourself covered in him, he is grasping whatever he can hold of you, clammering on your clothes as if you are his life line. he is all over you, babbling nonsense. you can only make out some of his words like;

"fuck i thought i would have to fight my thoughts again-"

"you have no idea of what you're doing to me-"

"tell this to anyone and i will chase you down to childe's ass crack-"

"fuck i love you so much do not leave me please-" and

"I'll still take your seat, i don't care-"

literal nonsense and yet you can feel the love radiating off him at that moment. he is sobbing and furiously wiping his tears.

cofessing your feeling to someone that radiates as much personality as scaramouche is a win lose situation for you. but to him? it's either he dies or he lives, there is no in between.

extra;

when scaramouche got home, he is met with his mother at the door, a spatula in her hand.

"mom put that down, please-"

"you're late."

"it's 6pm."

"yeah and you're late. also, why are you wearing sunglasses? are you doing drugs?" ei kept throwing questions at scaramouche while he is desperately trying to remove the spatula out of his mother's grip. "mom, please i was just out with my lov- friend-- and please let go of the-"

"FRIEND?? who is this friend? you have a friend?! why didn't you tell me?!--"

"mom-"

"kuni, this makes me so happy! you have a friend! invite them over right now, i made dinner!" ei smiled at her proudest achievement.

scaramouche paled.

"YOU MADE WHAT?!"

*scara wearing sunglasses bc is eyes are puffy*

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wonjns · 2 years

Text

tamed studies ✐

🖇️° pairing; xu minghao x male reader

🖇️° genre; smut

🖇️° summary; classic trope of the mean idiot and the patient tutor... but uh, did i mention the tutor was a super sexy chinese exchange student who happens to specialize in brat taming??

🖇️° includes; bottom!malereader, dom!hao, degradation, orgasm denial, slight impact play, swearing, fingering, unprotected sex (dont irl!!)

🖇️° WC; 4.3k (oh my god)

° AN; this was a request !! i feel bad because i was asked to do this forever ago but i’m glad to be posting my first requested work. i tried to make it longer and worth the read in order to make up for taking so long to write it. im not rlly ur everyday tumblr blogger or fic writer so its exciting for me ! lmao @megggegg

you were,,, a brat. sort of.

no, not sort of, you were actually just a jerk. and severely spoiled.

highschool life was hard, and college life proved itself to be even harder, especially now that you attended one of the highest reputable universities in the nation. you were up to your neck in classes, and while you performed decently in most of them, math was a travesty. being the freshman that you were, your parents had big expectations and high hopes that you would follow in the oh-so-successful footsteps of your older brother, junhui, who was in his senior year.

jun was a prodigy - a so called “genius” by your parents who would sing his praises constantly for his ability to excel in every academic subject he touched. naturally, due to his success in school, your parents expected the same of you. every brunch and social that was held in your family’s country club would somehow end up in your mother preaching about how ‘her two beautiful sons were going to become the best doctors the community as ever seen’ - and when your skills clearly weren’t up to par with your older brother’s, it caused you to grow resentful to both him and your parents, the feeling being quite reciprocated.

you became frustrated that no matter the amount of shopping sprees or days off you took, you couldn’t seem to settle down and wrap your head around statistics. instead of remaining level-headed and talking out your struggles with your family, your pride forced you to swallow it all up and only express yourself through tantrums... much like what you were doing right now.

“AND IF YOUR GPA DROPS EVEN A SMIDGE LOWER, WE’RE NOT PAYING FOR YOU TO ATTEND SCHOOL ANY LONGER!” your mother shouted as you stomped your way up your home’s marble staircase, attempting to dismiss yourself from yet another argument.

“YOU WOULDN’T DARE! your little reputation couldn’t handle the embarrassment when all your friends find out.” you spat.

“that’s damn right! you’re getting your education one way or another, so its best you get ready for community college then.” your father joined in at your mother’s side.

you froze in place, hand lingering on your door knob. community college?! you almost threw up in your mouth. you let out an exasperated yell, slamming your door. the echo of the force travelled down the hall to jun’s room. out of curiosity, he steps out from behind his own door and sees your parents huffing away back to their own chambers. he cocks an eyebrow and walks down to your room, knocking gently.

“y/n? what was that all ab-” he speaks lowly, but you cut him off, your voice still very much shouting.

“go the hell away!”

“well damn, dude, I just wanted to ask what was wrong.” he quips.

“thanks for you concern, asshole, but I don’t remember it being your business.” you call back, sinking your head deeper into your pillow as you scroll angrily through your phone.

junhui sighs and goes downstairs to calm your obviously seething parents, aiming to talk them down from making any rash decisions for you. despite your attitude, jun was a pretty sweet older brother, and knew you just needed a bit of help rather than be withdrawn from university all together.

it’s not like you cared though.

⊱────────────────────────⊰

one week later, you heard another knock at your door.

making sure to groan in extra loud annoyance so that whoever was on the other side knew they were already pissing you off, you sat up in bed. you heard the knock again, this time followed by your mom’s voice.

“y/n, come down stairs. now.” was all she stated before walking away.

what could she possibly want at 1:00 in the afternoon? you grumbled, throwing on a hoodie before literally rolling out of your king sized mattress. you shuffled your feet along the floor as you walked down stairs.

as soon as you reached the common area, your eyes slightly widened as you were greeted with the sight of a tall, tan skinned boy with round glasses sitting on the edge of his nose. he set a large assortment of textbooks down at the table next to him as he conversed with your parents. you simply stopped in your tracks as you stared at the.... admittedly beautiful, man.

his hair practically shined in the natural lighting, and his shoulders were broad. his lips were plump and the perfect shade of pink, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his sharp jawline or the way it would flex when he smiled or how his adams apple teasingly bounced when he chuckled at something your parent’s said.

it seems you were caught in the middle of your trance, as your dad waved his hand from where he was standing.

“y/n?”

you blinked a couple times as you snapped out of it, realizing you were biting your lips. you slightly blushed when you noticed all of their eyes were focused on you, especially this new stranger’s shining orbs.

“who’s this?” you speak up, adding slight attitude in your voice to cover up your obvious gawking.

“this is minghao, a friend of your brother’s. he’ll be your new tutor until you pick your grades up.” your mom replies, and the boy slightly bows his head while he smiled down at you.

“T-TUTOR?” you gasp, a bit over-dramatically. “what the hell do I need a tutor for? i’m not in elementary school.” you claim, stomping your foot down.

“well until you stop getting these third grader scores on your tests, this is what we’re doing. you start today, and you don’t have a say in the matter.” your mom chimes in, never dropping her snarky smile.

“today!? it’s saturday-”

“anyways,” your mother continues, interrupting you. “we’re going out for the day, but jun will be back soon. we told him you should be well into your lesson by the time he’s here, alright?”

“yes, maam.” minghao chimed enthusiastically, giving her a thumbs up.

you rolled your eyes and groaned once more, huffing out a sigh when you at the at large table with all of the textbooks. when your parents left, minghao took a seat across from you, sitting as if he were waiting for you to say something first.

“you have a beautiful home..” he finally spoke, looking around and spotting the chandelier above the staircase.

“yea yea, that’s what they all say. you can just get on with the bullshit, i guess. it’s not like i’m gonna pay any attention.” you respond in a bored tone, propping your head up against your hands.

minghao furrowed his brows at you as you tried to avoid his eyes, but you couldn’t stop yourself from awkwardly peeking. the older male sighs and spreads out the textbooks before mumbling something about getting started, opening the first book. it read statistics - an instant turn off for you.

30 minutes into the first lesson and minghao peered at you, catching you on your phone for the umpteenth time. he sighed, setting his calculator down.

“listen, I know you don’t wanna go through this, but your parents are trusting me to make sure you don’t fail another class. I sit next to your brother in a lot of our classes and he’s practically a genius, so I know you have it in you too.”

you rolled your eyes yet again, narrowing your gaze at minghao. his eyes sort of sparkled, looking a little too cute as he pleaded for you to cooperate, but this only stirred you to piss him off more. you smirked as you ignored him, bringing your phone back up to your face.

this caused minghao to scoff in disbelief.

“y/n, look at me.” he spoke, causing your grin to grow wider as you ignored him.

however, he opened his mouth again and this time your smile dropped completely.

“look at me, now.”

the tone in his voice was completely different - much lower than previously and demanding. you looked up from your phone and chills ran wild across your skin from the glare you caught from him. his eyes lost their sparkle, and instead looked like a deep, dark brown abyss.

“put your phone down.”

you could’ve swore a spell was cast on you, because you dropped your phone on the table just a little too fast for your own liking. this caused a shit-eating grin to grow on minghao’s face, one that lit your skin on fire.

he stood from his seat, leaning across the table closer and closer to you. he stopped a couple inches from your face, and his vanilla cologne surged through your senses.

“that’s a good boy... why are you listening so easily now?” he asked as he picked up your phone, putting it in his pocket without moving his face any farther from yours.

you gulped, trying to get back in your groove. you furrowed your brows at him, scooting back on your own accord.

“s-shut up. I’m just finally ready to get this lesson over with so you can get out of my house.” you sneered. but he wasn’t buying it, not one bit.

he sat back into his chair, eyes never leaving you. the truth was that he caught how in between your attempts to ignore him, he followed how your eyes lingers on his long, beautiful fingers when he would turn the page or type in the calculator. minghao was very observant, and it was biting you in the ass.

“come over here and sit by me.” he ordered, patting the empty chair next to him.

“no... and give me my phone back!” you retorted.

“you need a closer look at the reading. the sooner you just listen the sooner you can tweet all you want.”

you sat in contemplation for a while, before groaning and getting up. you made your way hesitantly around the table before placing yourself in the seat beside minghao. you were growing annoyed of yourself - why were you caving for his demands so easily?

he sat and stared at you for a while, a smirk evident on his annoyingly handsome face. you parted your lips to ask him what was his deal, but before you could utter a sound he reached out and grabbed one of your chair legs, scooting you closer until your shoulders were merely centimeters apart. he then leaned down to your ear, speaking lowly despite you two being the only ones in the house.

“i know your problem... you’ve just never had anyone simply take control, have you?”

you felt your face turn red, and you instantly scooted back from him.

“wh- what the hell are you talking about?!” you ask, sounding almost offended.

minghao did nothing but chuckle and drag you right back into his space before casually turning back to the textbooks. he resumed the tutoring session as if nothing happened, meanwhile you tried to stabilize your breathing. you had no idea what this dude’s problem was, but he somehow had an excitement bubbling deep down within you.

an hour goes by, and like magic you’re suddenly more intrigued in the lesson. it was like he had you under hypnosis with his cologne, because you slowly followed along when he spoke and were understanding more of the material.

then, he began to quiz you. he asked you to solve a formula for him, and when you actually managed to identify x correctly, he brought one of his large hands down to rest at an exposed part of your thigh - thanks to your small gym shorts. your breath hitched when he squeezed it gently, offering you praise.

“nice job. now look at this graph and....”

his voice trailed off in your mind as you couldn’t get your eyes to leave his warm hand at your thigh. it felt so soft, and encased your leg so effortlessly. his thumb rubbed the smallest and softest circles into your thigh as he spoke, but stopped when you heard your name called once more.

“y/n? did you hear me?” he spoke, pretending as if he hadn’t caught you lingering on his hand.

“o-oh, yeah, whatever. it’s right here.” you answer, pointing to a spot on a complicated looking chart. you were fully guessing, but didn’t want him to know you were distracted.

“wrong.”

this time, he squeezed your thigh with stronger force, causing you to gasp.

“the hell are you doing!” you call out, scooting back out of your chair.

minghao was fast, though, because before you could actually move away he caught your wrist, pulling you in and quickly situating you on his lap. you squirmed, but didn’t exactly try to leave as he brought both hands to massage both sides of your thighs this time.

“you were doing so good, what’s wrong?” he whispered from behind you, his warm breath against the nape of your neck causing visible goosebumps to rise.

you gripped the table infront of you for stability, trying your best to keep a whine from leaving your throat.

“I-.....I.... uhm, I-” you stuttered. you were desperately trying to find a witty comment to spit out, but it was like you completely lost your mojo, how frustrating.

“next question,” he spoke, lightly nipping your earlobe with his teeth.

you flinched, and genuinely couldn’t speak. his scent and ministrations into your soft thighs were completely overriding your ability to focus. he pulled the hems of your shorts back so that he could massage higher up on your thighs, the sensation causing everything he was saying to fade into the background of your mind as it started hazing over.

“know the answer this time?” you heard him ask, and nervousness overcame you when you realized you hadn’t heard a single thing he’s said.

you began mumbling, eyes trying to make sense of the worksheets in front of you. you feel his hand reach around your front before landing on your clothed bulge, which, much to your embarrassment, had already grown into a hard erection.

minghao chuckled loudly, “no wonder you can’t concentrate, you’re all worked up. aw.”

he gave your member one good quick squeeze, the stimulation causing you to yelp in shock. your hand shot down to grip on to his wrist, your breathing becoming labored. you tried to look over your shoulder at him, but his free hand came up to cup your jaw, forcing your head back to the textbook. you suddenly felt his own hard-on straining in his pants, pushing into your lower back.

“minghao, i-”

“i hope you get this next one right... or we can pack it up and call it a day?” he spoke, his voice holding a teasing tone.

“n-no! no, i can answer it.” you responded, sounding way too desperate.

he bit his lower lip in a smirk, and went on to explain the next formula and percentages normally, as if you weren’t propped on his lap. when it was your turn to answer, you felt utterly clueless. you struggled enough to even pay attention to each word that fell off his tongue in the first place

“answer me, bitch.” he warned, his grip on your cock from the outside of your shorts slowly tightening again.

“n-n-nintey two! the percentage of x is 92″ you fumbled out, squeezing your eyes shut as it was practically guess work.

“...excellent job.”

you let out a sigh of relief, loosening your tight hold on your calculator. you felt the exact plump lips you had admired this past hour and a half begin placing light, feathery kisses down the back and sides of your neck, minghao releasing his hold on your member. you whined at the loss of feeling, but your breath hitched as you felt him beginning to pull at your short’s drawstrings. you sat completely still while his lips worked into a soft spot on your neck, and he untied your drawstrings at an agonizingly slow pace.

you forced yourself to maintain your breathing when he finally loosened them, slowly reaching into your pants without a word. he began palming your bare length as he kissed harder into your weak spot, sucking a red mark into your throat. you moaned, wondering how you even found yourself in this situation, yet not wanting it to stop.

“maybe you’re not a dumbass after all, just a little slut.” he murmured into your skin. his words made your skin feel even hotter, but it still sprung your attitude right back into action.

“I probably would’ve gotten them right sooner if I had a tutor who wasn’t a horny asshole.” you respond, leaning your head back on to his shoulder as his hands work you.

however, he stopped all his movements, groaning as his teeth sunk into your soft spot. you whimpered at the jolt, almost regretting your comment as you bucked your hips into his frozen hand desperate for more of the pleasure.

“is that so? let’s keep going then.”

he brought his hand away from your erection and gripped your jaw again, forcing your head up and at the math problems before you.

minghao went on to read out the graph to you, but this time brought his tongue down to your collarbone, drawing circles into your sensitive skin in between his sentences. you squirmed under him but he gripped your hips still, making it impossible for you to seek any kind of pleasure on his lap.

you took deep breaths in between his pauses as he took his time ravaging your exposed skin, moving your hoodie aside so he could claim more territory with colorful marks. you dug your fingers into his legs, begging him to get on with it. he chuckled quietly before licking his way back up to your ear before finishing the word problem.

“so? whats the solution, little boy?” he asked, his hand finding its way back into your pants. he stroked along your length as you gathered up the willpower to speak, the pleasure becoming too much to function.

your mind raced, hopelessly looking for clues to the answer. you tried to focus, but as the long silence dragged on you felt yourself inching closer to your orgasm, finding it impossible to keep your eyes racked on the calculator. when you couldn’t handle it anymore, you summoned an answer out of thin air hoping it was correct so that minghao could just finish you off, you were so close.

“t-...the solution would be to plug the integers into the denominal fraction!” you sputtered, minghao’s hand speeding up its stroking.

just as you gave your answer, your felt minghao’s face draw next to your ear, and keys jingling at your front door - your older brother jun stepping in.

“incorrect.”

and he ceased his actions, pushing you off his lap.

⊱────────────────────────⊰

ever since then, you were obsessed with your tutor. you’re not sure if it was the thrill of almost being caught by junhui, or the frustration of having your release so cruelly denied by minghao, but each week it seemed like you would get worse at math intentionally.

the brattier you were to minghao, the more dominant he was with you - and it was intoxicating. it was a constant back & forth in the secrets of your own studying whenever it was just you two in the house, although you found it pretty hard to control yourself that one time in which junhui was still upstairs.

this week, the house was empty and the textbooks hadn’t even been opened yet before you were straddling minghao’s lap and making out. he barely had time to set his bag down and take a seat before your lips were quick to take action, devouring each other. his hot open mouthed kisses caused your mind to gloss over, moaning wantonly when his tongue pressed against yours.

when you ground your hips down on his semi-hard bulge, his hands wrapped around your waist to keep you still. you whined at him, trying to chase the friction.

“we need to start our lesson for the day.” minghao sighed. “your results last week were good, but we have a lot of work to do.”

“nooo,” you fussed at him, squeezing his shoulders. “i don’t care about the math anymore, let’s take a week off.”

you continued to aggressively kiss him before he could protest. however, minghao soon peeled his lips away from yours, the satisfying sound ringing in your ears.

“no breaks. you need to behave, y/n.” he warned, which only made you giggle before diving back into his plush lips.

god, he tasted amazing. your lips worked eagerly against his before you felt a hard smack on your ass. you jumped, whimpering at the sting his large hand caused you. you looked minghao in the eyes with an angry pout, and that only landed you another spank on your other cheek.

minghao shifted you around his lap until your back was pressed against the wooden table. he brought a hand up to wrap around your throat, forcing you keep eye contact with him.

“are you ready to be a good student now?”

you shook your head, growing aggravated. you had studied so much and now all you could think of was your brothers sexy best friend whom you willfully let control you each week. you needed him, badly. and he knew it.

minghaos hand never left your throat, and you watched his eyes study you, contemplating what he should do next. eventually, he released a slight hum, an idea seemingly coming to him like a light bulb.

“alright, fine.” he finally spoke aloud, pushing the textbooks off of the table in one swoop. he then stood, holding your underarms to lift you from his lap on to the table.

“if you can pass a pop quiz, we don’t have to study today.”

you eagerly nodded your head in compliance, cooperating as he pressed a hand to your chest and lowered you until you were flat-backed on your table. he began stripping you of your pants and boxers, leaving your bottom half exposed to the cold air. you licked your lips when you watched him start to remove his belt, but felt your excitement grow dim when he stopped after only undoing a few buttons.

he crawled on to the table, one hand resting next to your head as he hovered over you. the other came and started palming your exposed cock, allowing it to grow hard. when your eyes wandered down to watch his ministrations, he called your name sharply, shifting your attention back to him.

“you get 5 chances.” he told you, and you nodded.

damnit, those were the hardest questions of your life.

you had managed to get three wrong right off the bat, and minghao sinisterly chuckled at you each time you whimpered at him grinding his clothed hips to your needy and exposed bottom half.

“you dumb bitch... only two chances left.” he taunted, wiggling his two fingers infront of your face. he then took his two digits and prodded them at your lips.

you sighed when you took his elegant fingers into your mouth, swirling your tongue around them like a melting popsicle. your eyes rolled back from the satisfaction. he withdrew his long fingers from your mouth earlier than you liked, and began sucking on them himself. your face grew beat red at his actions, but you felt your cock twitch at the sight. he then reached down and lifted your legs around his hips, teasing his coated fingers at your entrance. a moan of desperation escaped you.

“tell me about the theory of probability if you can, little whore.” he demanded, circling one of his fingers around your bottom.

the teasing and degradation almost made you moan, but you forced yourself to stay composed, as you were finally confident in an answer. you stilled your breathing and delivered the definition without breaking eye contact. he smiled at you.

“good job, baby boy.” he replied, his demeanor instantly softer as he placed a kiss on your nose.

and without another word, he slowly sunk one of his coated fingers into your entrance. a loud moan drew from your throat, and you could’ve came from just that pleasure after being teased so much. but, even your bratty demeanor was scared to go against minghao’s wishes.

he asked you another question, and you almost exploded in joy when you also knew that one, earning you another finger. the stretch wasn’t painful but it was doing its job, causing you to feel full from his hands alone.

“last one, baby. what happens when N is even in the variance formula?”

you, being on the verge of your high once more, grabbed the back of his neck and brought his ear down to your lips, whispering the answer to him before licking the shell. he groaned, a smirk growing wide on his lips.

“shit, prince, you’re a genius.”

the tall male instantly removed his fingers from inside you, and shimmied off his own pants. your head was spinning when he plunged his erect member into you, instantly grinding with exact precision.

you couldn’t stop the moans from falling past your lips, and only grew louder when he leaned down to suck sulaciously on your adam’s apple.

“I hope junhui comes home early to see his little bitch of a brother being such a good boy, such a smart boy....” he purred into your ear in between littering hickeys on your neck and chest while rutting into you.

the pleasure was sending you to cloud nine, to the point that you didn’t even care about the probability of someone actually coming home early and catching you. all you knew was that tutoring was probably the best investment your parents have ever made.

#💌flwr;reqs #minghao x male reader #the8 x male reader #the8 #kpop male reader #kpop x male reader #seventeen male reader #svt x male reader #kpop lgbtq #seventeen x male reader #seventeen smut #minghao smut #seventeen suggestive #kpop x reader #kpop imagines #kpop smut

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roach-works · 1 year

Note

I’m always a bit nervous to talk about being Jewish on the internet. In part, I’m afraid of getting outright antisemitic harassment, and in part it’s because a lot of positive discussion of Judaism ends up getting hijacked by oblivious goyim who turn the discussion sour, no matter how well-meaning they might be.

So, it makes me really happy to see you writing openly and unabashedly about being jewish. Whether you’re writing from a place of celebration, social-media-exasperation, sorrow, joy, education, frustration, or any of them at once, it’s always good to see people talking openly. I’m starting to think that I could follow your example, and be a bit less anxious.

I know I’m just a tumblr stranger, but I want say thank you. Even the little things help! :)

aw, thanks for the sweet ask! being jewish was definitely the least and most 'minor' piece of my identity until uhhhh yknow. nazis started being real again. but i remember slamming into this weird realization a couple years ago that i had put a lot of effort into learning to respectfully depict black people, because i wanted to be a thoughtful and conscientious ally, and because i firmly believed that fantasy and science fiction should belong to everyone... but i had never even once thought of drawing a man that looked like my family.

like, i thought i was white. and then i thought, i'm white and jewish. and then i thought, what if i drew this podcast character as jewish? what if i drew him as if he looked like my uncle or my dad or my brother? and then i felt, immediately, reflexively: absolute terror.

generational trauma, growing up in the shadow of the holocaust, living and working in the midwest, you just... you hide that part of yourself. you survive. you don't get loud and proud and angry. you live like a mouse, in the corners, in what space you gnaw out for yourself.

i still don't wear a star of david. so many of my coworkers wear crosses but so many of my coworkers have guns. i think of wearing a gold star around the people who i've already cheerfully told i was gay, and my hands sweat. i think everyone who goes outside with that kind of target on their chest is phenomenally brave.

there is a bone deep terror in me of my own jewishness, of when i'll have to pay for it, of what the bill will be, of what i might do or say that's a little too loud or clumsy or obvious or true, and thus sign my own warrant. jews are so brave and so strong to keep living through all this but like have you seen the midrash? have you seen how many generations of our sages left behind the distilled wisdom of a lifetime and it boiled down to be secret, be safe.

jewish representation is so fucking fraught! the theif, the banker, the pedophile, the goblin, the bones in the oven. we don't often get to tell our own stories, or wear our own faces. and even when we have the opportunity, it's terrifying. we flinch. how jewish is superman, really? our hero, our ubermench, the most famous converso. we joke around, we make coded allusions, we minimize.

it's hard to walk into the spotlight and smile when you don't know if you're in a theater or a prison yard, you know?

so. i don't know. i don't know! sorry to explode on you! i'm going to a christmas party at a bar tomorrow. i live in indiana and work a blue collar job with guys who think trump was a whole lot of fun but invited me specifically and promised to buy me a pint. there'll be ax throwing and free drinks and i'm probably going to have to explain hannukah for the fifty millionth time. second verse, same as the first, a little bit louder and a whole lot worse.

the sages write: be secret, be safe. survive. but even with all that weight, you've got to be brave, you know? i think you know. you can't live your life in the dark. you can't make art from the fetal position.

even the mouse deserves a day out.

#maus #jewish blogging #nightblogging #roach's kawaii life

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sgiandubh · 6 months

Note

Do you think he does different types of promo to attract all the different crowds?

Dear Promo Anon,

Not only I think he does that, I also happen to think he (or anyone seriously hoping to sell anything other than snake oil) should do exactly that.

The problem is not the logical correlation between what you want to sell and the people to whom you want to sell it. The first problem is the lack of balance between your way of interacting with your different target groups, which could lead to a very fuzzy brand image. Both of your products and of yourself, who are their creator and main promoter.

Promoting a brand without a clear set of main ideas and values is very likely to have a negative impact on your sales. Show them biceps, sea, sex (?) and sun galore is all fine and dandy for the younger crowd (and the LGBT+ one, btw). But showing at the same time that you can be a gentleman (please, for the love of Saruman, get rid of those rings! that woman doesn't know what she's talking about!) should be at least on par with the Lustfest promise you ventilate to your other segment. Possible message being: working hard and playing hard - you can have the best of both worlds (or at least try).

The second problem is that S's brand is.. ehrm... way too personal. Too approachable (I already mentioned the Costco Hugfest) for a rabid fandom. That goes both ways, btw, because many (on both sides of the Great Divide) honestly feel they own a bit of S. At the same time, he is also JAMMF to many people in here, who imagine he has almost superhuman qualities (most probably not the case). That is exhilarating and empowering, until it's not. One or three or twenty faux-pas later, people will feel the savage urge to spit on the idol. A simple matter of collective instinct, but a very tricky situation for S.

The third problem are the side players. I am not talking about AN or CB or TMcG or the Fitness Harem. I am talking about the Trolls, who really don't do him any favor. Nothing worse for his brand potential than lascivious comments - let's suppose you are a major distributor's marketing expert and you land on That Blog, where the owner shares publicly her dream of licking her way from (how was it?) LHR to GLA to the Highlands to the ends of the known Universe, for a chance of God knows what. What would you write in that memo to the CEO? 'Yes, please: immediately place ALL his booze upfront near the cashier, because the man is an idol to a bunch of fifty-something women who dream the impossible dream?' You think I am exaggerating? Try googling for SRH tumblr and see the first results (😱). These people are visible and that visibility directly informs the interaction between SS and its potential business partners. Especially when your Partner Everyday thought blasting a sizeable chunk of OL's Tumblr fandom in Vanity Fair was a clever strategy for The Win - things like this invite (unwanted) attention.

I pleaded for diversification of the marketing strategy and for a more sophisticated approach and I welcome the change, Anon. The only thing I would like you to take home from this very long answer is simple:

Social Media is just Social Media. The glitz, the glam, the superficial stardust, the Truman Show where it never rains.

Real Life is Real Life. We only see glimpses, speculate on it, have a more or less educated guess and if we are lucky enough, some tidbits to chew on.

Progressively, the very unprofessional (bantering) Social Media strategy has been replaced with an account strategy based on product promotion. Convenient, when you do not (for reasons X, Y and Z) want to discuss what you feel is private and likely to remain so, for a while.

That's about it, Anon. If you still have questions, you can always pop in here. I promise I won't charge a retainer, out of my good heart.

#Anon #BoozeWars

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dope-trope-105 · 1 year

Text

I’ll do anything.

Modern Aegon II Targaryen x reader

A/N: Reader is a pretty mellowed out person, and she’s a little bit of a crybaby. She’s hinted to have dark hair and brown eyes.

Summary: Aegon has been in love with you since he met you three months ago, but you think he only wants to fuck you, and you don’t want another non-emotional sexual partner. So you refuse to accept his advances, no matter how much he tries. Until he’s just so desperate one day.

Warings: hungover Aegon, mentions of addiction, mentions of death, angst

Word count: 2.6k

You met Aegon one day when you had come out for lunch alone, wanting to enjoy the sun, and having found neither of your friends available, you ventured out on your own. You weren’t dressed very fancy or anything, just a light green dress, which reached down to your ankles, and had thin straps, allowing a little cleavage to show with transparent heels and simple jewellery, letting your hair flow behind you, open. You only carried a medium sized purse, also transparent and sunglasses, which currently rested at the top of your head as you sipped on some trashy caffeinated drink that you spent a little too much on to waste. “Vanilla-matcha” sounded much better than it tasted. You were happy it matched your dress, but that was the extent of your likeness to her drink.

“You seem to regret your choice of food,” came Aegon’s smooth voice. You smiled at his sudden interruption of your empty thoughts.

“You got me there,” you sighed, the smile audible in your voice.

“Anybody sitting here,” he asked, long ring clad fingers running over the chair. You shook your head, gesturing for him to sit down.

“Why would you ever order matcha?” he asked, leaning both his elbows on the table, interlocking his fingers as he rested his chin upon them.

“It matched my dress” you shrugged, Aegon’s eyes crinkling with a complete smile at your simple answer.

“Beautiful dress to waste on an afternoon alone,” he said. You mimicked his position.

“I’m not trying to hookup, you know,” you said, sensing his intentions. You didn’t hate him for it, you just didn’t want to get involved in meaningless sex anymore.

“Oh my, in that case, I wouldn’t dare,” he said, making you laugh.

You spent the entire day talking with Aegon, and allowed him to show you around in the evening as well. Around 11 pm, you asked him to let you go. Aegon hated leaving you, but drove you home nonetheless. You texted each other the entire night after that. Soon Aegon replaced your friends at lunchtimes quite often. Then he started coming over for dinner as well. He even began driving you to college as well.

“I have a driver, Aegon, and I can drive on the off-chance he’s not available,” you would say, and he would turn a deaf ear to you, refusing to leave you alone.

Yet you had made it clear he wasn’t going to get you to sleep with him. At first Aegon’s ego was bruised. He didn’t understand why you wouldn’t. Why you’d rather stay at home and study or read than go out and party, why you wouldn’t fuck around. He stalked you socials, but there wasn’t much to stalk. Your twitter was simply educational, with a spritz of news on your favourite rapper, you instagram had only six or seven posts, two of which weren’t even your own face. Your highlights were a slight glimpse of your life, your stories were, more often than not, the things around you, not you. He was thankful for your tiktok. Though still rarely, you would post real life videos of yourself, usually with friends, you would giggle at their jokes, or smile at the phone camera before posing for something on some other camera. Your life was completely devoid of what he considered fun, sex, drugs, late night parties.

So a day or two later, he didn’t text her back, a single text from you had him running to your house. “Guess you realised I’m not gonna sleep with you,” you wrote. And he swore he lost it that day. After that, he wouldn’t let a day go by when he wouldn’t see you. He hung out with you at cafe’s, drove you to your classes, took you to the beach, and took you to dinner. But dinner was as late as you let it go, and even then your drinks were barely alcoholic. Aegon’s life was obvious to you, but he’d managed to keep the drugs part hidden for the longest time. He fucked around, but he began to notice the pattern, every single girl looked like you, he would moan your name in his drugged up, drunken haze, the other girls moaned someone else’s name as well, usually. But it wasn’t fulfilling.

It was three months since you met when one night, it just didn’t do for him. The drugs that gave him a rush of sex today just didn’t do, the dark haired girls just didn’t do. He drove to your house, tears running down his face as knocked on your door. He banged on it for five minutes, his tears erupting into sobs by the time you finally opened the door.

“Aegon, it’s one am what are you-” you said, completely stopping as you heard his cries. “What happened, what’s wrong,” you asked, suddenly panicked as you wrapped her arms around him, bringing his head to your chest, arms tight around him as he sobbed into you.

“They’re not enough,” he cried, his words slurred as his body heaved, his sobs only growing louder. You were panicking, you were scared.

“What’s not enough, Aegon please, don’t cry, I’m right here with you, tell me what’s wrong. Talk to me,” you said, concern latched onto your voice as his arms finally wrapped around you, pulling you so close you could barely breathe.

“They’re not you,” he said, bringing his red-rimmed eyes up to your face.

“It’s, I- I don’t, I don’t understand Aegon,” you stammered, eyebrows furrowed. He had stopped sobbing, reduced to sniffling. “Come on, sit down, I’ll make you some tea, we’ll talk then,” you said, slowly unwrapping his arms from your waist.

“NO” he screamed. Arms wound tighter than before as he hid his head into the crook of your neck.

“Alright, just come sit with me,” you said, moving to bring him inside so you could close the door. You somehow struggled and walked to your couch. “Aegon, please, sit down, I won’t go anywhere,” you said, your voice so sweet he finally listened to you.

He sat down on the sofa, you went and quickly got him some water. “Drink,” you asked, handing out the glass. When he made no movement, eyes fixated on the coffee table, you grabbed his arm and made him hold the glass, and then he drank. “Do you want me to make you something to eat,” you asked. “Just stay with me,” he begged. The desperation in his voice cracked your heart. You grabbed the couch blanket and sat down next to him, stilling your movements when he laid his head into your lap. You sighed, and put the blanket over his form.

“You drink too much Aegon,” you said after a while, leaning back into the sofa as you softly brushed his hair with your fingers. “Even I have gotten blackout drunk sometimes, it’s never like this,” you spoke, knowing he had already fallen fast asleep as his breathing steadied. The silence was broken by his phone vibrating in his pocket. You grabbed it to silence it, not wanting to wake him. The screen flashed a man with similar blonde hair as his, only straighter and longer. He was tall, and a scowl painted his sharp features as Aegon rested his arm around his shoulders. “Aemond,” read the caller ID. Aegon had told you about his family. You picked up, “Aegon I’m tired of you coke induced runs around town. Where the fuck are you?” came an angry voice. “Hey Aemond, it’s Y/n, did you say coke?” you asked, taken aback. You had met Aegon’s siblings one time. “Y/n?” he asked, ignoring your question. “Yeah, he uh, he showed up at my door, crying. He kept saying it wasn’t enough. I didn’t understand. He’s fallen asleep now, do you want me to wake him?” you asked, hoping he’d say no. You felt so horrible, seeing him like that. Sleep would do him some good. “Uh yeah, I said coke. His supply must’ve run out, do you mind keeping him there for the night or should I pick him up?” Aemond asked. “You sound exhausted, and he didn’t seem so good. Don’t worry, I’ll drive him to you tomorrow, get some rest,” you said. “Thank you so much,” he said before hanging up, the relief evident in his voice. But your eyes scanned over Aegon’s frame, your fingers began to run through his soft hair again as you grew sad. You did grow to love Aegon over the last three months. But things like? Things like this was why you refused to make a connection with him.

You had fallen asleep like that, your fingers in his hair, your back leaning against the soft cushions on the sofa. Though the sleep wasn’t your best. Your alarm rang around eight am, which you quickly turned off. Aegon stirred. But your legs were sore, you needed to stretch them. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes. You grabbed one of the cushions and slowly moved from under his head, replacing yourself with a pillow. You readjusted the blanket to completely cover his sleeping form and then went back to your room. You freshened up, changed into your workout clothes and went to the gym. Your workout lasted around an hour and a half. You came back expecting Aegon to still be asleep. He was. You showered, put on your black tank top and plaid pyjamas again, wanting to feel cosy. You reheated some food, finished it, and then finally decided to wake Aegon up.

“Hey Aeg, wake up,” you said, gently shaking his body. He woke up after a few tries, looking very sick. “Come on, I’ve got a spare toothbrush you can use,” you said, your voice holding a tone of gentleness. He looked so out of it. You grabbed his arm, ushering him to get up. He finally did.

You managed to get him to the bathroom and shut the door behind him. You sat on the bed, picking at your lips with worry as your leg bounced up and down. Every few moments, you would hear a groan or something from the bathroom. It must’ve been twenty minutes when he finally came out. He’d gotten rid of his jacket and boots, now only wearing loosely fitted dark jeans and a crinkled black t-shirt. He’d gotten rid of most of his jewellery as well, only wearing a necklace. His hair seemed completely dishevelled, and he swung on his feet, still hungover. His eyes had bags under them, he just looked so tired, so completely done with life. You didn’t realise you had tears in your eyes until they fell.

“Why would you do this to yourself?” you finally asked. He could hear the pain in your voice. He didn’t say anything. You sniffled, wiping the lone tear as you gazed out of the window for a moment. He didn’t dare move. “Come, I’ve got some food for you,” you said, getting up, taking him out of the room by his arm. You were walking on eggshells, he could tell. You sat him down and put a plate in front of him. It was rice with some chicken on the side. “It’s good, I promise, not too spicy,” you said, sitting down next to him. He looked at the food and then at you, a small smile was on your face but it didn’t reach your eyes.

“Please Aegon, just eat a little bit,” you said, you was desperate.

“I can’t,” he said, voice so low he barely heard himself.

You huffed and grabbed the plate, mixing the chicken with the rice holding up the spoon to his mouth, eyes hopeful as he gazed at you, finally taking the bite as he watched your face slightly relax. He chewed slowly, the smooth rice going down his sore throat. He swallowed, and you held up another bite. He finished the food, bit by bit, and you patiently fed him, not showing an ounce of frustration. And then you handed him juice. “You must be dehydrated,” you said, getting up from the chair. Aegon grabbed your wrist in a weak hold, the other hand setting down the juice as he finally looked up at you, “why?” he asked. “Because you were drinking last night, and-and,” you stopped, refusing to speak further. He knew what you wanted to say but couldn’t. What was regular for him was unimaginable for you, wrong morally and lawfully. You couldn’t even say it.

“No, I mean why are you doing this?” he asked. You sat back down.

“What would you have me do, throw you into my car and ask you to be driven home in this state? What will you say to your parents?” you asked. He scoffed, you were so clueless.

“They wouldn’t care,” he said, bitterness in his voice. And your concern returned. You looked down in your lap, fingers playing with your rings.

“When you came here last night, you were crying. You said ‘It wasn’t enough.’ Did you mean-?” you looked at him again, still unwilling to say it, but he got the gist of it.

“No, it’s not the coke I was talking about,” he said.

“Then what Aegon, what had you so hurt?” you asked, desperate as you grabbed one of his hands in both of your own, your thumb running soft circles on the back of his hand.

“You,” he simply said. Your movements completely ceased.

“What does that mean?” you asked, anger evident in your voice.

“I love you,” he said. You let out an exasperated breath.

“You’re fucked up Aegon, the drugs and the alcohol have gone to your head. You need to detox,” you said. You snatched her hands away from him, tears brimming at your eyes. The last thing you wanted to do was face your own feelings.

“I’ve loved you since the moment I saw you. I love you every time I see you. I’ve loved you every time I’m inside some random girl I don’t care about, and you love me too. You care about me,” he finished, his heart clenching as you looked away from him.

“I can’t love you Aegon,” you said, your voice cracking.

“Why not?” he begged, so desperate he felt he might explode.

“Look at you,” you said, sad brown eyes meeting his grey ones as your tears fell. “You’re slowly killing yourself, how could I do it?” The tears fell again, not because you didn’t love him, but because you knew you did, and because he was digging his own grave, and you couldn’t love a person who was unwilling to care about their own life.

“I’ll stop, I’ll stop everything, these were just party drugs, I don’t need them. All I want is you, just be with me and I’ll leave the drugs” he said, his heart tearing in his own chest.

“What the fuck Aegon, you can’t force me onto an ultimatum. And cocaine isn’t a fucking party drug,” you said, wanting to slap some sense into him.

“I’ll do anything,” he said, tears falling from his eyes too. “Please, I’ll do anything” he said, standing up as he grabbed you, pulling you close as he hid his face in your hair.

“I can’t watch you kill yourself, Aegon,” you said, arms wrapping around him too.

“I won’t baby, I won’t,” he promised.

#aegon targaryen x reader #modern au #modern aegon x reader #aegon angst #aegon the elder #Aegon II Targaryen #house of the dragon #modern aegon targaryen #aegon ii x y/n

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igotanidea · 1 year

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Edit : Matt Murdock x fem!avenger!reader

Summary: reader is an avenger who gets shipped with daredevil. And she's familar with all those TikTok videos of them together but made her mission to never let Matt know about them. Even if she would be more than happy to make them reality. It only takes two slightly nosy friends to slip that secret out......

A/N: reader hero name is Shadow. A snippet of her story is here and here.

@somest1 hope you'll enjoy that.

"Matthew."

"Karen." something was definitely on. She never called him by his full name unless she was going to drop him some news that she knew he was not going to like

"Do you know what TikTok is?"

"Vaguely. Is it that app when teenagers do some crazy dance?"

"Crazy dance?" Foggy scoffed "CRAZY dance? You my friend should really get educated on the latest technology news. tiktok is the place where you can express yourself freely, not only by dancing but also by creating edits of the people you know or fictional characters you like....." he started ro rumble, for a while unaware of his friends' shocked face expression." Sorry." only then he realised how he exposed himself "please, continue Karen."

"I'm actually glad for your little lecture, Foggy" she laughed "makes it easier for me to present my case."

"Present your case? You definitely spend to much time with us." Matt smirked "you became a lawyer rather than a journalist."

"It's useful at times." she shrugged "but if it ever were to happen I know Y/N would stop me. She uses a lot of modern words I never knew existed so my vocabulary is expanding in many fields."

"She has to be up to date with that. After all, she runs social networks and is in charge of the PR. No one would be interested in her company if she was using words like "thy" or "thou".

"Speaking of Y/n....."

"What did she do this time.....?" Matt sighed, seemingly annoyed but his ears became just slightly reddened at the tips. "And most importantly, does it have to do with her civil indentity or the Shadow one?"

"A little bit of both I suppose. She's been the object of interest of late."

"What interest?" now Matt was up, not realising that the mere thought of Y/N getting too much attention made his Darevil instict kick in. "I.... I need to stretch my legs...." he awkwardly tried to cover up for the mistake, both Karen and Foggy noticed.

"I didn't mean it like she's in danger or anything like that." Karen scoffed.

"And even if she was, she knows how to handle herself better than Dare...I mean, you, my friend" Foggy added. "She's an avenger after all."

"What is it then?" Matt insisted

"She's a role model for a lot of people. Teenagers. Kids. Who actually use the apps. And they make edits of her. Different edits. And....ships."

"What now?"

"A little edit with a pairing of people who the author believes are good fit." Foggy explained, quickly catching up where Karen was heading with her explanation. Oh, yes, he saw those little videos posted everywhere on the social platforms. I mean, how could he not, they were trending for a couple weeks not.

"Ok. And why exacly are you telling me this? It's not like I can or want to see them." Matt turned away from his friends so they won't see the look on his face. Meaning he actually had something to hide.

"Maybe you would be more interested in the matter if you knew who she's being shipped with....."

"That's her personal bussiness. I have nothing to do with it. Besides, I should be getting back to work, so if you excuse me......" he turned around on his heels and dissappeared in the office, closing the door.

"Foggy?" Karen looked at the other lawyer, silent cry for help in her eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. For a lawyer, he can be one hell of an idiot outside of work not getting the hints. "

***

"Hey gyus!" Y/N peeked through the door to Nelson & Murdock law firm. Clearly she was already done with her civil work for the day and came to check up if her friends were still alive in that office. After all, it was hella late.

"Y/n! How nice to see you. I though you would be on your vigilante shit already." Foggy raised head from the papers he was burried in.

"Hush! Keep it quiet, Fog, will you? Can't risk getting my secret identity out. Besides, there's no threat outside today. I would feel itdue to my .... you know, powers" she waved her hands and a thread of shadow appeared. "And if anything happens, Kate and Peter would call upon me. Those two cannot work together, they are both chaotic....."

"I see." Foggy hummed.

"What?" Y/N frowned, feeling that there was something he was not telling her.

"Nothing!"

"You're one bad liar, Franklin Nelson." the girl sat on the chair on the opposite site of his desk and bored eyes into him "Talk."

"Stop doing this."

"I'm not doing anything."

"And who is a bad liar now, huh?" Foggy bridled "I can feel your.... shadows luring me."

"One thing, Foggy. I don't use them for such petty reasons, all right. I know better than to abuse them. My shadows can be a bit ... moody at times. It;s not a force to play around with. So, cross my heart, I'm not doing anything."

"You try to interrogate me in my own office!"

Y/N sighed deeply and rubbed her forehead.

"It's sad you see it that way, but I understand. Maybe we can have some take out instead. I bought some Chinsese." she motioned towards the huge bag, now sitting on the floor. Only now, Foggy realised the smells coming from the package. And the fact that he has not eaten for like 10 hours.

"You're heaven send."

"The upper might disagree with that."

"Foggy? Did you see the latest.... Oh, hello Y/N" Karen walked right into Foggy's office with the phone in her hands and smile on her face, probably due to the video she was watching.

"What put a grin like that on your face Karen?"

"Nothing."

"You two are in collusion with something, aren't you?" the girl rolled her eyes "fine. keep your secret. I will find it out sooner or later and ...."

"Something smells nice here...."

"And here he is. The third musketeer. Hello, Matt."

"Y/N." he muttered, gaze fixed on the floor like he was trying to avoid any possible contact with her, even if he could not see her "what's the scent?"

"New shampoo, I suppose? Do you like it?" she laughed knowing he had super sensing with things like this. "But seriously, I bought some spring rolls and dim sums. Figured you workaholic forgot about lunch. And probably breakfast. And probably yesterday's lunch."

"Did you bring....?"

"Your favourite noodles? Sure I did, Matty." she smiled and he reciprocated with the brightest smile Karen and Foggy has seen on him for the whole day.

"Shall we then?" Karen moved to sit by the table and her gaze crossed with Foggy's who only smirked knowingly.

***

It's been barely an hour since her arrival at the Nelson and Murdock when she jumped at the signal of her phone.

"Damn it! It's Peter" Y/N cussed

"Peter like that spider guy?" Foggy almost choked on his food "When can I get to meet him?"

"Sorry guys, seems like there is in fact an emergency tonight. And while I would love to stay, someone else I know is desperately needed out in the streets, so rain check?" she schmoozed hoping her friends would understand.

"Just go!" Karen waved her hands, already used to such situations.

"Wait. I'll go with you." Mat stood up as well

"Why?"

"I'm bored. I need some action." he shrugged and she smirked .

"Jealous of me getting more attention than you? You don't want me to steal the spotlight, right?"

"Were you thinking anything else?"

"You're just the devil of hell's kitchen, Matty. A local hero. Are you sure you're not beyond your pay grade, trying to deal with the Avengers?" Y/N raised an eyebrow, clearly trying to spite him.

"Young avengeers" he clarified.

"And that makes you even more out of the league." she smirked

"I see the open spot as a team leader. Maybe I should take that instead."

"Over my dead body, Murdock!"

***

Regardless of their constant bickering, Matt and Y/N made quite a good team. Even if they were both individuals, during the years they knew each other, they learned how the other thought and how to avoid a fracture and internal fights. And as much as they would rather die than admit it out loud, it was nice having backup from time to time. Or someone to tend to your wounds.

Did they trust each other? Yes, on some deeper level that only waited to be discovered.

Were they friends? Well, if you were to ask them that question both of them would say yes, but... something more was lingering. And now, after the fight, when the adrenaline was pumping, hearts beating rapidly and they weren't Matt and Y/N but Darededevil and Shadow, Murdock had less inhibitions about her being at his place, resting and getting patched up. Normally, she would just go back to her place, but this time, his apartment was closer and it was wiser to dissapear from the fight scene faster. She really had no counterarguments to that. So she made sure Peter and Kate made it home safe and now, she was just laying on Matt's couch in shorts and tank top, legs dangling freely over the armrest, fresh dressings on her abdomen and an ice pack on the shoulder.

"I actually had fun this time." she chuckled and Matt frowned.

"Dislocated shoulder and a knife to the stomach is fun for you?"

"Not as much as standing against the Chitauri, but yes, it is."

"Stop bragging, will you?" he rolled his eyes, grabbing her legs and taking a spot on the couch, so that her limbs were now resting on his lap. And it was strangely comforting and .... domestic.

"Bragging? Me? You know I would never. Just pointing out at some past events here."

"How old were you when Loki attacked New York? 5? You were not really fighting!"

"I was 15!" she huffed sitting up "And I was already a SHIELD agent! Where were you, huh? High school? I can absolutely imagine you as an awkward teenager "

"You know what..." Matt started but chiming of her phone stopped him from finishing.

"Ugh! I'm not done with you!" she squirmed and reached for the device checking who has the audacity to interrupt her fight with Matt.

"Who's that?" he asked.

"Why so interested all of a sudden?"

"Someone might have mentioned somethign about you getting attention on..... Tiktok?"

"Yeah, trust me, all the heroes and vigilantes do." she muttered

"You know about it?"

"For crying out loud, Matt." she moved her legs and sat up making him miss the contact "I work with the apps! No matter if I want it or not, I came across some of those videos. Some of them are really, really good, those kids have skills, but I try not to search for them. Sometimes you come across some things you wish you could unsee....." she tensed a bit at some distant memory

"I don't think I will have a problem with that" he smirked and her shoulders relax at the joke.

"I bet! It's Karen by the way, speak of the devil. She send me some link. Might be that thing she was watching in the office that got her smiling like crazy." without any hestitation Y/N opened the link and much to her suprised she was put through TikTok .

"She's spending work time on the Internet? Maybe I should reprimand her ..... Y/N?" he felt the change in the atmosphere when Y/N started the edit.

"Oh, no..... " she whispered muting it immediately so that Matt won't hear the music. Heat waves. Used as a soundtrack to her, i.e. Shadow's ship with Matt, i.e. Daredevil. However she was not fast enough.

Sometimes all I think about it you......

"Damn that fucking device!" she almost threw it across the room.

"What is it?" he asked suddenly getting a lot of mutually inconsistent vibes from her.

"NOTHING!"

"You can't lie to me, you know."

"It's nothing, Matt. Forget it." she exited the site, not wanting to see more and put the phone on the table. "Can we go back to our argument?"

"I....." Matt opened his mouth but once again her phone started to ring.

"Ugh!" Y/N cried and picked up.

"Looks like someone's addicted." Matt teased

"Shut up! Hello? Peter? Did you get home safe? Good. Me? Yeah, I'm fine, I'm hanging at Matt's place. You what? Ok, all right I guess." she covered the phone "he wants to go on speaker. You don;t mind, right?"

"Since when do you care about my opinion?"

"It's your apartment. Even I can respect the host boundaries if...."

"Do it. I like that kid."

"Mr. Daredevil?" Peter's voice came through

"Hey kid. You good?"

" Pretty fine."

"No troubles on the way?"

"No, sir. But I .... um..... Can I say something?"

"Keep it rational, Pete" Y/N rubbed her forehead. Parker was like a youger brother to her, but sometimes he acted like a total teenager. With all the worst things coming from it.

"I've been going through your fanpage, Y/N...."

"My what?" the girl raised her head, eyes widening. She knew about the videos and stuff but fanpage? "I can't remember appointing you the head of my personal PR!"

"Let him talk, Y/n. this is going to be fun" Matt slapped her leg playfully and she stuck her tongue at him.

"Um... thanks, Mr. Murdock. So like I said, I;ve been running....."

"And?" she was getting impatient

"I just gotta ask. Are you two together? Cause there are a lot of comments about how good you would fit and.... Y/N? Mr. Murdock?" poor boy was clearly discouraged by the silnce on the other side.

Fuck..... y/n thought. And to think that mere minutes ago she was fighting that Matt would not hear that song. Now it was out.

"Do they?" Matt dwelled, using his lawyer skills to trick the teen. "what exactly do they say?"

"For example......"

"Ok, this is enough. Thank you for calling Peter, this was extremely enlightening. I'm gonna hang up now, take care"

She disconnected, not sure how to act now. The best way out was probably to shrug it off, but since she was emotional before it might not work. However, being casual was worth a shot.

"Well that was a hell of an evening" she stood up and streched her back, a bit of skin showing. "I think I'm gonna head out to my place."

""Y/n" Matt grabbed her hand and made her spun. "Can you explain?"

"Explain what?" she took a step back but he followed "Peter's tosses? I think he's projecting, I swear I saw him hit his head during the fight and....."

"Did you know?"

"About his mental incapabily and wanton imagination?" she was trying so desperately to cover the heat she felt rising towards her cheeks, heartbeat picking up, hands starting to tremble.

"Y/N." his voice became soft, his touch lingering on her skin "Don't do this....." he brush a strand of hair behind her ear, so damn tenderly it made her shiver.

"Matt, I ......"

"Please, talk to me. Did you know?"

"I did." there was no point lying. He would know.

"Were you ok with that? with those videos? You mentioned seeing something you did not like and ...."

"I never consider any possibility of this becoming real...." she confessed "it was just a fantasty and ....."

"And what about now?' he whispered getting even closer

"Now?" she gulped "did anything change?"

"A lot. Now I know too."

"And?" she asked that question so quietly that it made her doubt if he even heard it.

"You should have told me sooner...." his hands wandered onto her waist pulling her close, slowly, carefully, giving her time and space to back out even if they both knew she wouldn;t do such thing. "Can I?" he brushed his lips over hers.

"Mhm....." she mummbled trembingly.

And when he finally closed the gap between them she wished she told him sooner. The way he was touching her, holding her close to him, kissing her..... It made her feel wanted. Loved. Not just as the Shadow, but as Y/N. She felt all. Happiness, relief, joy, sense of belonging, peace..... And a bit of fear and uncertainty if this was right. But that quickly melted away when he deepened the kiss and her hands instinctively moved towards his hair tugging at the roots making his groan.

"I think I'm gonna have to pay more attention to social sites from now on...." he pulled for air and rested his forehead on hers, one hand cupping her cheek, the other on the small on her back, preventing her from getting to far away.

"shall I remind you, you can't see....?"

"Oh, honey, I can imagine. From what I get that song from before.....?"

"Mhm. It was the soundtrack." she muttered "But you can catch up on it all later. Now, can you kiss me more? Please?"

"Don't need to ask me twice, baby." he smiled and captured her lips in his.

@pinksirensong

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tiathecreator · 20 hours

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⋆⭒˚｡⋆ so american ( hobie brown ) !

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎.𖥔 ݁ ˖✎ᝰ synopsis — " he laughs at all my jokes and he says i'm so american. " blk reader.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟcontains — ooc (?) hobie, fluff, swearing, atsv!hobie brown, hobie is taller than you no matter what, very very slight.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ tia speaks — because nobody told olivia to write such a cute song like my goodness. i love this song so bad ( almost as bad as i love accented men ) so i had to write a piece inspired by it ! i am also using this to be a complete feminism nerd and i almost wrote something similar with another olivia song lol. i totally recommend reading this whilst listening to 'so american' by olivia rodrigo !! happy reading !

despite his punk exterior, hobie is the best boyfriend you've ever had.

you'd first met hobie when you were selected to speak at a diversity conference in london. you were studying abroad in the middle of your second year of university, using the excuse of 'furthering your education' to read authentic european literature and cross of some of your bucket list. he was doing his usual routine when he swung by a billboard advertising the conference. he decided to check it, never one to shy away from social politic discourse. he stopped by a few panels, taking a liking to the minority in leadership panel, before stopping by the gender and intersectionality panel.

hobie's eyebrows rose as he watched you prepare yourself for your own presentation. you were dressed in business professional with the best shaped afro hobie had ever seen. his pulse quickened as you sent the moderator a ready smile before you began speaking.

and you were so american.

your charisma was enchanting, gracefully demanding the attention of the room. you engaged with the audience as you presented, throwing in small jokes here and there to keep the crowded attentive. he even imagined your expression becoming the slightest bit bashful as he caught your eye. you ended your presentation with another dazzling smile and an adorable tilt of your head at the sound of the applause filling the room.

he was even more impressed with your ability to answers questions on the fly. it was as if you thought of every possible questions and came up with perfectly calculated answers for each of them.

"i have a question for y/n. you mentioned white feminism and black feminism as two separate movements due to the lack of inclusion of marginalized women and their concerns. does that mean that you believe that white women are inherently racist?" a commentator asked. a furrow found its way in between your brow before you answered.

"no, i called it uninclusive because i meant it did not include the needs of women who were not upper class, able, educated, white women. black feminism can include women who are not black as it's an umbrella term of sorts. it serves to uplift and represent the underrepresented and unite all feminists, not imply that all white women are racist because of one social group. there are some wonderful white women who can acknowledge their privilege and use it to uplift us all as a united front rather than living in their individual comfortability. thank you for your question."

after your panel concluded, hobie found himself searching for you in the crowd of spectators. he eventually found you holding a bouquet of flowers from the moderator as you put away your things. he casually made his way to you, slipping through the ocean of bodies before standing behind you.

"would've gotten flowers if i had known someone as smart as you would be presenting here. however, i doubt i'd be able to find anything as beautiful as you, ms. america," he charmed, immediately gaining your attention as you turned to him.

"i take it that you liked my presentation," you mused, smiling up at the man before you.

"liked it so much that i'd like to hear it again. maybe over a meal some time, yeah?"

your cheeks stung from how wide you smiled as you punched your number into his phone, telling him to text you the details.

you guys hit it off as your personalities, morals, and routines meshed almost perfectly. you finished your educational responsibilities around the same time he finished his internship, leaving the two of you with enough time to see each other at least three times a week, excluding your weekend.

he's so attentive as he remembers everything about you, including things that you mentioned offhandedly. you'll expect him to pay it no mind until he says or does something that showed you that he was in fact listening to your every word.

and he's so soft with you. underneath your boyfriend's unapproachable persona was a man who was putty in your hands. he melts into your embrace, hands gently cupping your face as he laid a breathless kiss on your lips. he was always touching you when he was in your presence. he usually opted for the casual arm hooked across your front as he rested his chin on your shoulder. it was the perfect height for you to whisper all of your jokes into his ear, ensuring that he didn't miss the chance to indulge in your humor.

you actually guessed that he was the esteemed spider-punk after having rescued you from a mid-evening robbery. you noticed the stature of the hero looked familiar as you watched him swing through the air.

"what happened here?" you asked him one lazy morning, pointing to the bruise forming on his shoulder.

"i slipped in the shower," he mumbled, pulling you closer to him as he tried to go back to sleep.

"are you sure it had nothing to do with that pole the news showed you being flung into?" you mused.

"how'd you figure?" he asked, eyes now open as he looked down at you with a tired grin.

"what kind of girlfriend would i be if i didn't know my boyfriend when i saw him?" you replied, planting a kiss on the corner of his mouth. "plus i’ve tripped over your beat up sneakers enough times to recognize them."

"sneakers," he said, copying your accent. he let out an amused gruff after you painlessly slapped his arm. "you're such an american."

he made the effort to join you for your public demonstrations, only stepping in when someone got mouthed off at you too much for his liking, knowing that you could hold your own but preferring if you didn't have to. he read all of your favorite books as well as any pieces that you mentioned to him. he participates in most of your hobbies, even picking up a few and calling them his own.

he even calls your mom, asking her how she had been since the last time he had the chance to ask. she was more excited to see him the first time you visited since meeting him. she tried to treat him as a guest, but he was set on helping her around the house, taking care of any odd problems she had.

you might just have to marry him if he keeps this shit up.

#☆ — tia the creator!#hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x black reader #hobie brown #hobie x reader #hobie x black!reader #spider punk x reader #spider punk x black reader #atsv x reader #atsv x black reader #spiderman atsv x black reader #spiderman atsv

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