#this is why my literature essays were never an a grade

[minhosimthings]

Prideful

Synopsis: You never thought that Lee Heeseung, the man who had proven you wrong in the subject you were best at, would be fucking you on the classroom floor, but here you were.

Pairings: Heeseung × fem!reader, sort of enemies hate sex, includes Sunoo from Enha, and Soojin

Warnings: Smut with plot in the beginning, MINORS DNI, fluffy in the beginning, mention of food, degradation, praise, fingering, oral (f receiving), sex on the floor, unprotected sex (not for you bubs), rough sex, overstimulation, swearing, Heeseung calls reader princess and doll, open ending my babies have fun with that

A/N: idea came into my brain and I thought I'd forget about it and just added it to my wip list but then I was like NOPE IMMA WRITE THIS SHIT. So this makes my third smut for Heeseung (idk why I'm writing only smut for him) enjoy it y'all

Jane Austen once wrote an entire fanfic about enemies to lovers, slow burn, and she thought no one would notice. Well almost no one. Nothing ever gets out of the eyes and pens of literature majors does it? Especially not out of hardcore Jane Austen fans like yourself.

You must have analysed that godforsaken piece of literature atleast a thousand times since you recieved it as a gift for your birthday. And every single time, you failed to understand how such a love could be possible. I mean come on, a man and woman who hate each other, falling in love with each other? Either Jane Austen must have been a reincarnation of Aphrodite, or a madwoman who still kept faith in love.

Your heart nearly exploded when your professor had assigned a full fledged essay-presentation, costing half your grade on Pride and Prejudice. "Explore your opinion!" She had called out cheerfully, "Tell me what your heart truly feels about this beautiful piece and I'll give you a full half grade and no assignments for the rest of the semester." The class gasped in excitement at her words as you pretended to be interested. Internally, you were groaning. Wasting half of your night to make a presentation about a book you hold no love for? The universe really was against you. You picked your books up dejectedly and walked towards the entrance, shoulders hunched and music at a higher level of noise than it should have been at.

"Oh shit!" You cursed, dropping your books at the sudden interruption. A flurry of blue wool flooded in your face, as you leaned down quickly to pick up your fallen books and phone. "I'm so sorry." You apologised not looking up at whoever you crashed into. "It's alright." A voice responded back, and you looked up to see him. Lee Heeseung. You had seen him a few times in class, heard him actually. With his pristine glasses, and his woolen sweaters, he was the definition of a movie nerd. He was actually smart, you had to admit, always quick to respond to the questions that you had no idea about. Best in the class after you, according to your professor. Although his choice of literature slightly weirded you out. You often spotted him sprawled out under a tree, holding Pride and Prejudice to his nose, deeply engrossed in taking in each word.

"Is that The Neighborhood you're listening to?" Heeseung asked, as he handed you your phone, which he had picked up before you had the chance to. "Do you have an ear for them?" You asked, taking the phone from him. His hands felt soft, like the first snow when you were eight. Heeseung shook his and chuckled. "I'm more of a Arctic Monkeys person." You smiled awkwardly and shuffled your feet. "To each his own then."

"Macbeth." Heeseung said, before you could escape from the conversation. "I'm sorry?" You questioned, confused at his sudden outburst. "That line's from Macbeth." Heeseung sent another smile your way, pushing his glasses up from his nose, "Polonius says it, 'To each his own'." You felt a pang of jealousy hit your chest. You didn't know where that line was from. Of course, what normal person would know the origin of a common idiom?

"Cool." Your laugh was not without a tint of awkwardness. "Well-" Heeseung shifted his weight from one foot to the other, "Bye then." "Bye." You bid each other goodbye and rushed off in opposite directions, not wanting to be stuck in another neverending loop of conversation.

"Don't tell me you actually talked with The Lee Heeseung." Your roommate Soojin laughed, accidentally smearing some turquoise nail polish onto your thigh. You quickly wiped it off with a tissue before frowning at Soojin. "It's not a big deal." You scoffed, having another slice of pizza, "I mean he's just a guy. Kinda nerdy actually"

Soojin burst out laughing again, this time shutting her nail polish close. She gasped for air as she pulled out her phone and showed you a picture of a what looked like a frat party. "Girl-" she got up from her leaning position, "Nerdy is the worst way to describe Lee Heeseung. I'm telling you-" she picked up the last slice of pizza, "-he's the playboy representative of this college."

"Oh come on." You scoffed again, getting up to go to the bathroom, "Stop joking around." Soojin shrugged her shoulders as you disappeared into the bathroom. "Whatever you say."

The next day, you strolled into your favourite cafe with your laptop, headphones, a copy of Pride and Prejudice, money in your pocket, a sketchbook, and a positive mindset. Always need one to write an essay right? You were thankful that it wasn't raining today like it had been for the past few weeks.

The cafe was mostly empty, with a few medical students drinking coffee to their death, as they always did. You walked up to the counter, where you saw your friend Sunoo, working his shift.

"Y/N hey!" He flashed his bright smile at you, putting down the glass he had been cleaning. "Hey sun." You clapped back, leaning in front of the counter, "The usual please." Sunoo nodded his head and started to prepare your drink. "So I've heard something." He put on his mischievous smile, one that he often wore when he had gossip on his fingers. "Please tell me it's not about that girl from Chem again." You sighed, as he put a coffee cup down in front of you. "No it's about you dumbass." Sunoo scoffed, taking the money you handed him, "I heard you bumped into Lee Heeseung." You let out a groan at his words, and quickly grabbed your drink, going off to sit in the corner. "Yah take your change!" Sunoo shouted after you to which you shouted back, "Keep it! Your broke ass needs it anyway!"

You didn't get the chance to see Sunoo giving you the stink eye, as you plopped down on the comfortable couch and opened up your laptop. You had prepared a few opening lines the night before, since you had learnt that doing half of an assignment on the day of the announcement is better than starting the next day. Whoever wrote that theory needs to clarify it to you, but hey never pass up a good study tip right?

Immersed by the clacking of the keyboard keys and the pretty syllables decorating your page, you were completely absent from the world around you. Until, you heard a familiar voice, which broke you out of your hypoxia.

Heeseung.

What was he doing here?, You thought, not realising that you were basically staring at him. He was dressed in full black today, a leather jacket adorning his broad shoulders. A single earing dangled from his right ear. He still had his glasses on, which were fogged up completely, courtesy to the weather outside. Chatting away sonderly to Sunoo, as Sunoo prepared his drink in a way familiar to you, Heeseung caught your eye. He waved joyfully to you, akin to a child waving to their best friend. You waved back, not aware of the face you were currently making.

"Hey!" Heeseung said, sitting down in the chair next to you, with his drink in hand, "Working up on the Pride and Prejudice thing?" There were atleast a million other seats empty in the cafe. Why did he have to sit next to you? You didn't really realise how handsome he was, until he was sitting face to face with you. The mere sunlight coming in from the windows seemed to illuminate his face well. "Oh yeah I am." You replied, shooting him a smile, "Same thing?" You asked, wanting to keep the conversation going. Heeseung smiled jovially at you and propped his laptop open. "Yep." He replied and glued his eyes to the screen as you went back to your own work. "The Neighborhood again?" He raised an eyebrow, peeking at your open Spotify. You smiled gently and replied, "Arctic Monkeys?" As if ticking a correct answer, Heeseung laughed and showed you his phone where 'Arabella' was playing. A pretty album cover, you thought, subtle and sleek. "To each his own then?" Heeseung said. You nodded and smiled in response, before dropping your head back down to your laptop.

An hour must have passed like this, both of you hypnotised in writing and editing, and downing the refills of coffee Sunoo was providing you with. You stole tiny glances at Heeseung from time to time. Concentration was a good face on him, his eyebrows furrowed, his hands typing away furiously at the keyboard. He didn't talk to you at all, except for the initial hey and hello. But something about the way he spoke to you in the beginning, about the way he asked if you had a pen, and about the way he said 'Hey you have an eyelash on your nose' made your stomach erupt into butterflies.

Heeseung left before you did and before leaving he had extended a hand out to you. "May the best essay win." He spoke, shaking your hand and showing you his smile. God he never stopped smiling did he? His hand was soft, as was his grip on yours. It felt like how your father would hold your hand when you were little on the crosswalk.

"Girl just ask him out." Sunoo called after you as you were about to leave, "The tension between both of you back there was almost poetic." Even though you laughed at Sunoo's quip, and denied the offer, a part of your mind lingered on Sunoo's words and the way Heeseung spoke to you that afternoon.

The days leading upto the hour of the presentation went fast. Too fast almost. Your mind went over your short conversation with Heeseung atleast a million times, sometimes distracting you from typing. You didn't know where all the red bull cans littered across your room came from, but you remember where you threw every single one of them and why. The presentation was perfect. It must have been checked by your eyes atleast a hundred times. Finally, a time was coming when you would be able to express your true feeling about it. Despise and Trouble ran through your veins as you walked up to the board as your professor called on you to present. The class seemed to hold a tight breath to themselves. Everyone knew you, teacher's pet, best at English, known for using the most difficult metaphores in her essays yet having a straightforward point.

"Shall I begin?" You asked your professor who gave a curt nod and leaned back in her chair, an expectant smile plastered on her face. You returned the smile and turned to your classmates, who seemed most interested in your essay.

"Well to begin with, as one does-" humor was always the best way to start off speeches, which was shown by the subtle laughter of the students, "-I would like to say that Pride and Prejudice may be one of the most despised books I have sitting in my bookcase." You heard gasps around the room as everyone started murmerring. Your professor leaned forward in her chair, her mouth pressed tightly to form a thin line. That's good, you thought, a good way to break into their corneas.

"While most people would disagree with me upon this apparent piece of art, I truly believe that this sort of a romance is highly impossible. And no-dont tell me that this is fiction and in the fictious worlds you can quote unquote 'do whatever you want'." The audience held their breaths back as you continued with your rant. Your professor was watching it all with a smile on her face, knowing that she couldn't disagree with you. After all, you had to present your own opinions no matter how opposite they were to everyone else's.

"Well-" you professor stood up from her chair, as you finished your presentation. It had been a 25 minute rant about the book and by now everyone seemed to be meekly looking at their own essays. "That was brilliant Y/N. Truly brilliant." You professor clapped you on the back, "I must say, you have a flair for arguing in a way no one can find counter-attacks. I wonder why you did not choose law as your major?"

"Because there is another argument to be discussed here."

A cold voice rang through the room, as you were about to laugh at the professor's quip. You spun around on your shoes to face the culprit.

Lee Heeseung.

"Heeseung!" Your professor delightfully responded clapping her hands together, "Well why don't you tell us your opinion then? And we'll see if Y/N can fire back." She sat in her chair again, looking positively delighted at the forthcoming, "A battle of the best wits perhaps!"

Heeseung smiled widely and stepped forward to where you were sitting, plopping down on the opposite chair. Your professor had always kept two chairs facing each other in front of her class, for debates, her reason sounded. And now, as you sat in front of Heeseung and his stupidly handsome smirk, you swore you were going to bring him down.

"First of firsts-" Heeseung began, as everyone's attention caught on you. "-your opinion is speaking from a highly biased perspective." "How so?" You fired back, before he could even breathe, "I had already stated in the beginning, about how this cannot be on a biased perspective, since fiction based in actual words cannot be this animated." Heeseung smiled again, which threw you off track a bit. God he's handsome, you thought, too handsome....

"Of course but must I remind you, that this book was perhaps the first out of many to start with the trope of enemies to lovers?" Why were his eyes like galaxies?, "Jane Austen invented an entire trope, which still remains a genius scan of literature to this day. How could you say it's too animated?"

"Yes but-"

"Furthermore-" Heeseung continued, not giving you the chance to breathe, "inventing new tropes does not break this 'law of literature' as you say. Since there was no law of literature to begin with. So please Miss Y/N-" he leaned forward, looking at you with dangerous eyes, "-don't you dare say that Pride and Prejudice is a worthless piece of literature just because it does not have proof of poetry."

The class let out a breath as you sat frozen in your seat. Someone actually breaking your argument was a first for you.

God, his hair. His pretty curly hair.

You didn't realise how long you'd been staring at Heeseung with widened eyes until your professor clapped her hands together again.

"Well then!" She said cheerfully, effectively breaking you out of your stupor, "I believe this goes for grading both of you an A+. Half of your grade is filled you two! Congratulations!" The class broke out into applause as you thanked her and awkwardly shook hands with Heeseung as the bell rang loudly. "Well class I'll be seeing you next time!" Your professor announced, as everyone started filing out. "Oh Y/N, Heeseung a moment please?"

You stopped your feet from stepping out the door and immediately spun around, marching off towards your professor, seeing Heeseung doing the same. "Yes Professor Kim?" Heeseung responded with those stupid puppy eyes of his before you could. Professor Kim smiled gently at both of you, before pulling out her tablet.

"I need a bit of help from both of you. It'll be sort of a favour to you too." She handed you the tablet, which had a sort of letter open on it. Heeseung leaned from behind you, and put his chin on your shoulder, making your stomach feel clammy. He smelled good too, you thought, like fresh paper.

"An event is being hosted by our Dean for all majors." Professor Kim smiled, "Sort of a career booster you could say. We were instructed to pick two students from our classes to have the assignment of checking essays, and documentations and whatnot pertaining to their majors."

"And you chose to pick us Ma'am? I'm flattered." Heeseung chuckled, as Professor Kim laughed to his quip. "Well you two are my best students." She drawled, "So the assignment I'm giving you is-" she pulled out a huge stack of papers from beneath her desk. It shocked you how quickly they appeared out of nowhere, like magic. "-these are all essays collected by last year's class. I want you to go through them, give them a good critic, and grade them according to you. You will personally grade each one, taking each other's help of course,since it's a group project. And it will lend you a helping hand since you'll be getting a certificate which you can use to get into any company you'd like!"

You and Heeseung glanced at each other and we're relieved to see the same excited expression face back at them. This was a rare opportunity, a diamond of the first water you'd say. And you had to grab it, even If that meant it was with a person you despised with your entire being.

"I'll do it Professor!" You replied positively to which Heeseung also nodded frantically as if to say the same thing. "Great!" Professor Kim clapped her hands together again, "Oh and one rule is you two have to work together in this classroom. Since the Dean wants to provide you with an opportunity to see how workplace relationships doon out."

Your heart dropped to your stomach as you heard her words. You, working with Heeseung in an empty classroom? You would rather have praised Pride and Prejudice.

"Here, the keys." Professor Kim handed you and Heeseung a pair of keys, "You can work in the evening if you want. But make sure to complete it as soon as you can alright? Oh and you can skip classes if you want to do this first, since the Dean is prioritising this before anything else." You nodded in response to her instructions and bowed her goodbye as you and Heeseung walked out.

"So-" Heeseung stuffed his hands in his pockets, "You wanna work on this shit tonight?" "Unless you have any other appointments, sure we can work on it tonight." You responded, coldly, not looking at him in the eye. "Alright then." Heeseung scoffed, "Meet you here at 8?" "Alright." The end of your conversation came a little too fast, you thought, but you couldn't stand looking into his pretty little eyes and talking to him, as if he didn't just embarrass you infront of your entire class a few minutes ago. "Y/N wait!" Heeseung called, running up to you, as you were about to exit the building. "What?" You spun around to face him. "Shouldn't we exchange numbers first?" Heeseung handed you his phone, which had his contact list open. "Why? So you can take me out on a date later?" You shot at him. A smirk tugged on the corner of Heeseung lips, but he resisted, not wanting to anger you more. You looked cute when you were angry in his opinion. "No. Maybe incase you were murdered by someone on the way here, I can call you and scold you on why tardiness is a childish thing to do." Heeseung joked. You smiled sarcastically at him as you handed him his phone back, having typed in your number. "Eight o'clock princess don't you forget now."

Tick tock tick. The clock's quiet sons echoed through the empty class. 'Don't forget.' you scoffed, 'And he's the one who's late.' The time on your watch sounded 8:30 and yet Heeseung wasn't here. You had given up waiting for him, and started on the assignment yourself, already finishing two of the army of papers. You were a hard critic, and it clearly showed in the way you were seeping your eyes through the ink.

"Soojin he's late! I can't come back now!" Your roommate had called you, in the midst of your third paper, complaining about a cockroach in the room. "Just call your boyfriend, and don't be such a pussy it won't hurt you." You scoffed at Soojin, whose scared whimpers were heard clearly through the phone.

"How's the checking going?" Soojin asked, having seemingly calmed down. You groaned and leaned back in your chair, wincing at the crack of your backbone. Your back must have become stiff from the amount of time you had been sitting in that chair. You felt pity for your professors for the first time, having finally been in their shoes.

"Heeseung's not here yet and I'm literally so fed up right now." You complained to Soojin, "That handsome bastard told me not to be late, and now look where I am! Asshole seriously." "He'll turn up, cool down Y/N." Soojin soothed you. You heard a sound of crashing in the background and stifled a laugh, assuming that Soojin must have miraculously jumped from one bed to the other. "I told you he's a playboy." Soojin panted through the phone, "Maybe he's busy fucking some poor girl in his frat house." You rolled your eyes at her statement.

"Please." You scoffed, "He couldn't fuck a girl if he wanted to, with the tiny ass cock he has." Soojin let out a raucous laugh from the other side of the phone. "How the fuck do you know he has a tiny cock?" She chuckled. "Intuition baby." You responded, "And my intuition is never wrong."

"Like how it was on the day of our debate?"

A familiar voice again. But this time, the warmth in it wasn't present. You whipped your head around to the door, where Heeseung stood, leaning against the door and smirking. "Soojin I'll call you back." You cut the call, before Soojin could respond.

"Hey." You called out to Heeseung. "Hey." Heeseung shot back, sitting down on the chair in front of you, spreading his legs wide. An involuntary gulp went through your throat. "What were you saying princess?" He leaned forward, his shirt dropping down slightly, "I have a tiny what now?" The dim lighting of the room, made his eyes look dark, and the leather of his black jacket, gleam more. "I- I wasn't saying anything Heeseung." You responded, turning your chair back to the desk, warmth coming up on your cheeks. Heeseung cocked his head to the side and smirked at your flustered state.

"Really princess?" He smirked, edging closer to you. The smell of his cologne filled your nostrils again. His glasses dropped on his nose, and he hadn't even bother to push them back up. "Heeseung just get to work." You sternly responded, trying to keep your cool. How could you though? When he was so close to you, lips almost touching your ear. "For you information-" Heeseung spoke, turning your attention away from the paper you were working on, "-I had a friend who needed a lift to his dorm, so I ran a little late. But you couldn't wait for me could you princess?" He smirked, laying his hand on top of yours, "Just couldn't wait to critique all those papers like the good girl you are." "He-Heeseung." "Shh don't." Heeseung shushed you, "You want to see how tiny of a cock I really have then hmm?"

"Heeseung we shouldn't." You hesitated, feeling your legs warm up. "No one's gonna know, as long as you don't make a noise alright?" He kissed your neck gently, turning your figure to his, still sitting in the chair. "Oh princess, already wet for me?" He chuckled, toying with the button of your shirt. "Heeseung-" you moaned out, quickly unbuttoning your shirt, as Heeseung took off his jacket and threw it on the desk. You pulled back slightly as your mind came to its proper senses. "Where are you going doll?" Heeseung questioned, hands resting on your thigh, squeezing it from time to time, "Don't worry princess, no one's gonna know."

Heeseung brings his lips down to yours in an instant, wasting no time. You gasp at his sudden actions and he takes advantage of that by entering his tongue into your mouth. You grab at his shoulders while he cups your jaw with both of his hands. Your hands reach his hair, softly tugging at the root and you hear him whine. Heeseung sucks on your bottom lip, catching it between his teeth and pulling it back to look at you. You look up at him and he takes your face in his hands.

“You wanna see my cock baby?” Heeseung asks in a teasing tone as he looks down at you. You could feel the throb in his pants press against your legs as you whimper. “Hee please.” You whine, squirming as he places a kiss between your breasts. Heeseung runs his hands up and down the sides of your body. If he was going to fuck you on the classroom floor right there and then, you were going to let him.

“Oh, you're feeling extra polite today huh? Please, Heeseung.” Heeseung mocks you with a tiny laugh. You groan in embarrassment and hide your face with your hands. Heeseung just lets out another laugh and wraps his hands around your wrists, prying them away from your face. He transfers both of your wrists to one hand, holding them over your head as he uses his other hand to trail his fingers down your body.

“Don’t hide your pretty face now, princess.” Heeseung says nonchalantly as he dips a hand inside your leggings and panties to feel your dripping cunt. His glasses were beginning to fog up slightly as he whipped them off of his face, setting them down on the desk. You clench around nothing when you feel his middle finger dip into your wetness and bring it up to your clit, rubbing slow circles around it. You moan softly as Heeseung teases your clit, never taking his eyes off of your face.

Heeseung begins to rub your clit faster, and you buck your hips up into his fingers. You hear him laugh at your eagerness and he presses soft kisses into your neck. Heeseung takes his fingers off of your clit and he snaps the waistband of your trousers against your pelvis.

“Dirty girl. Never thought you'd be like this.” Heeseung says with a smirk and you dumbly nod your head. The sounds of your heavy breathing and your pussy squelching around his fingers make your legs begin to shake.

Heeseung spits on your cunt to lubricate it even more, and that's what makes you come undone. Your cunt clenches around his fingers, sucking them in as he fingers you through your orgasm.

Heeseung takes his time kissing down your body, letting your need and desperation build by the second. He tugs one nipple and then the other into his mouth, suckling at the perky nubs and massaging your areola between his lips. Your hips are trembling with anticipation, the space between your legs aching to feel Heeseung's kiss.

Stars hover over you, or at least, that’s how it feels. Your eyes are closed, awareness cut off to the world around you except the place Heeseung's face is buried. He devours your cunt like a man starved, swallowing you whole. Heeseung doesn’t come up for air; he doesn’t need to, because all he breathes is you. Your back is arched and arms stretched forward, fingers clutching Heeseung’s hair in fistfuls.

Your thighs are shaking, reflexively clamping around Heeseung's’s face. He keeps forcing them open, demanding full access to your cunt, even as you buck and claw and convulse. Your mouth hangs open in a stupor; a thin line of drool trickles down your cheek and connects to the cold floor beneath you.

Heeseung laps at your slit like he’s never tasted you before, like he never will again. His tongue pads between your lips, upward strokes that end with the tip of his tongue flicking your clit with a firm intensity that has you reeling. Tugging at his hair, trying not to scream his name incoherently, you ride out the longest orgasm you’ve ever had. Tears burn the corners of your eyes, stars bursting in the black sky of your vision. Heeseung doesn’t stop licking your cunt till you release his hair.

“M’gonna fuck you now, okay?” Heeseung says sweetly and you nod your head. He runs his hard cock through your folds, and he catches your clit, making you jerk a little. Heeseung slowly begins to push himself into you and you throw your head back against the hard material of the desk.

“Fuck, knew you’d be tight when I felt you around my fingers.” Heeseung grits out, and he continues to push himself into you until he bottoms out. He starts to move at a slow pace, and he whines when you beg him to move faster. “Fucking whore. Bet you think about me fucking you in class don't you?” Heeseung spits out as he pushes himself harder and deeper into your sloppy cunt. You moan at his words, and you try to reply but all that comes out is a pathetic whimper.

“Hee, I’m gonna cum.” You cry out, and you clench around Heeseung's fat cock.

“ Cum for me princess.” Heeseung. moans out, fucking into you so deep, a ring of your cum and his has formed at the base of his cock. You run your fingers through his hair, harshly tugging on it as you come undone at his expense. Heeseung buries his face into your neck as he cums, sucking at your pulse point. You feel his cum shoot into you and it only prolongs your own orgasm.

After a couple minutes of you two catching your breath, Heeseung takes his face out of your neck and plops down in the chair, pulling you onto his lap. You sit there, dazed for a few seconds, burrowing your head in his chest, his heartbeat reminding you where you were.

"Well that was a whirlwind of emotions." He says at last, when you start to stir from your hypnosis, "You good doll?" You nod slightly and feel Heeseung's arms wrap around you, putting you safely down on the chair, as he put his clothes back on, slowly picking up yours as well.

"Heeseung the assignments." You panic, as he puts your shirt back on you. "It's alright princess." He coos at you, wrapping an arm around your waist, "We can do that in the morning. Let's get you home." He guides you slowly out the door. "So-" he smirks, locking the classroom with his key "Same time, same place tomorrow?"

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[aakeysmash]

Roommate or boss?

part 2, part 3, part 4

Pairing: f!reader x Katsuki Bakugou.

Warnings: none, really. AND THEY WERE POSSIBLE ROOMMATES, MAYBE?

Context: 3k words. Reader is a barista and she only meets Bakugo at the end of this </3. He’s her boss but she doesn’t know. I don’t delve into this tho, just so you know. They’re both 22.

A/N: never thought I’d write a slow burn but I HATE not giving context. This is just me yapping with zero grammar context whatsoever. The reader is super oc in this one, but all the girl names I thought about were UGLY. Let me know what you think about it!

“No.”

“Come onnnn it’s gonna be just this one time” pleads your best friend from the other end of the phone.

“Ochaco, you know I hate when you pull this shit” you reply, while putting your jacket on.

“I knowww, but listen, me and the cute guy have had NO time for ourselves lately and-“

“And you’re leaving me doing this assignment with who knows who? We’re always partners for physics, you know I can’t do it all alone and you can’t phrase your deductions to save your life. We complete each other. You’re my soulmate. Why are you leaving me for a guy?” you whine, while closing the door of your apartment and walking towards your car.

“It’s gonna be just this one time, I promise! It’s not like we’re gonna fail. I think. I hope…” she mumbles.

You sigh. “If we do fail, you’re getting your ass beaten, I am so for real” you concede after thinking about it. You start your car and put your phone on speaker.

“BABEEE I love youuuu! You know you’re the only one for me! I promise to finally tell you all the details on Saturday” she squeals.

You wince. “Nah, I can’t this Saturday. I have to work, manager is on vacay. Maybe Sunday?” you said, knowing she will start rambling.

“Y/N just leave that place, they don’t even value you as a person, let alone as a worker. Plus, your manager is a bitch” Ochaco says sternly. “I still haven’t got over the fact she makes you work double shifts just because she wants to be in Bali with her new stupid tomboy. Who, by the way, cheats on her. You said so yourself, and I heard him and your colleague going at it that one time I came to visit you last week -not Momo, bless her heart, how is she by the way?- oh and he steals her money. And-“

“I need the money, and I do love to make coffees for the nice old ladies that tip me” you interrupt your more-than-protective best friend, knowing that she could go on complaining for hours if you didn’t stop her. “Also, I just got to the cafe and I’m already running late. I’ll text you when I get off, okay? Love you”.

“Yeah yeah. Don’t overwork yourself too much, love you” and you hang up.

You and Ochaco have been friends since you were babies. Your parents were neighbours back in your hometown, and your moms coincidentally got pregnant in a span of 2 months apart from each other. You have been attached to the hip all of your school years, and fortunately you have been accepted at the same campus at university. You moved to different apartments because you wanted to be independent, but you are still living pretty near each other. You are enrolled in literature, while Ochaco has a passion for astronomy; you had chosen physics as a bonus class for some extra credits since Ochaco said it would be easy and you trusted her, but she didn’t take into consideration that you failed math throughout all of high school, and she had to save your ass multiple times in the past. You’ll never forget her face when she got an 86% on one of the graded tests she did for you: she was so disappointed she made you ask the professor to redo the test, which you barely knew the basics of. She got 100%, and the professor congratulated you (her) for being such an overachiever. You never felt more ashamed of yourself and proud of your best friend at the same time. On the other hand, she made you do her English essays on a monthly basis, so she really wasn’t in the place to complain about doing all the dirty work for you.

You had partnered up with her since she was a genius, but she met this “cute guy” a month ago and was head over heels for him. She still hasn’t said his name to you, all you know is that he is a part of the physics course and he apparently just stole your assignment partner.

You sigh inwardly. Sometimes you wished love could come to you as easily as it comes to Ochaco. She is a lover girl at heart, nicer than anybody could ever hope to be, but she sure could bite if she had to. She has been there for some of the worst moments of your life, and you have done the same for her. You really didn’t know what you would do without her. Maybe you should get her an apology pastry from the cafe’s leftovers to make up for the last two missed Saturdays (“they’re for the girls!” she said, and you meticulously met up every week up until you had gotten a job).

You’re a bit distracted by thinking about her when you get into the place you work at. It’s a cute cafe, a little bit too orange for your taste, but it’s cozy enough to make work pleasurable. Plus, it’s 5 minutes from your apartment (15 if you walk, but you are lazy). They pay on time, the coffee is good and the clientele isn’t too bad. If it wasn’t for-

“You’re 32 seconds late. You’re getting a formal complaint this time” says your manager, waiting for you with her arms crossed.

“Put that on the note that says I worked 8 extra hours a week for the last 5 months. Hello to you too, weren’t you supposed to be in the Philippines or whatever by now?” you say sickening sweet, with the fakest smile you can muster, while you pass next to her to get to the room behind the register.

“Shut your smart mouth up before I get you fired!” she almost screams. Some of the people at the table near her look at her like she’s crazy before going back to their cappuccino.

“My oh my miss Utsushimi, it’s not nice to use that tone before the rush hour” you reply, giving an apologetic look at your regulars next to her.

“Mpfh, whatever. Close up this place when you’re done, the boss will probably be in to ask you for the keys at the end of your shift. I’ll be MIA for the next two weeks, bye” she says to you. Then she turns around and smiles sweetly at the clients who previously looked at her with distaste and lies “pregnancy hormones I hope, me and my man are trying for a baby, I’m sorry for scaring you!”. You know damn well she had an IUD appointment last week, because she made you work instead of working herself. Fake bitch.

Without saying anything else, she leaves the place.

“I hate her ass so much”, says someone next to you.

You snicker. “Who doesn’t, Momo?” you face her with a genuine smile.

“Never leave me alone with her ever again, you know I can’t survive this place without you, work wifey” she kisses your cheek fast, before going back to making coffee for a client at the register.

“Ochaco will be hearing about this and she’ll slap you” you laugh heartily.

“I love her too, she’s my work wifey’s wifey, so she’s basically my wifey” she winks at you.

After a few more laughs here and there, you both go back to work like usual.

A couple of hours pass and it’s closing time. Momo waves you goodbye, clocking out. “I’m so tired I could sleep on the floor right now” she whines.

“Yeah, how about no. Let’s go, babe. We don’t want to drag Y/N’s time” says her boyfriend, Shoto, who shoots you a nod of acknowledgement before placing a hand on her lower back and escorting her out of the cafe. “I remember suffering at closing times, let’s leave her be and go home” he nudges your colleague, smiling down at her. He has been inside the cafe a lot in the years you’ve worked here, sometimes picking Momo up. Momo says he was one of the best bartenders the cafe ever had, but he found a job that payed him more and he decided to leave. You couldn’t blame him.

“See you soon, you two lovebirds!” you reply, waving a hand of your own.

Now all alone since even the waiters have gone home, you clean up the counter before packing up the pastry for Ochaco.

“Damn, I have to wait for the boss to give him the keys” you remember, rubbing your face.

You wait 45 minutes before a redhead makes his way into the cafe. He seems busy on the phone with someone.

“I’m here, let me just get- fuck no I don’t wanna talk to Camie about it, Baku- no, wait- fire? Are you going to take her place and finally come down here like the boss you are? Yes, I know- what? And where would we- what do I have to do with all of this? No, I’m going home- fuck, he hung up” the man sighs, before turning his body towards you.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting, not really manly from me” he smiles, looking sorry.

“Oh don’t worry about it!” your smile was really stretched, and you think he notices, because he says “sorry” again. “The manager said to give you the keys. So you’re the boss?” you say politely, stretching your hand with the keys towards him.

You’ve seen him multiple times, he’s a regular. He always gets the same order (one black coffee and one hot chocolate with extra cinnamon), and he always tips you and Momo well. Today he seems distressed.

“I wouldn’t wish to be the boss, to be fair. You could say I’m his right hand. Where’s Camie? Boss needs to talk to her in private before next week comes” he sighs.

“She said she’ll be gone for two weeks” you reply, confused.

“And who said she could do that?” Kirishima, you think that’s his name since you’ve written it on his order just yesterday, looks at you in disbelief. You shrug. “I don’t ask. The less I know about her, the better I feel about working here”. You start to pack your things up, before going towards the door with the man following behind you closely.

“This is nuts. I hate doing job interviews” he mumbles fast, turning the key in the lock. You raise an eyebrow, what is he even talking about?

“Do you live near? If not, I could give you a ride. I’d hate losing the only barista who makes boss man’s drink good enough to not make him pissy” he says, while pointing to his car.

You laugh. “It’s just a hot chocolate. Tell him he should try it with a few drops of hot sauce in it. Sounds disgusting but it’s actually pretty good. Also don’t worry, I live just down the street”. He nods and you wave each other goodbye.

“It does sound horrible. Thanks again for waiting, see you tomorrow for the same exact order I always make” he grins, then gets in his car and drives away, not after seeing you get in your car as well.

Once at home you call Ochaco, who’s “been worried sick, you never get home this late”.

“Y/N you seriously need a roommate. Did you even eat?” she reprimands.

You sigh. “I have to meet someone tomorrow. But you know, girls tend to look at you weirdly when you say you need them to know how to cook. They feel like you’re looking for a maid. Like, I can’t eat sandwiches every day like I did with the last roommate I had” you explain while opening your fridge. Sausages and smashed potatoes from yesterday will do the job for today.

“The psycho who thought vegetables made her look weak? Freak” you hear your best friend snicker. “At what time are they coming over?”

You groan and say “8 am. It’s a guy this time. Who wakes up before 8 am at uni? He’s already lost 2 points for this” while gulping down your food.

Ochaco’s snicker is now a full laugh. “People who have their lives together, maybe? But pay attention, males scare me” she replies quieting down.

“Yeah yeah. I’m gonna sleep now, text me the deets for Sunday, okay?” you clean your plate and go to the bathroom to wash your teeth.

“Will doooo. Good night, babe” she smooches on the mic before hanging up.

After making sure you locked your apartment door, you go to your bed, where you manage to fall asleep in thirty seconds.

The next morning you’re brutally awakened by the sound of your doorbell. You look at your phone screen: 7:42 am.

“Who the fuck is it now?” you grumble, before going down the stairs and looking through your peephole.

“Shitty hair I swear if this takes me more than 10 minutes… she hasn’t even opened the door. Yeah, she said 8 am, who cares if I’m early? I AM NOT the only one awake on a Saturday morning. Y’all are just lazy fucks” a blonde rudely says into his phone. You can hear him talking loudly from behind the door. You widen your eyes, before screaming “coming! Give me 5 minutes!” and rushing towards your bathroom to make yourself presentable. “Fuck, I forgot about the roommate appointment” you whine, while putting on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. At least they are clean.

You open the door to find a broad man staring at you menacingly. He’s kinda tall, kinda (really) fit, kinda underdressed for the winter. Kinda hot, too.

“Hi, how can I help you?” you offer him the nicest smile your still sleepy mind can muster.

He looks you up and down, before focusing on your face and levelling you with an indifferent look.

“You must be Y/N. I’m Katsuki Bakugo, we had to meet at 8 am for the spare room offer. I've been here for 15 minutes” he gruffly declares.

You add “rude” to your list of “kinda”. You don’t like his tone. -1 point.

“Yeah, and it’s 7:48” you bite back, your smile faltering while shaking his outstretched hand. He’s definitely going to the gym with the callouses he has.

“Come in, I’ll let you see what you’re getting yourself into”, you say, opening your door more.

You live in a nice apartment, you think. There’s a nice kitchen with a nice island that also serves as a table in front of it, a blueish couch in front of the tv, and a couple of steps that bring you to a corridor with three doors: your room, the spare one and the bathroom.

You describe everything while he stays in absolute silence next to you. It makes you feel uneasy. -1 point.

You just finished showing him the bathroom and are ready to tell him you don’t think he’s a good suitor when he finally speaks up.

“And how much do you pay for this shit?” he asks. Nice voice, you think. Gravelly and rough enough to not sound annoyingly forced. +1 point.

“500 a month” you reply, while returning to the kitchen.

“Your shower needs some work done, it leaks. Also, mold is starting to show on the bathroom ceiling, might wanna check on that. Your oven looks unusable in the condition it’s in. Small tv. At least you’re clean from what I've seen” he begins to say.

You frown and turn to look at him. Did this bitch talk for the first time in 15 minutes only to complain?

“Do you even know how to cook with said oven?” you say, ignoring everything else he just said, and giving him a nasty look.

He tsks. “Yes. Is this your way of asking me to cook you fucking breakfast? I don’t eat with lazy people who get out of bed at 11 am” he makes sure to say.

You scoff. Men really do find the audacity to say stuff like this nowadays? It seems like you've been out of the loop for too much.

“You showed up early. It’s a sign of disrespect, you know? Also no, I know how to fix myself something. I just don’t want you to burn my kitchen down to a crisp and smell takeout whenever I get home” you say in the rudest way you find possible.

He smirks before saying “might wanna check on that fucking attitude of yours too before I poison your food”, tapping your shoulder to get you out of the way and take out some pans. You showed him where to find them earlier on.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you say in disbelief. “This is still my kitchen. Get out”.

He rolls his eyes. “I’m making you fucking breakfast to say sorry for interrupting your princess sleep. Just make coffee while I come up with something. If you know how to make it, that is” he doesn’t even look at you while getting eggs, milk and bread out of the fridge.

You’re baffled. He’s making himself at home when you didn’t even say he was accepted.

“Wait, you’re still not-“

“I'll give you the money at the start of every month. I’ll paint the walls of the room, I hate that fucking green, but painters are scammers so I’m doing it myself. I’m clean, I’ll just need a spare key in a matter of days to take my shit here. I’ll keep myself in my room if you keep yourself in yours. Any further requests?” he interrupts you, assembling his french toasts on the pan.

You’re even more stunned. But you’ve always been quick with your thoughts, so you come up with something.

“I’ll say yes if those french toasts are good. If they’re not, your ass is out” you say, still not looking at him, while making coffee.

“Might say yes if you know how to make a hot chocolate from scratch instead of the poor coffee that machine will make” he watches you from the corner of his eye. You scoff, you’re a barista nonetheless: who does he think he’s talking to? Meanwhile, he could swear he knew you from somewhere.

“Deal”.

“Deal”.

Neither to say, the french toasts were “not that bad” and your hot chocolate was “barely fucking acceptable”.

#bakugo katuski #bakugou katsuki #bnha #barista au #bakugo fluff #i guess #how do you tag #bakugou x you #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #and they were roommates #bakugo knows how to cook in this one

[bakerstreethound]

Blooming Chemistry

Relationship: University!Sherlock Holmes x reader

Warnings: mutual pining, idiots to friends to lovers, confessions, slight angst, fluff, nervous sherlock

Summary: When Sherlock becomes your Chemistry tutor, you form an unlikely friendship, and an undeniable bond unfolds. Do either of you confess your feelings or continue living in denial? Waiting until the week before finals sounds like the perfect time to muse over these feelings, right? 

All writings belong to me @bakerstreethound​ (Do NOT claim, repost, copy or translate my works to other sites. I only publish here and on A03 under the same username)

Word Count: 3.1k+ 

A/N: I had a wonderful time writing this story and it was a joy to weave together. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it. Sherlock is only one year above you in University so there’s only a year or two age gap between you. Any chemistry inaccuracies are my fault, I haven’t been privy to a course in a long while. Graphic by @firefly-graphics​. As always, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated. 

Dull, utterly dull, his mind mutters. At least grasping the concept of Chemistry landed him inconveniently in a tutoring position his professor highly recommended him for and after much beratement, he accepted, not that he was going to enjoy it in the slightest. 

That was before you came along a year below him, struggling in the basics, but never did he expect for you to become a colleague, let alone his friend.

The bonding over insufferable professors, a penchant for literature, and peace and quiet made for a lovely beginning to your companionship and you both never looked back since. And since then, you’d both taken up to hiding in the alcoves of the library to study for the last training weeks of the term, the only respite the company you provided each other. 

He knew enough you strived hard for academic achievement and had to fight tooth and nail for your grades. You studied harder than anyone he knew. 

Something like pride fills him as he watches you and he turns the page of his chemistry notebook, barely reading the notes on chemical bonds, balancing equations, or empirical and molecular formulas. 

The thought of his finals doesn’t wear him out in the slightest, he already feels confident enough in his abilities. Though the professor hated him, for the errors he interrupted class for, he had felt confident. 

You didn’t expect Chemistry to be your worst subject but Dr. F had recommended Sherlock to you as a peer tutor and as he was a year above you, you were glad you did. 

Not a lot of subjects came easy to you especially the gen eds which you thought were a complete waste of time. (they really were, why did you have to waste even more money on them?). 

You sigh, taking a sip of the coffee Sherlock deposited on the table before you an hour earlier. You blanch at the taste, long cold and you push the glasses off your face, groaning at your eyes trying to figure out the words on the page. 

Between the essays and countless equations, your mind is swimming with questions and muddled beyond measure. Not to mention, the aching of your back increases the longer you sit in the horrendously uncomfortable chairs the library provides. 

You look over at Sherlock, laid out on the tabletop on his stomach, textbook open-faced, doodling in the margins. Oh, how you envied him, could only imagine the boredom racing through him. 

You have to work twice as hard to earn your chemistry marks, but he makes it easier for you, explaining most concepts better than Dr. F. would, and at a more reasonable pace. 

You sigh in defeat, pulling his textbook away. “I’m ready for this week and the next to be over, how about you?” Your piercing gaze meets his as you speak. 

He blinks once, twice before hearing your words, another to fully grasp what you’re saying. The week after this is finals, the end of the term, then you’ll part ways until the next one. 

His chest aches at the thought of not seeing your smile at nine in the morning before class as you stand in line to buy the outrageously sugary, albeit pricey, coffee you like while he rolls his eyes, a ghost of a smile on his lips, while he looms behind you as if he is your personal bodyguard. 

“Yes and no. For one, we don’t have to suffer the atrocities of the cafeteria any longer. No, because I have to deal with Mycroft, you have no idea how insufferable he is.” He sighs, tapping his finger on the table in slight frustration at the mere thought of his brother who always thought so highly of himself. I’m the smart one Sherlock. 

“Ah, you’re going to let this infamous brother ruin your holiday? I fear a duel is in the near future,” you snicker, twirling your pen between your fingers. Sherlock’s gaze remains transfixed upon you, all thoughts of Mycroft vanishing at the thought of being closer to you, running his fingers through your hair, wrapping a hand around your waist…

Hell. He tries to get your invasion from his thoughts but he can’t, isn’t listening to a word you’re saying all the breath feels like it’s leaving his lungs the longer he looks at you. Is this what it feels like to be infatuated? He curses to himself, you’re his friend, and colleague, surely you could want nothing more from him. 

You deserve better than him, and yet, he still hasn’t seen you ogling over anyone on campus beyond the occasional couple scoping you both did when bored, scoffing at them from afar while sitting on the bench beneath your favorite oak tree at the park. 

You notice Sherlock pulling away an almost vacant haunted expression cascading over his eyes. His hands fidget, as he tries to keep them under control. You reach out, your fingers brushing along his knuckles and instantly he pulls away, a burning hot sensation flashing between you at the contact. 

“S-sorry.” He says, snapping out of his stupor. You’ve never heard him stammer before in the time you’ve known him. Something is definitely wrong, but you know pushing him now won’t bode well, so you do what you can and ignore it. 

“As I was saying-” 

His hand falls on top of yours. “Do you perhaps want to join me in the lab tonight?” He swallows, watching you expectantly, bracing himself for your response. He’s sure you’re going to reject him. 

He tries in vain to calm his pulse, but he can’t. Did he do this wrong? The seconds turn to minutes, and he feels frozen in time, expecting you to laugh at the absurdity of it all. 

If he paid closer attention in his nerve-wrecked state, he’d see the catch of your own breath, the quivering of your lower lip, pupils widening at the prospect, 

The question is innocent enough, but the fact you’ve been asked to hang out with your elusive tutor, colleague, and friend was almost unfathomable. You’d tried many times to harbor your crush from him, wondering if he felt the same. 

You almost thought it a cruel joke of the universe. But Sherlock is sincere, hopeful, lips hinting at the barest of a boyish grin when you say “Yes, of course. What did you have in mind?” 

You watch as he wrings his hands, clearly nervous as he gains his bearings, getting off the table before collecting his textbook, careful to hand your worksheets to you.  “Wait and see.” He feels a strange twinge in his chest- perhaps his heart?- fluttering at the prospect.

You didn’t reject him after all. Maybe there is hope for him. And, face it deep down, he realizes he likes you, not against his better judgment, but rather, he never felt like he ever deserves you in the slightest. 

******

It’s an agonizing wait until six o'clock when you walk to the Chemistry lab. Thankfully it’s a short walk from your dorm and in a well-lit area of campus. No one in their right mind stayed late there, unless it was dead week, ensuring their chemical compounds and experiments are in tip-top condition. 

You know Sherlock vacates the premises often for his own use, but you have your suspicions, it’s one of the places he can truly be himself. Rumors circulated about what he does after hours, but it’s not like he has anywhere else to experiment and the dorms are off-limits, anyhow.

You take a breath before heaving open the heavy door, walking down the massive corridors before turning to the right, down the hall to lab twenty-two. 

You recognize his shadowy silhouette by the door and you find yourself wondering, albeit briefly, if this is a mistake. But you think better of your mind, creaking open the door greeted with a sight you never expected. 

“Sherlock?” 

He says nothing when you close the door, a smile on his lips as he brings an instrument to his shoulder, tucking it beneath his chin, a soft melody of your favorite song reverberating through the room as his bow glides along the strings with ease.

On the professor's instruction table in front of him, two bunsen burners are lit with flame, a beaker filled with flowers sitting between them. A large pizza box and an assortment of your favorite candies also vacate the table and the finishing touch, is his chemistry notebook. 

You fight off a silly grin at it, knowing the many conversations you had about threatening to burn it time after time. 

“You did all of this for me?” You’re sure you look like a fool as you close the distance between you, the last notes of the melody echoing through the room and you applaud his performance. 

He bows, putting the violin away safely in its case. You can’t help admiring the gentleness, the tenderness with which he caresses and lays it into its case for slumber until called upon once more by his fingers to coax out beautiful music from within. 

He turns back to face you, his case long put away. “I didn’t know if this is how people say-,” he pauses, and you take a step closer.

He takes a breath, brushing his index finger along the top of your hand, sending goosebumps up your arm in its wake. “I’m uncertain this is how other people say ‘I like you,’ and I read gestures such as this brought it to one’s attention. Your attention, especially.” 

“Pizza is good, yes pizza is definitely the way to my heart, Sherlock.” His eyes widen and he beams, showing off one of his dimples. Your heart soars, reaching impossibly higher. 

A gesture such as this you would remember for a long while. “This is the kindest thing anyone has done for me and, Sherlock, I like you too.” A smile of your own blossoms along your lips and you reach out for him, linking your index finger with his before standing on your toes to peck his cheek. 

“You do?” 

“Yes, of course, I do, I’ve only been harboring interest for you all these months we’ve tutored and studied together. You’ve sorta grown on me, like chemistry.” 

“It is one of my better subjects.” 

“I would hope so since you’re tutoring me in it and Dr. F recommended you to me.” 

“They did give me you, yes, the only thing they’ve done right so far,” Sherlock smiles fondly at you, kissing your knuckles. “Thank you for being horrendous in chemistry.” 

“No. Thank you. This year was less boring with you, for what it is worth. Plus, I’ve learned a thing or two about chemistry. We’ll see how finals go, alas.” 

He scoffs. “We’re far away from them as it is.” 

“They’re next week, in case you forgot.” You sigh, trailing your fingers along his bicep, wanting to memorize the feel of him, be lost in him, the way he smells. Nothing matters anymore other than this moment and him and apparently the violent wailing of your stomach. 

“Should we eat the pizza?” Sherlock chuckles at your body’s interruption, but you want far more than pizza at the moment, your gaze transfixed on the man before you, your friend, your tutor, the person you’ve come to adore in your way.

You smile, not believing your luck. “The pizza can wait. I’d like to kiss you properly first if I may?” 

He nods, tilting up your chin with his finger, his other hand wrapping around your waist, a comforting weight you never knew you needed as the space around you grows smaller and smaller still and you’re part of a universe woven only for you both allowing nothing else in when your lips brush softly, a sigh falling from your parted lips. 

He gasps too, his heart hammering in his chest, as you bring your lips closer to his gently, not pressing too tight, giving him room to back away, but he doesn’t, responding in kind to your kiss groaning when your hands wrap around his neck, the weight of you against him comforting and full of warmth. 

He doesn’t want it to end, not even when you break for air, he pecks your lips playfully, eliciting a joyous laugh from you. You lean into him more, ruffling his glorious crown of curls, pleased at the faint blush on his cheeks when you do so. 

Oh so gently, you bring him in for another kiss and when you break away, it lingers, still so many unspoken words between you. You rest your forehead against him, allowing the stupid grin you’ve tried in vain to suppress breakthrough. 

“This has got to be one of the best nights of my life.” 

Sherlock quirks his brow. “Even better than when you accidentally slugged Mycroft?”

“If I can recall it was still an accident, even if I had an ulterior motive to get him off our backs.” You roll your eyes, heart full of affection for your beloved chemistry nerd, as you glance about the room, watching the bunsen burner’s glow illuminate your silhouettes on the wall. “It would be best we turn the burners off before we go, yeah? Dr. F would have your head if their lab burned down.” 

“Rather they take my head than your, yes,” he huffs, hating to part from you and your warmth to reluctantly snuff the flame.

Once the burners are off he collects his belongings, his coat draped over one arm the violin case in his hand while you grab the pizza box and flowers. You giggle at the absurdity of it all, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

He pulls you closer by his free hand as he opens the door, a chill swirling around you. You shiver at the contact and he immediately sets his instrument case down, holding out his coat to you. 

“There’s no need.” 

“I insist. It’s the perfect coat for this weather.” He remains standing, opening it for you giving no indication he’s going to budge if you don’t take him up on the offer. 

After everything he did for you this evening, you can’t help but oblige, and when you slip your arms through the coat sleeves, you want nothing but to curl up in it in bed. 

It was a stunning coat, no wonder he wore it any chance he could. It was probably the finest thing he owned. It smelled of him, encompassing you in warmth and the scent of him. 

You were going to have a hard time parting with it, perhaps you’d steal it to goad him, you think to yourself, adding it to your mental checklist as you pull it tighter around you. You definitely are going to keep it for a few days longer than necessary, you decide. 

He picks up the instrument case without another word, wrapping his hand around your waist as you walk together down the sidewalk, inhaling the chilly night spring air, the night feeling all the more a dream to you. None of it was a dream, for it is all too real and you can’t believe your luck. 

You smile, leaning into him as he meets your stride with his own, down the winding paths that should lead you to your dorm, but the walk feels all too short, the hours passing more like minutes this particular night. Time moves differently when people are infatuated with each other, or so it has been said. 

“We can still keep in touch, right?” You ask as you stop by a bench in the courtyard steps from your dorm. 

He looks at you, perplexed you’d even ask such a question. “We have expressed our otherwise more than friend affirmations to each other have we not? Of course, I would like to see you. My parents will be more insufferable than usual. I’ll have to resort to living in the attic. Mycroft won’t let me hear the end of it.” 

“He can fuck right off for all I care,” you nudge Sherlock playfully and he sways. “Other than that I mean we can write to each other, text, whatever. There’s only so much we can do over the university’s email. Here, I can give you my information.” You rifle through your pocket producing a slip of paper, scribbling your information down. “Will that do?” 

Sherlock chuckles, “It’s more than sufficient, though I do prefer to text.” 

“Write when you can, yeah?” You smirk. “I find it classier when my potential suitors take the time to write out heartfelt notes of praise and gratitude.” 

“You’re not romantic in the slightest.” 

“That’s true, but for the right person, perhaps I can be.” 

“By the right person, you mean me, of course.” 

A small smirk forms along your face. “Now now, Mister Holmes don’t let that ego of yours take hold just yet. However, you might be on to something.” You whisper in his ear, “Perhaps it’s best we make a run for your room tonight? I’d hate to spend the night alone after being in your company.” 

“Feeling a bit more adventurous now? Thought you’d turn in early for the night while reading those cheap paperback romances you buy from the markets.” 

You feign an offended gasp at his remark. You kept many of those romances hidden under your bed, hating the covers, knowing you wouldn’t hear the end of it from your roommate, but Sherlock? You should've known it wouldn’t pass his scrutiny, but you're secretly delighted he paid attention to some of your reading habits. 

You suspected he rifled through your bag and saw it during one of your study sessions when you decided to break for a short nap. 

“Did you learn anything interesting?” You raise a brow at his incredulous stare, a light blush tinting his cheeks. 

“Not in the slightest,” he drones on, his arm wrapped around yours, bracing you from the cold and you laugh, continuing on your way to his dorm, which he assures you he has all to himself for the night. You rest your head on his shoulder sauntering along, embracing the cold night air. 

If one were to watch a happy carefree couple under the moonlight, there was no doubting the thread of affection that wove between them both, cementing them in the strands of time. 

All is bright, shiny, and new like the future before them They would make it out in the end. Their future isn’t set in stone, but the possibilities are endless.

Yes, once upon a time, the great detective did live a tale full of laughter and love.

******

#sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x you #university sherlock #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock holmes fanfiction #sherlock holmes fanfic #bbc sherlock imagine #sherlock fanfiction #bbc sherlock #benedict cumberbatch #sherlock tv #writing request #blooming chemistry

[cissyenthusiast010155]

Could you do these prompts, with Lady Lesso and y/n. However you want to do it I don't mind

Heyyy @principal-weems09 !! I wrote all three for you, with a song on the side 🤭 Thanks for the request, babes! Hope you Enjoy 💋

Careful What You Wish For ~Lady Lesso xFem Professor!Reader

Mommy… Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

#27. “If you hate me so much, why do you moan my name in the shower?!”

#40. “Right here? Really?…”

#52. “Fuck… Mommy! … Oh my, I’m so sorry, it just… slipped out…?”

Warnings: NSFW, 18+!!, little angst, little fluff, little smut, strap-fucking, kissing, confession of feelings, praise kink, mommy kink, overstimulation, etc.

Enjoy (;

You’d categorize your relationship between you and Lesso as, well, complicated…

You were a new teacher at the school, and you were the first Never and Ever teacher. You taught English and History, having a classroom in the library. Adjustments had been going well. You had good connections with your colleagues, especially Emma and Clarissa.

Of course, nothing was perfect. The chunk in your armor was Leonora Lesso. She confused the hell out of you. She was snarky and a bitch. But she was like that to everyone…?

With the new joining of the two schools, Lesso seemed to have extra hatred for you, specifically. And the age gap, different level of experience, and power dynamic did not help. Hell, she was twice your age (if not more), had been teaching for decades, and co-dean of the entire school.

Deep down you also knew that something else was going on with you in regards to the one and only dean of evil. Even with her snarky taunts and wicked comments, you still got butterflies whenever you spoke to the woman. Followed by aching in your heart as you remembered the woman practically hates you.

~~~

You entered the new, Never & Ever teachers lounge with a sigh. It was your off period for the day and you were hoping to get some grading done on a literature essay you’d assigned to your students. But as you went to go sit down at one of the tables, you noticed Emma and Clarissa whispering by the couches.

Clarissa caught your gaze and immediately tapped Emma, and they both turned around, quietly beconning you to come join them in a hushed tone. You put your things down and went over to them.

“What…?” You asked.

They both shushed you and Clarissa quickly patted the chair next to her and across from Emma for you to sit.

“What is it…??” You whispered.

The women exchanged glances before pulling in even closer to the circle.

“Not to gossip—” Clarissa began in a hushed tone, but was interrupted by Emma’s hand dramatically tapped Clarissa’s thigh and a stern ‘oh really…?!’ look.

Clarissa stuck her tongue out playfully before continuing, “Anyways… Last night I was getting ready for my nightly bathing ritual, and now with the Never/Ever shared bathrooms… I ran into Leo.”

Clarissa called Lesso ‘Leo’, and Emma called her ‘Leonora’ but you never dared call her anything rather than ‘Professor’ or ‘Lesso’…

“Well not really…” Clarissa continued in her hushed tone, “I didn’t see her… I… I heard her…”

“What…?” You whispered, “What do you mean…?”

Emma smirked at your slight ignorance and her eyes flickered looked down to hide her reaction.

“I heard her moaning, Y/N…” Clarissa whispered.

Your eyes widened.

“You heard her moaning…?”

It hasn’t clicked for you yet…

“Yes. But Y/N… I heard her moaning, Y/N…”

“Oh—OhhHhh…” you stuttered, your face turning red.

Suddenly you felt Emma’s hand embrace yours.

“Don’t worry, we won’t tell anyone…” she whispered, “for either of your sakes… It’s up to you what you do with that knowledge…”

You gulped.

~~~

You had decided to do nothing about that knowledge but overthink it. The weekend had come around at a decent pace, and you were spending your Friday evening still grading those essays…

Maybe giving each and every one of your students an essay assignment was not your best idea… you thought to yourself, cringing a bit on the inside with the amount of work your gave yourself.

You took a deep breath, going to pour yourself some more tea. As you sat back down, you heard a sudden rap! of Lesso’s signature cane on your door. It startled you slightly and your cheeks flushed red, the comment from earlier rushing back into your mind.

“I… Uhh—Come in…!” You chocked out.

The door swung open as the red head entered your classroom with a strut and a slam of the door.

“Oh…—! Professor…! What… What can I help you with…?” You stuttered, your face deepening in its shades of red by the second, your eyes looking anywhere but her gaze.

“What we’re you thinking?!” Lesso snarled.

You gulped and shivers ran down your spine.

“I… What…?” You stuttered, completely frozen.

“You let one of my Never students off the hook for the detentions I assigned?!!” She jeered.

Your breath hitched and your eyes widened as the woman stalked towards you. Your lip started to quiver slightly.

“You imbecile. stupid. idiotic girl…” Lesso sneered, “You do that again and you’ll deeply regret it…”

“She… She didn’t… deserve it…” you stuttered.

Lesso was now inches apart from you, and towering above you as you trembled in your chair.

“Pathetic.” Lesso snarled, “Don’t. Do. It. Again.”

Your breathing was completely uneven and you couldn’t help the tear that escaped your eye. At this, Lesso placed her hands on either side of the chair, getting in your face.

“Right here? Really? You gonna cry like a baby…??” She sneered.

Another tear escaped your eyes and then another.

“Stop, please stop…” you chocked out, pushing the red head away.

The red head huffed in annoyance and rolled her eyes. It made your blood boil.

“I hate you…” she muttered.

“Do you, now??” You choked out, annoyed now yourself.

“Yes.” She gritted out, “You’re incompetent, useless, and diffic—”

“If you hate me so much, why do you moan my name in the shower?!” You blurted out, interrupting the red head.

At your words, a myriad of emotions washed over Lesso’s face. Then before you could say another thing, her lips crashed into yours. You whimpered into the kiss, as the red head pulled you up from your chair and onto your desk. The red head was eager to ravage your lips but you pulled away slightly. At the sign of your hesitation, Lesso immediately began searching your face concerningly.

“I… I don’t understand…” you stuttered, your eyes looking away from Lesso’s gaze.

Lesso looked down in shame.

“I’m… I’m sorry…” she spoke softly, “I didn’t mean all those things I said…”

You said nothing.

“I… I like you…” she continued, “And don’t know how to express it…”

You looked back up at her, to see her eyes full of vulnerable sadness and concern. She tried to pull you closer, but you jerked back slightly.

“Why didn’t you just say that…? Why were you so mean…?” You whispered, another year rolling down your cheeks.

“I guess I’m the cliche of ‘picking on a girl because I like her’…” Lesso chuckled lightly.

This made you giggle slightly. Lesso face lit up at your sounds.

“Maybe ask me out on a date, first…?” You chuckled.

~~~

It had been a few days since Lesso had asked you out, and you guys had gone to dinner. It had gone pretty well, all things considered. But only a few days later, as you sat in your chair, grading once more, the red head barged into your classroom for the second time. She startled you, coming up to, and so you stood up.

“What, what is it…?” You asked concerned.

The red heads pupils were blown out of proportion as she came up flush against you, meeting your gaze.

“I… I want you…” Lesso lustfully panted.

Your breath hitched at her words.

“But I want it to be on your terms… please…” Lesso pled.

You cupped the back of Lesso’s neck with your hand and gently pulled her lips forward and onto yours. This kiss was a lot more gentle than the last. Lesso was still the obvious dominant one, but she led this kiss with less vigor and more care.

“Is this okay…?” She murmered into your lips, as she guided her own hands to your hips.

You nodded breathlessly, throwing your arms around the red heads shoulders and jumping into her arms, your legs wrapping around her waist.

“More than okay…” you muttered, crashing your lips against hers once more.

Lesso moaned into your mouth at your eagerness, as she carried you out of your classroom.

Thank goodness it was late and no one was out in the corridors…

“Your place or mine…?” She murmured into the kiss.

“Yours is closer…” you muttered into her lips.

With that, Lesso moaned into your lips in agreement as she carried you to your private quarters.

~~~

Damn, this woman had resolve…

And you weren’t one to complain… She was always checking in with you, and you were to use the safe word if you were uncomfortable. But she hadn’t done anything to cause you to even consider stopping her…

~~~

“Fuck fuck fuck—!!” You cried out, as Lesso was pounding into you with her favorite strap.

“That’s it, Baby… Lemme hear your screams…” Lesso encouraged.

Lesso then hit a particular spongey spot inside you, causing you to keel over, spiraling the edge once again.

“Fuck… Mommy!” You screamed, reaching your upteenth climax of the night.

At this, Lesso froze for a minute.

“Oh my, I’m so sorry, it just… slipped out…?” You stuttered out.

“Don’t apologize, Baby…” Lesso purred, as she started thrusting into you again helping you ride out your orgasm.

You whimpered at this.

~~~

Pretty soon, Lesso brought you to yet another impending high.

“Leo M’mmm gonna cum…!!” You moaned out desperately.

“What’s my name, baby…?” Lesso wickedly purred in your ear.

“Leo—!!” You cried out.

Lesso tutted you, shaking her head.

“Try again…” she warily purred.

“Mommy please—!!!”

“That’s a good girl…” the red head purred.

~~~

Lady Leonora Lesso Masterlist

#lady lesso #lady lesso fanfic #lady lesso angst #lady lesso x reader #lady lesso content #lady lesso x y/n #lady lesso fluff #lady lesso smut #lady lesso x you #professor lesso #professor lesso smut #professor lesso x reader #professor lesso angst #tsfgae x reader #tsfgae fanfic #tsfgae #tsfgae movie #the school for good and evil smut #school for good and evil angst #school for good and evil fanfic #school for good and evil smut #school for good and evil x reader #the school for good and evil angst #school for good and evil #the school for good and evil #charlize theron character #charlize theron x reader #charlize theron #mommy? sorry. mommy? sorry. mommy? #mommy k!nk

[stuffymcstuffsworld]

Love at first strike

It all started on an average Tuesday. He hadn't thought much of it at the time. How was he to know his life would be changed in an instant that day?

Dali couldn't help it. Really, it was inevitable. There was no running or weaseling his way out of it. He had fallen and fallen hard.

He could still remember it all vividly. The chatter in the halls the sunlight pouring through the windows. Walking into the library and ready to greet the newest suck- Librarian that was hired.

***SMACK***

He never saw that broom coming. He's hit directly in the face and falls backward. Staring up at them from his spot on the floor, he watches them chasing some creature around the aisles.

"GET BACK HERE YOU MENACE!!! LITERATURE EATING PEST!!!! OUT!!! GET OUT OF THIS LIBRARY!!!" They scream repeatedly, swatting it with the broom.

How was Dali supposed to know that the beating on his heart and the flushed face he wore were signs of love? He thought he had been caught off guard! Surprised!

All he could say was he never regretted stepping into the library that day. He remembered laughing his ass off as he watched the chase. How the rage in their eyes shone brightly.

The cute way their tail twitched. The cry of victory they had let out once they had successfully disposed of the creature. A furious little imp with a mighty swing to match.

A little psychopath on a rampage as you got everything organized. Forcing your will onto him and making him help. All without introductions or an apology for hitting him.

"How can anyone find anything? This is a learning environment! You're supposed to help the children find things they have an interest in or have trouble understanding, not hide everything!"

Tossing rags of cobwebs away and disposing of long forgotten snacks left on the shelf. They continued ranting vividly about strangling the previous caretaker of the library. So cute!

Their furrowed brows. The puffed cheeks. The frustrated huffs as they vigorously scrubbed the library clean from top to bottom.

It looks like a reverse hurricane sweeping by. Leaving nothing but order behind instead of chaos. How amusing!

At this point, Dali had forgotten his reason for coming and just handed them things on occasion while watching them do the impossible. "Flithy! Disgusting! When was the last time this place was clean?"

That was a fair question. He watched as they swept clouds of dust into the air. For as long as he could remember the library if babyls had been a mess.

More focused on gaining knowledge than organizing it. Yet here, this newcomer was only a few hours into the job and halfway finished cleaning. He wondered if it was some kind of magic.

"And none of these are organized! It will take days to sort out!!! Do we even have a master list of the books here?!?"

Dali can't help but chuckle mischievously at the biting remark thrown his way. "Oh... I'm sure we do. Somewhere around here..." Casually leaning against one of the shelves as he drawed out his words.

That, of course, earned him a new smack. This time with a duster. What was it with them and constantly hitting his poor face?

***SMACK***

Speaking of which, he snapped out of his reminiscence by a familiar ache. He stares at the demon in question. The imp has the nerve to smack him again with the paperwork in their hand.

"Just look at all this paperwork! I didn't take this job to sign papers all day long! I did it to relax in a cozy place with books!" They huffed.

"Awww, don't be like that, dear." He wraps his arms around their waste, admiring how their tail gave a small wiggle. "Why don't I sit with you to pass the time?"

"I feel like you're just hiding from your own mountain of papers." "Mmm, I do have many essays to grade." He rests his head against theirs.

"But I'd love to do my work with you by my side." He purrs softly, making them blush and shove his face away. "Alright, alright. So needy."

#mairimashita! iruma kun #welcome to demon school iruma kun #reader #dantalion

[bright-eyed]

My fav professor said something today about a colleague who was admonishing someone for having a syllabus with only primary texts (which means there were only books and poems, but no theory or analysis by academics of those works). It’s common knowledge in academia that in an upper level class the readings will include theory. They said, “theory is just the way literature is taught.”

We were talking about this in the context of this part in Italo Calvino’s “Why Read the Classics?”:

“The reading of a classic ought to give us a surprise or two vis-à-vis the notion that we had of it. For this reason I can never sufficiently highly recommend the direct reading of the text itself, leaving aside the critical biography, commentaries, and interpretations as much as possible. Schools and universities ought to help us to understand that no book that talks about a book says more than the book in question, but instead they do their level best to make us think the opposite. There is a very widespread topsyturviness of values whereby the introduction, critical apparatus, and bibliography are used as a smoke screen to hide what the text has to say, and, indeed, can say only if left to speak for itself without intermediaries who claim to know more than the text does.”

It got me thinking about how much people who aren’t already in love with literature seem to all hate it, and with a fervor that seems to get stronger every year. It feels like this is partly why people hate it. This prioritizing of theory over primary sources basically implies that the views and experiences of an individual reader aren’t important, or are wrong. It’s like the thoughts of readers don’t matter. We read theory like it contains the “correct” interpretation of a text, but there’s always going to be something about reading that is entirely beyond the reach of objectivity or criticism. Inevitably our deep personal experiences are ignored or contradicted enough that we grow to hate reading for the shame and frustration it represents. We start feeling like we’re “bad” at reading or like we could never “get” classic literature. We never got good grades on our essays. Our own thoughts didn’t match what the theorist wrote, so we hide and feel stupid. No wonder people hate reading…

The relationship between the reader and the text is an important part of literary studies, and the nature of reading is always being debated, but when it comes to dealing with regular, everyday readers and their own interpretations, it’s like we cease to give a shit because they’re “just” readers. It’s so dumb. What we think matters! You don’t have to be a professor to understand literature because reading is about having a sort of relationship with a text that only you can have, and whatever you get from it is unique and precious. Everything else is secondary.

#kennapost

[danisbrainrot]

capitol!academy!reader (shes 18 and is a coryo friend) teaching gf!tigris to read and write because she never had the opportunity due to having to take care of coriolanus and grandmother

tigris snow x reader

also, she and coriolanus aren't really friends, it's more of a symbiotic relationship. i hope you don't mind.

you were desperately poor. your family had been this way ever since the war. crassus snow had persuaded your father to invest everything in district 13, that when it was bombed to nothing, your whole life collapsed before your eyes. now, your family had to take up any and all kinds of jobs to make a little money.

you had always been incredibly smart. in fact, you and coriolanus were often academic rivals, trying to out score each other in exams and essays. it made sense that you'd be able to help tutor the dumber—but much richer—students at the academy in the grades below.

one day, coriolanus was walking past you explaining the themes of an old fictional book from before the war that surprisingly stuck on the curriculum—something about mice and men.

you started packing up, collecting payment from the younger student, before you locked eyes with coriolanus. you stood in shock—no one in the grade was supposed to know that you were poor. he swiftly approached you, promising not to rat you out if you helped his cousin. you asked why he couldn't do it himself, but he evaded the question. you sighed, but agreed—you couldn't just say no. what if he told everyone about your family's. . . situation?

that's how you found yourself outside his apartment, standing on the pavement of the corso, gripping onto your book bag tightly. you knew they lived on the penthouse, which meant climbing several hundred stairs; you discovered the elevator was broken upon entry. groaning, you began the long climb to the top, wondering how coriolanus did this everyday.

you pounded on the door, catching your breath once you finally reached the top. tigris eagerly opened the door, pulling you in for a tight hug and thanking you profusely for coming.

the first thing you noticed was how barren the grand apartment was. there were only a few necessary pieces of furniture, paint was peeling off the wall and the carpet looked like half of it was ripped up years ago. you realised that the snow's were as poor as you were.

"coryo's at sejanus' house right now, and my grandma'am is asleep so it's just us right now, I hope you're okay with that," she explains, leading you to her room and where her desk was. it was significantly smaller than all the other rooms she'd seen throughout the apartment, half of it still damaged from the war. she sat on her bed, gesturing for you to sit at the desk.

"that's fine. coriolanus told me you were struggling with your reading and writing?" you ask, taking your book bag off and setting your stationary on the desk.

she bit her lip sheepishly, looking at the ground and nodding. "besides the basics and a few things he's taught me, I'm almost illiterate. I had to drop out of the academy to get a full time job, but even then I was terrible at literature," she replies, rubbing her arm up and down.

you freeze, looking at her for a moment too long before shaking her head, "well, I guess that just means we'll be spending a lot of time together," you state, sitting down next to her. you didn't really know where to start, considering all the other people you tutored were usually at a 10th grade reading level, but you quickly found out that tigris wasn't being modest; almost illiterate was an accurate claim.

pulling out an old literature skills book, you place a pen down in front of her and open it to the twentieth page. "do all the activities you can," you say, beckoning her over and standing up. she filled in a few blank spaces, corrected one spelling mistake and bit her lip, before finally placing the pen down. you sigh, knowing that there was a lot of work that would need to be done.

over the next week, tigris' literacy gradually improved. you meticulously poured over past notes you'd taken, encouraging her to learn however she felt comfortable. you stuck to a slow, but effective pace.

you had found out that the reason coriolanus refused to teach tigris was because his temper was far too short and he valued her too much. this didn't completely surprise you—remembering the countless group projects where he'd snap at arachne or festus when they couldn't understand something.

when tigris could finally complete ten pages all by herself, you deemed it a cause of celebration and bought a small cake. it had cost you the same as one tutoring lesson, but it was all worth it when you presented it to her. her eyes nearly bulged out of her head; she subconsciously kissed you on the cheek.

she blushes once she realised what she did, before taking a bite out of the cake and closed her eyes in bliss. "I can't believe you bought me a cake for something so simple," she mumbles, avoiding your gaze.

you snorted, shaking your head in disbelief, "are you kidding me? it's a huge improvement. besides, it's nothing," you lie. your family really needed the money, but the way tigris' face lit up, you couldn't help but know you made the right choice.

"what are you going to do if I finish the whole book?" she asks teasingly, taking another bite of the cake before offering it to you.

you refuse it, before thinking about her question for a minute. "hmm, I think I'd have to kiss you," you joke, winking at her.

the blood rushed to her cheeks, as she turned a dark shade of scarlet. she had grown to really like you over the past week, forming a slight crush on you—the suggestion didn't sound like a bad idea to her. but she knew you were joking, by the way you started laughing straight afterwards.

when you left that evening, she made it her mission to complete the 150 page activity book before your next tutor session. you had a group assignment you had to do with lysistrata so it wouldn't be for another week, giving tigris ample time to get it done.

one day at the academy, you were in the library studying with lyssie and hilarius when coriolanus pulls you aside. he thanks you in private for helping his cousin, and mentions how she was so inspired that she'd managed to finish the entire book. your eyes widen, shock evident on your face for two reasons. one, the book was long and the many pages were extremely difficult. two, did that mean tigris really wanted that kiss?

you and coriolanus walk to his apartment that very afternoon. as he opened the door, tigris ran into the room, flapping the book in your face excitedly. you laugh at her enthusiasm, pulling her into a hug and congratulating her. she grabs your hand, leading you to her room and out of coriolanus's view.

"I guess this means I'm getting that kiss, huh?" she asked shyly. you could tell it was meant to come out teasingly, but tigris was genuinely flustered.

you smiled softly at her, leaning and caressing her cheek with your thumb. "you're smarter than you give yourself credit for," you praise, watching as tigris' cheeks turn pinker. finally, you delicately press your lips against hers and pull her in closer to you.

she sighs into the kiss, wrapping her arms around your shoulders and smiling at the soft way your lips felt. she wanted to stay in this blissful moment forever; you felt similarly.

once you pull away, she pouts momentarily—missing the way your lips felt on hers. "you know, I have another exercise book at home. I could get it for you, and then once you finish that I could kiss you like that again," you tease.

she shook her head, "I think I wanna kiss you like that all the time. not as a reward," she replies, pressing her forehead against yours. you couldn't help but agree, leaning in to kiss her again.

#tigris x reader #tigris snow #wlw #blurb #thg series #tbosas #fluff #thg #fanfic #the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow #danisasks #dani's fics <3

[honestlywtfisgoingon]

When You Weren’t Looking — pt. 1/?

PROFESSOR!OBI-WAN x READER

an au where you and you literature professor realize you both have things to learn about love, and yourselves, outside of class. (as we all know, this can only be done through a big scoop of angst and a smutty cherry on top) playlist

summary: you pretty much end up stealing anakin’s job

warnings: language maybe? mention of what i read in my horrific junior year

a/n: ok ok so some of you might be thinking that obi-wants being a little bitchy but padawan obi in tpm was kind of a stickler and i kind of wanted him to grow into rots obi (bc of y/n) he does have the rots hair tho (rip jedi mullet i still love you)

word count: 1,246 so pretty short for the beginning

Your eyes were following him as he walked back and forth across the front of the small lecture hall. He was talking about troubadour poetry, or was at least supposed to be, but he ended up talking enthusiastically about his philosophies and fascination with medieval literature and their cultural ideals, etc.. His eyes were lit up and his arms making animated gestures in an almost boyish excitement. That’s why most people took this class (besides the small fact that he was one of the more attractive professors). He always clearly and concisely explained the subject in the beginning, probably because he knew he had to get it all in before he fell into his usual habit of sharing his love of literature. Even if you didn’t care about the same things, it was mesmerizing the way he put all of it, and his passion made it so it was never boring. He somehow made it all sound like a story and you were the children gathered around his campfire.

Many other students also secretly enjoyed what happened to be one of your favorite parts of the class: taking note of the way his sleeves always got rolled up when he decided to write on the board or the way he would rub the back of his neck when he was thinking, unintentionally baring his biceps. Sometimes you felt as though you should feel guilty, but you weren’t being demeaning or anything, in fact, you were admiring him.

If he didn’t want you to gaze he shouldn’t have been so handsome.

But no, this time you were staring because he was the one who gave you a 62% on your last essay. You still had a good enough grade to pass, but if you wanted to transfer to your dream school, you would have to look pretty damn good on paper. It was an art school, but a very prestigious one that wanted to see if you were going to work hard, even in your non-art-related classes. You had messed up a bit with your grades freshman year of college (missing out on many classes simply because you could), but that could be compensated for if you could show growth in the following years. That was going to take a lot of A’s if you were going to make up for your slacking off. You had worked hard on your essay, putting in the same effort that you had put into the ones that got handed back to you with 90% written on the top, and it’s not like he was the easiest grader you’ve had.

The lecture had ended, and the room echoed with heavy footsteps of students heading out, along with the comments that had been held in for the last hour. You instead stayed seated, running the dialogue you had prepared for starting a conversation with Professor Kenobi in your head one more time.

You rose from your seat, whispering “fuck it,” and headed down the stairs towards the lowest floor of the classroom.

“Professor?” you said in your most polite yet assertive voice.

“y/n is it? Is there anything I can do for you?” he responded, lifting his eyes to see you as he leaned over his desk to shuffle some papers.

“It is actually. But I was wondering if we could discuss my last essay,” You cleared your throat, trying not to show that his blue eyes of all things were making you nervous, “specifically my grade on it actually,” you added.

“Ah I see,” He folded his hands as he put down the now neat stack of papers and sat back down in his chair.

“You gave me a 62% and I’ve always gotten good grades in this class but I didn’t do anything different. I wouldn’t turn in anything that I didn’t feel was at least well written,”

“It was well written, but that’s not the point”

“I’m sorry professor, but how is that not the point?” you said, brows furrowing

“The way you write is beautiful but it’s what you’re writing about. You completely missed the prompt” He didn’t say it harshly, but rather as though it was a casual fact that he figured you already knew.

“How do the relationships in troubadour poems reflect personal and real-world relationships?” You repeated the prompt for clarity.

“Yes. You gave me a description of a dynamic based on false idealism, but there was nothing personal, nothing real to you. I could have read an article on the facts of those dynamics if I really wanted to, but this isn’t psychology class,”

“So it should have been personal?”

It may not be psychology class but it is an essay, not a diary.

He could see the confusion on your face was still present so he elaborated, “It should have meaning. I want this class to push you into reflection. We can’t just read other people's experiences without applying them to our own. What would be the point? I asked for something personal. You don’t have to address anything wildly uncomfortable, but I graded them based on if you could tell someone actually tried to discover something by the end of the essay,” you could admire his intentions, but it was just an essay to you.

“So I got this grade because I didn't do some soul searching,” you deadpanned, no longer confused, but more irked.

His brows raised at your forwardness. He didn’t seem offended, but rather surprised.

“If you truly are unhappy with your grade, I’ll allow you to redo the essay,”

Well, you could redo it and fluff it all up now that you knew what he wanted. At the end of the day, you would do whatever just to take anything higher.

“Thank you I—“

“But I can only raise it 10% because it is after the fact,”

“Professor really?” you said exasperated. You actually stood up straight after that comment, hoping you didn’t sound disrespectful or rude. Thankfully, his reaction, or lack thereof, was exactly what you were hoping for.

“Well, let’s see… there’s a lot of filing and other tasks that I need done, they’re all menial i’m afraid, but I’d be willing to give you extra credit for it,”

Your face turned into a more pleasant expression, and then a confused one once more.

“Don’t you have a TA for that?”

“Anakin? Oh yes, well he’s…he likes to do everything at his own leisure” he sighed but didn’t seem too down about it, more like he was used to it.

“So, may I ask, why’s he your TA?”

“It was a favor to a friend, Professor Qui Gonn Jinn. Please don’t mention it but Anakin's actually his godson. Although I’m British, I’m not a huge supporter of nepotism,- don’t worry,” he smiled. “It’s really because he believes he has a lot of potential, and I agree— but practically he’s not very helpful” you laughed a little at his comment and he had a slightly amused face as well.

There was a slight pause before you said, “I’d like to take you up on your offer,” nodding firmly.

“I’ll see you in my office after every class starting tomorrow? Does that work with your classes?”

“Yes,” you said after taking a moment to think about your schedule.

“Wonderful. I look forward to it,” he smiled, getting up and slinging his work bag over his shoulder.

Spending that much time with a professor? If I go bored out of my mind…

PART 2

#obi wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi x y/n #obi wan x y/n #obi wan #star wars #obi wan smut #obi wan fluff #obi wan kenobi x reader #professor!obi wan #obi wan au #star wars au #obi wan and anakin #anakin skywalker #aotc #star wars rots #obi wan x reader #padme amidala #professor au #obi wan kenobi au #college au

[grendelsmilf]

as someone who went from a "good student" to a drop out with just a ged and scarce community college creds to my name, i really appreciate the insight and empathy you shared in your posts about academia. i'm trying to enjoy classic literature and the general joy of learning again- would you have any specific works you'd recommend that were formative for you and your interest in academia?

thank you for saying this! i was just saying to my friend last night that i have such mixed feelings about academic institutions because on one hand, the naive idealistic position that people take when extolling the role of these institutions as pure knowledge production in a vacuum is (unfortunately) a facet of it that i do genuinely enjoy. i love a classroom setting when it reaches its full potential, i love acquiring knowledge and expanding my mind, i love writing essays and exploring new concepts. so unlike an institution such as, say, marriage, where im like “yeah just abolish that shit altogether,” there are aspects of academia and education that i think should be maintained, even as these institutions essentially function as pillars of capitalism.

obviously learning need not only occur in these academic settings, and in fact the obligations and stipulations of academia beyond some kind of abstract, illusory idea of the academy as a purely cerebral experience (such as the overwhelming workload, financial pressures, the evil that is grading, the ideological motivations of the institution, publishing pressures, just generally having bad teachers, etc etc) can suck all the initial joy out of learning any young, bright idealist may have entered the academy with in the first place. i find it really heartening that you want to learn for the sake of learning, and i can definitely point out some of my favorite works of Classic Literature as a jumping off point if that’s what you’re interested in exploring.

obviously i had a pretty unique introduction to shakespeare, because i read my first shakespeare plays at the age of five. i was one of the only people in the modern world to read romeo and juliet without knowing that a) they would die at the end and b) even what the general stipulations of a tragedy are. it was my first introduction to shakespeare, but also my first introduction to drama, to tragedy, to romance. there’s something incredibly special about that formative experience (especially considering that r&j is hardly my favorite shakespeare play today) and i think that most people only find their love for shakespeare much later in life.

for example, im friends with this 40-something japanese woman, who is absolutely brilliant and lovely, and even though she did technically study shakespeare in college, the pedagogical approach her professor took to shakespeare completely ruined the experience for her and she could never understand the work or why it was so appealing to so many. so a couple years ago, i started reading othello with her and we went through it line by line and discussed the nuances of every single world, all the thematic implications and literary allusions and pure drama of it all, and she was hooked, she loved reading it, she finally understood the appeal of shakespeare. we went to go see shakespeare in the park together, and we had a great time discussing the play and the production choices. even though she was eight times the age i was when i first fell in love with shakespeare, she only needed to approach the material with an open mind and a sense of wonder to understand why i love it so much.

as for specific books i’d recommend, that’s difficult because there are simply so many. across different time periods, different cultures, the range of works that are deeply meaningful is so vast. while my focus is shakespeare (and by extension, early modern theater), i otherwise try to read from a diverse array as much as possible. if you’re specifically looking for english literature, i only read middlemarch by george eliot this year, but ive since become obsessed with it; it’s an absolutely incredible novel. i also love villette by charlotte bronte, and wuthering heights by emily. frankenstein by mary shelley is as good as its legacy suggests, but i also recommend reading paradise lost by john milton to better understand it. as for shakespeare, king lear and othello are my favorites, but i think hamlet is still the best place to start. jane austen has some bangers. and in terms of english (language) novels that were specifically formative for me as a child, jane eyre, lolita (technically a modern classic), and alice’s adventures in wonderland & through the looking glass have always stuck with and remained deeply important to me. obviously i can continue to recommend work across different cultures, periods, and languages, but this seems like a pretty solid syllabus for an introductory english class if you ask me!

#ask #anon #not an english major but i (somewhat) respect their beliefs

[alonee-together]

For the DPS girlies, I present my 10th grade English literary analysis of Dead Poets Society.

no I do not know where the works cited is. yes I have always been a Knox apologist.

Transcendentalism in Literature and Dead Poets Society

“Nothing is at last sacred but the integrity of your own mind,” (Emerson 1) states author Ralph Waldo Emerson when discussing nonconformity. During the beginning of the nineteenth century and in a society of monotony and repression of individualism, thinkers such as Emerson and Thoreau began to question these social morals, creating a genre of literature called transcendentalism. The ideals of this movement involved themes such as living life to its fullest potential and defying conformity in society. Similarly, Peter Weir’s film Dead Poets Society touches upon the conformity of American society in the 1950s, in which several issues such as fear of communism drove citizens to submission. The film Dead Poets Society is a transcendental piece through the themes of living life to the fullest and nonconformity as seen in several works of transcendental literature.

In the essay self-reliance, Emerson tells the reader, “speak what you think today in hard words and tomorrow speak what tomorrow thinks and hard words again though it contradicts everything you said today” (Emerson) Like many of the greatest transcendental thinkers, Emerson acts on the principle of speaking one's mind and never holding back.Another piece of this is to not worry what others think of the ideas and the contradiction Express because “a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little Minds”( Emerson). Mr. Keating also expresses this idea when quoting Thoreau, “most men lead quiet lives of desperation. Don't be resigned to that break out.”Mr. Keatings sole purpose throughout the movie is to let the boys have the chance speak out and be themselves and a society of Conformity and similar thinking. To promote the idea of seeing what One Believes rather than every person and what Society wants to hear. similarly Thoreau also believes this.

The idea of living life to its fullest is pervasive in the film Dead Poets Society. A man in love, Knox Overstreet stops at nothing to get the girl he adores so dearly. A popular theme of the transcendentalists is the power of romance and passion. Knox decides to call up Kris, stating: “I’ve been calm all my life, I’m gonna do something about it,” (DPS) and in true nature of these authors, takes a chance and decides how his life will play out. Their new english teacher Mr. Keating, an almost replica of Ralph aldo Emerson, teaches the boys to see for themselves and dictate their own paths. He remembers his days at Welton Academy where they: “let [poetry] drip from our lips like honey,” (DPS) as they took control of their lives and defied strict doctrine of the school by forming the original Dead Poets Society. As if these young souls were: “nature without check with original energy,” (Whitman 1) their formation of the society is much like the nonconformity and nonviolent rebellion justified by transcendental authors such as Emerson and Thoreau.

In order to live one’s life to the fullest, one cannot submit themselves to the monotony of society. Ralph Waldo Emerson discusses in his essay “Self-Reliance” that a man: “must be a nonconformist” and if one is able to: “absolve you to yourself”, then they can achieve: “suffrage of the world,” (Emerson 1) reminding readers to think for themselves and disassociate oneself with conformity. Of course no transcendentalist would endorse violence, however peaceable revolution in the means of civil disobedience is called for by several thinkers. Why should citizens be forced to fund a nation built upon corruption and negligence? In Thoreau’s essay “Civil Disobedience,” one should be oppressed no longer, yet: “break the law. Let your life be the counter-friction to stop the machine” (Thoreau “Civil Disobedience” 4). The “machine” is a representation of the never-ending cycle of conformity and individualistic repression in society. Thinkers like Thoreau proposed that people should strive towards governments which: “governs not at all” (Thoreau “Civil Disobedience” 1), and that: “we should be men first, and subjects afterwards” (Thoreau “Civil Disobedience” 3).

The film Dead Poets Society is a transcendental piece due to its connection to the theme of living life to its fullest and nonconformity seen in transcendentalist works of literature. The main ideal for transcendentalists was to be able to think for themselves and live their lives to their fullest potential in a society of conformity and monotony. This theme is present in the film by the character Knox Overstreet’s actions in the name of love, and the formation of the Dead Poets Society itself. According to transcendental literature, to be able to achieve full potential in life, one must walk to the beat of their own drummer, and defy conformity by means of civil disobedience. This ideal is present in the film by the final scene in which Todd Anderson finally gets a voice in defiance of the “machine.” Over 100 years later, the works of transcendentalist authors, poets, and thinkers, still resonate in the world. Complete global peace has yet to be achieved, so there will always be peaceful rebels inspired to overthrow their oppressors, with justifications from authors such as Emerson and Thoreau.

#dps #dead poets society #knox overstreet #todd anderson #john keating #love me #plz im begging #show me validation #charlie dalton #walt whitman #henry david thoreau #dps fandom #i’m bad at spelling

[hellogirlslikegirlslikeboysdo]

And the lights are not fluorescent, and there are no words on the page. - Zuihitsu/Hybrid Essay

Author's Preface and Ch. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and 7

Description: My final portfolio for one of the creative writing courses I took based around exploring the creative nonfiction essay in its many literary forms, with any and all identifying names or signifiers censored out.

This essay may not actually, in the most technical sense available, “pass” as a submission to the “Essay 3: Zuihitsu/ Hybrid” assignment.

If you are interested in financial compensation for your loss, feel free to contact us at 1-800-THIS-AUTHOR-IS-PHYSICALLY-ALLERGIC-TO-UNDERSTANDING-BASIC-DIRECTIONS. We are taking the time and liberty to inform you of this upcoming inconvenience not only as a hook for the first line of this essay, nor to plead “ignorance of the literary law” during its grading process, but rather to provide a reference point based in where said essay is coming from, and where it plans on going for the remainder of its duration.

As we’re sure you’ve found in your time as an academic instructor working at [REDACTED], [REDACTED]’s famous claim of a “gradeless” curriculum in the traditional sense (ie. a lack of letters or percentiles) may hold up in the previously mentioned technical sense (excluding the GPA our final evaluations get translated into during the grad school application process), however, most of the expectations and requirements professors hold in their classrooms act as a sort of “pass/fail” grading system anyway, though the unique teaching philosophy shared amongst them and facility tends to inspire only two genuine points of grading criteria: “Is the assignment complete in provable effort and its entirety?” and “Does it follow the awarded instructions?”

After countless scouring on the internet, our class notes, the description and examples left in the Canvas page, and our memory of class the day you explained it, we have come to the dreaded conclusion that this essay may not fit the second criterion.

Our continued rough drafting is committed, rather, to the hope that our confusion on the nature of the hybrid essay, the actual difference between Zuihitsu poetry vs Zuihitsu essay writing, the necessity of following a particular theme or idea throughout, the assigned process behind this essay, each supposed segment’s expected length or whether this portion’s subject matter qualifies it as an actual part of the essay, or even the correct way to separate each section, will somehow act in the spirit of Zuihitsu literature: Following the pen wherever it leads you.

Wish us luck, dear reader.

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I found the same kind of fun in the animal diary that I find in all our in-class hands-on work: Obvious, self-explanatory, and buried deep within the depths of the most artistic/freeform aspect of the activity. Like clockwork, it requires me to brush away the specks of uncertainty in the directions, my withered hands revealing the big, bright label plastered on top.

It reads exactly how you imagine it reads: “See!! See, look, I told you I was here! You were so focused on making sure this assignment helped you towards your next essay, you thought you wouldn’t have room for me, but here I am, idiot! You’re having a good goddamn time drawing a funky little platypus, and it’s all thanks to me! Leave your thank you on the way out, ya dumb bitch!”

Apart from the question of why this metaphor requires a labeling gun with such long stickers, one has to wonder what disgusting alleyway all that distracting stress crawled out of. The supposed safety net of my professors, generally speaking, knowing what exactly they’re doing (those PHDs don’t exactly just pop into existence one day) does quite little to sway this approach to learning in all its hypervigilance. I’ve posited many theories over the years, tangentially and never allowing myself the time for a full conclusion; It could be the looming threat of how little time I have to devote to brainstorming how to attack my assignments, maybe the unshakable internal insistence (blame capitalism or the public schooling for that, either’s a fine scapegoat and the “why” is too abstract to help me in the middle of class) that learning has to be productive towards a traceable later goal, instead of myself as a whole and an academic (if I have nothing tangible to show for my efforts, how can I be sure I even followed the directions correctly?).

The most troubling option, embarrassing as it is for someone who claims to prioritize her career as a writer above all else, is that I’m simply trying to justify using the skills and techniques as they are given to me, in hopes that the results they wield in class are shiny enough for me to actually use them outside of the class.

I do wonder if I took the animal diary this seriously when I first encountered it. My memory flickers under the winds of time, but I’m leaning towards no.

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It does, of course, come to my attention what asking for clarification on the instructions could do, but the things classification has done in the past (make just as little sense as before, confuse me further, led my mind even farther from the intended understanding, you know the drill) brushes the thought away.

Years of fractured, sprawled-out education has taught me my best approach for tasks I’m not fully sure about is to set my concerns aside and simply go with what I think is best, consequences be damned!

(And by damned, I mean, as I’m sure you guessed, professionally dealt with at a later date.)

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

Maybe the apologetic, justifying tone gives me away, maybe it's the heavy overarching theme in this freeform-style essay, but I should confess that my current thoughts are mixed in the way they always are. Half are swirling around the task at hand and what little attention I can pay to it (as always). The other half is on what I really wish I was writing (ie. what I am always thinking about, somewhere, way in the back): Whatever nonsense my brain has deemed flashy enough to name my current hyperfixation (The Stanley Parable at the moment I’m writing this, though I’m sure it’ll have changed by the time I come back to edit this).

That latter half, of course, brings me to the conundrum I’ve left out to dry ever since I labeled myself a writer. I want to spend this entire essay rambling on about this stupid little video game, and its two stupid little main characters, and the actually brilliant way they need each other more than the narrative itself needs them in one blog-style expository essay, well underneath 750 words. But that just won’t work, in the same way that what I wish I was writing even more than that (fiction, prose in particular) won’t work either. In the simplest of terms, that’s not what this assignment is about. And in order to actually learn, to grow as a writer, I can’t just write what I want to. I have to write what I need to.

#creative nonfiction #essay #the stanley parable #scattered thoughts #experimental #creative writing #nonfiction #themes #creative process #realization #creating art #emotional #musings #writing

[oopsallfictives]

I see a lot of posts on here where there's some sort of argument that boils down to "kids in high school English classes should be allowed to read YA novels that are currently popular because it would keep them engaged" vs "no, they should only be reading literary classics because you can't teach reading comprehension otherwise" and I'm tired of seeing this debate so hopefully dumping all my thoughts out will make me less annoyed when it comes up on my dash. Gonna put this under a cut cause it's kinda long, but if it influences your decision on whether or not to read the whole thing, I personally come down on the side of letting kids read works they're interested in, YA or not

The idea that you can't teach reading comprehension, literary analysis, or other important skills using works that aren't literary classics doesn't make sense to me. I read plenty of classics in high school English classes and I don't credit that experience with teaching me how to comprehend and critique fiction for a few reasons. One is that despite consistently reading well above my grade level and exceeding every reading comprehension test I ever took, I often didn't understand the books we read in those classes. I can't tell you what happened in Great Expectations or A Tale of Two Cities because Charles Dickens' writing is incredibly hard for me to parse for some reason. Whatever lessons my teachers wanted to impart on me by teaching those books, I didn't get them. Another reason is that I was never actually taught the skills of literary analysis. When you teach by giving students three possible prompts and telling them to write an essay, it kind of doesn't matter what book they're writing about

The fact is, I learned how to comprehend and critique fiction by reading, watching, and listening to a shit ton of it. I was one of those kids who read everything I could get my hands on growing up, and I've continued to consume fiction in my daily life despite not reading as much. I did this because I love fiction, and I love fiction because it was introduced to me in a way that made it enjoyable. My big sister would sit me in her lap before I was able to read and read aloud to me. My mom, sister, and I would often read the same books and discuss them with each other (which also helped teach the skills I mentioned above). The end result of this is that how and why fiction works is my longest and most enduring hyperifxation/SI

That's why the "let kids pick their own books" argument makes so much sense to me. I read Animal Farm in eighth grade because my mom thought I would like it, and I did. The next year we read it in class, and I didn't understand why none of my classmates felt the way I did about it. The fact that Animal Farm is a classic didn't make them any more invested, but the fact that they were forced to read it whether they liked it or not might've had the opposite effect. Forcing kids to read books they don't like just doesn't foster a love of reading or an interest in unpacking what works about a book and what doesn't (also, maybe ask that question instead of telling kids to write an essay on the themes of whatever book you assigned. Identifying a theme isn't the be all end of lit crit). You can't teach people about anything if they don't care enough to learn, so if you want to teach kids about literature, you have to make them care about it

I also want to push back on the idea that, if given free reign, students won't choose to read classics. In 9th grade when given an assignment to read three books from a given genre, I chose dystopia and read Fahrenheit 451, Brave New World, and 1984 (oh, and I chose that genre because I had recently read and enjoyed The Hunger Games so...). That's one of the only assignments I look back on fondly from high school English, and I got a lot out of it. Frankly, I think you can teach the basics skills of lit crit more effectively using short stories as practice, and then letting students choose their own novel(s) to practice those skills on. And if you're using short stories as your mode of teaching those skills, you can fit a lot more of them into a single year, and therefore teach more skills (beyond 9th grade your students should already know how to identify the theme of a work, try something new for the next three)

The fact is, getting kids engaged in their classes is one of the biggest struggles a teacher faces (outside of the problems caused by low pay, a lack of funding, and various levels of school administration, of course). Letting students choose their own books impedes a teacher's ability to teach a lot less than kids not paying attention does

(Also YA novels are written for a teenage demographic whereas many classics are written for a higher reading level, the lifting up of certain novels as classics is tied to racism and classism, and some YA books have all the same merits of whatever classic is getting propped up as essential to learning reading comprehension die mad about it)

#all of this is moot tho cause its actually the school board who makes these decisions and not the teachers #idk email this post to your local school board members or whatever #they probably dont care about tumblr arguments but hey give it a shot #can you tell im bitter about our high school education lmao #the quicksilvers say

[sixbucks]

A Complete List of the 2023 LAMBDA Literary Awards Winners and Finalists

Congratulations to this years "Lammy" Award winners and finalists! In line with Lambda Literary's mission to advocate for LGBTQ writers, the awards are a way to amplify some of the best writing by queer authors today. More than 1,350 literary works were submitted this year across 25 categories of LGBTQ+ literature, so these books faced some steep competition.

Kick off your own Pride Month Reading Challenge by stocking up on these winning and finalist books! Use promotional code PRIDE23 at check-out to get 20% off these books throughout the month of June.

Bisexual Nonfiction

The Winner: Appropriate Behavior by Maria San Filippo

Finalists:

See why the title essay of this book went viral on the Paris Review website back in 2019.

"The book brings that same frank, funny gaze to bear on a succession of other doomed romances, mining them for complicated truths about how the love stories we inherit, consume and tell come to shape our experience and expectations. Think of it as rehab for road-weary romantics." —The Guardian

Carrying It Forward: Essays from Kistahpinanihk by John Brady McDonald (not carried by Tertulia)

Never Simple: A Memoir by Liz Scheier

Open: An Uncensored Memoir of Love, Liberation, and Non-Monogamy by Rachel Krantz

Lesbian Fiction

The Winner: Gods of Want by K-Ming Chang

Finalists:

Locus Magazine called this finalist for the 2022 National Book Award an "extraordi­nary literate and structurally inventive novel about female sexuality, cruelty, desire, and trauma that echoes the work of Lovecraft and Melville. A book this good, this devas­tating, should factor on all the award lists..."

Big Girl: A Novel by Mecca Jamilah Sullivan

Nightcrawling by Leila Mottley

Our Wives Under the Sea: A Novel by Julia Armfield

Gay Fiction

The Winner: The Foghorn Echoes by Danny Ramadan

Finalists:

Author Andrew Sean Greer called this book "Full of joy and righteous anger, sex and straight talk, brilliant storytelling and humor... A spectacularly researched Dickensian tale with vibrant characters and dozens of famous cameos, it is precisely the book we've needed for a long time."

Call Me Cassandra by Marcial Gala

God’s Children Are Little Broken Things by Arinze Ifeakandu

Hugs and Cuddles by João Gilberto Noll

Lesbian Memoir/Biography

The Winner: Lost & Found: A Memoir by Kathryn Schulz

This thriller/sci-fi mash-up was named a best book of the year by NPR.

"In the end, The Paradox Hotel succeeds as both a mystery and as a story involving time travel. Do you want head-spinning theories on the flow of time and what it might do to people and places? You’ll find both in abundance here. But you’ll also find a resourceful, haunted protagonist pushing herself to the limit to uncover the truth behind an impossible case—one that eventually leads her to a conclusion that satisfies both of the genres from which this novel emerged." —Tor.com

Book Eaters by Sunyi Dean

Into the Riverlands by Nghi Vo

The Circus Infinite by Khan Wong

Bisexual Fiction

The Winner: Reluctant Immortals by Gwendolyn Kiste

Finalists:

Meet Us by the Roaring Sea by Akil Kumarasamy

Mother Ocean Father Nation by Nishant Batsha

Roses, In the Mouth of a Lion by Bushra Rehman

Stories No One Hopes Are about Them by A.J. Bermudez

Transgender Fiction

The Winner: The Call-Out by Cat Fitzpatrick

Finalists:

All the Hometowns You Can’t Stay Away From by Izzy Wasserstein

Didn’t Nobody Give a Shit What Happened to Carlotta by James Hannaham

Manywhere by Morgan Thomas

Wrath Goddess Sing by Maya Deane

LGTBQ+ Young Adult

The Winner: The Lesbiana’s Guide to Catholic School by Sonora Reyes

Finalists:

Burn Down, Rise Up by Vincent Tirado

Funny Gyal: My Fight Against Homophobia in Jamaica by Angeline Jackson with Susan McClelland

Lakelore by Anna-Marie McLemore

The Summer of Bitter and Sweet by Jen Ferguson

LGTBQ+ Middle Grade

The Winner: Nikhil Out Loud by Maulik Pancholy

Finalists:

Answers In the Pages by David Levithan

Different Kinds of Fruit by Kyle Lukoff

Hazel Hill Is Gonna Win This One by Maggie Horne

The Civil War of Amos Abernathy by Michael Leali

LGTBQ+ Children's Book

The Winner: Mighty Red Riding Hood by Wallace West

Finalists:

A Song for the Unsung: Bayard Rustin by Carol Boston Weatherford and Rob Sanders

Kapaemahu by Hinaleimoana Wong-Kalu, Dean Hamer and Joe Wilson

Mama and Mommy and Me in the Middle by Nina LaCour

The Sublime Ms. Stacks by Robb Pearlman

Transgender Nonfiction

The Winner: The Third Person by Emma Grove

Finalists:

Before We Were Trans: A New History of Gender by Kit Heyam

Faltas: Letters to Everyone in My Hometown Who Isn’t My Rapist by Cecilia Gentili

Feral City: On Finding Liberation in Lockdown New York by Jeremiah Moss

The Terrible We: Thinking with Trans Maladjustment by Cameron Awkward-Rich

LGTBQ+ Nonfiction

The Winner: The Black Period: On Personhood, Race, and Origin by Hafizah Augustus Geter

Finalists:

And the Category Is…: Inside New York’s Vogue, House, and Ballroom Community by Ricky Tucker

How Far the Light Reaches: A Life in Ten Sea Creatures by Sabrina Imbler

The Women’s House of Detention: A Queer History of a Forgotten Prison by Hugh Ryan

Virology: Essays for the Living, the Dead, and the Small Things in Between by Joseph Osmundson

Lesbian Poetry

The Winner: As She Appears by Shelley Wong

Finalists:

Beast at Every Threshold by Natalie Wee

Concentrate by Courtney Faye Taylor

Prelude by Brynne Rebele-Henry

Yearn by Rage Hezekiah

Gay Poetry

The Winner: Some Integrity by Padraig Regan

Finalists:

Alive at the End of the World by Saeed Jones

Brother Sleep by Aldo Amparán

Pleasure by Angelo Nikolopoulos

Super Model Minority by Chris Tse

Bisexual Poetry

The Winner: Real Phonies and Genuine Fakes by Nicky Beer

Finalists:

50 Things Kate Bush Taught Me About the Multiverse by Karyna McGlynn

Dereliction by Gabrielle Octavia Rucker

Indecent Hours by James Fujinami Moore

Meat Lovers by Rebecca Hawkes

Transgender Poetry

The Winner: MissSettl by Kamden Ishmael Hilliard

Finalists:

A Dead Name That Learned How to Live by Golden

A Queen in Bucks County by Kay Gabriel

All the Flowers Kneeling by Paul Tran

Emanations by Prathna Lor

LGTBQ+ Anthology

The Winner: OutWrite: The Speeches That Shaped LGBTQ Literary Culture by Julie R. Enszer and Elena Gross

Finalists:

Queer Nature: A Poetry Anthology edited by Michael Walsh

This Arab is Queer: An Anthology by LGBTQ+ Arab Writers by Elias Jahshan

Trans Bodies, Trans Selves: A Resource by and for Transgender Communities Second Edition by Laura Erickson-Schroth

Xenocultivars: Stories of Queer Growth by Isabela Oliveira and Jed Sabin

Gay Memoir/Biography

The Winner: High-Risk Homosexual by Edgar Gomez

Finalists:

All Down Darkness Wide: A Memoir by Seán Hewitt

An Angel in Sodom by Jim Elledge

Boy with the Bullhorn: A Memoir and History of ACT UP New York by Ron Goldberg

I’m Not Broken by Jesse Leon

LGTBQ+ Mystery

The Winner: Dirt Creek: A Novel by Hayley Scrivenor

Finalists:

A Death in Berlin by David C Dawson

And There He Kept Her by Joshua Moehling

Dead Letters from Paradise by Ann McMan

Lavender House by Lev AC Rosen

LGTBQ+ Comics

The Winner: Mamo by Sas Milledge

Finalists:

A Pros and Cons List for Strong Feelings: A Graphic Memoir by Will Betke-Brunswick

Gay Giant by Gabriel Ebensperger

Other Ever Afters by Melanie Gillman

The Greatest Thing by Sarah Winifred Searle

Lesbian Romance

The Winner: The Rules of Forever by Nan Campbell

Finalists:

Hard Pressed by Aurora Rey

If I Don’t Ask by E. J. Noyes

Queerly Beloved by Susie Dumond

Southbound and Down by K.B. Draper

Gay Romance

The Winner: I’m So Not Over You by Kosoko Jackson

Finalists:

Forever After by Marie Sinclair (not carried by Tertulia)

Forever, Con Amor by A.M. Johnson

Just One Night by Felice Stevens

Two Tribes by Fearne Hill

LGTBQ+ Romance and Erotica

The Winner: Kiss Her Once For Me: A Novel by Alison Cochrun

Finalists:

A Lady’s Finder by Edie Cay

Loose Lips: A Gay Sea Odyssey by Joseph Brennan

Mistakes Were Made by Meryl Wilsner

The Romance Recipe by Ruby Barrett

LGTBQ+ Drama

The Winner: Iphigenia and the Furies (On Taurian Land) & Antigone: 方 by Ho Ka Kei (Jeff Ho)

Finalists:

Duecentomila by kai fig taddei

Rock ‘n’ Roll Heretic by Sikivu Hutchinson

The Show on the Roof Book by Tom Ford, Music and Lyrics by Alex Syiek (not carried by Tertulia)

Wolf Play by Hansol Jung, Samuel French

 LGTBQ+ Studies

The Winner: Keeping It Unreal: Black Queer Fantasy and Superhero Comics by Darieck Scott

Finalists:

Lesbian Death: Desire and Danger between Feminist and Queer by Mairead Sullivan

Sissy Insurgencies: A Racial Anatomy of Unfit Manliness by Marlon B. Ross

Surface Relations: Queer Forms of Asian American Inscrutability by Vivian L. Huang

There’s a Disco Ball Between Us: A Theory of Black Gay Life by Jafari S. Allen

#lambda awards #literary awards #lgbtqia #🏳️‍🌈

[simsmadegeeky]

15 Questions

Got tagged by @antoninko

Are you named after anyone? My maternal Grandma for my first name and my paternal Grandma for my middle name.

When was the last time you cried? I tear up quite a bit but full on crying was re-reading Dear Sugar's article, 'The Obliterated Place'. The way she writes is so beautiful and raw that she often make me cry (in a good way which is why I re-read her articles). Head's up if you want to read the article: it's very beautiful but it's also very intense.

Do you have kids? Yes, 1. She's got enough energy for 3 kids, though.

Do you use sarcasm a lot? So much, y'all don't even know. I generally try to be more polite to/with people I don't well.

What sports do you play/have you played? I ran track for a hot minute in grade school. I grew up on movies and TV and video games and have never really wanted to invest time in much else outside of those things and crafting.

What’s the first thing you notice about people? What they wear? It's something I've never really thought about, honestly. But I love fashion and I love all the different ways people wear clothes and all the different types of clothes, so I'm gonna guess that.

Scary movies or happy endings? So many scary movies. I love bad ones and the amazing ones and everything in-between. The only ones I don't like are the boring ones but I'm very easy to entertain when it comes to horror so I don't run into those very often. (Here's my list of fav horror movies if you're interested. XD)

Any special talents? I like to think my embroidery skills are pretty good.

Where were you born? Japan (my dad was in the air force).

What are your hobbies? Video games, movies, TV shows, plastic canvas projects, embroidery, watching video essays (especially about cinematography), baking.

Do you have any pets? No. Love my Mom's dog, though. Only dog I've ever liked.

How tall are you? 5 foot, 5 inches.

Fave subject in school? Literature, hands down. One of my biggest disappointments of any class was signing up for world lit in high school and quickly realizing that it was all American and British authors. Still annoyed about that.

Dream job? I fucking adored working at Blockbuster. Fucking loved it. I would love for that job to still exist but it is what it is.

Eye colour? Blue

#non sims

[weilongfu]

AkkTheo Professor AU - Theo’s students finally meet Akk

A continuation of The difficult life of a literature professor

If Theo could have his way, the "mysterious camera man" would forever remain a mystery. There was no need, no matter how romantic they thought it was, for his students to know so much about his personal life. Said "mysterious camera man" felt differently and reminded Theo of such every night at dinner.

"They already all follow me on IG," said Akk. "You're just lucky I don't enjoy posting pictures of myself."

"And you're going to keep it that way," Theo said while pointing his spoon at Akk. "I had no less than ten students submit essays that were practically thinly veiled analyses about the story of our relationship. Even giving them all failing grades didn't shake them. I refuse to feed their fantasies any further."

"What happened to my N'Theo who wanted romance so bad he asked someone pretend to be a mystery admirer?" Akk leaned in and smirked. "Who was it that wrote this romance that everyone heard of?"

"He got the romance he wanted from the man he wanted and he'd like the public to stop being so interested in his damn love life. And don't call me N'Theo!" With that, Theo hit Akk's forehead with his spoon. Akk pouted and gave Theo his most practiced puppy eyes. Theo sighed, wiped Akk's forehead and kissed it. "Please drop it?"

Akk held up a hand with three fingers up. "I promise to drop it."

------

The next day, as Theo neared the end of his lecture, there was a knock at the door. All eyes turned as Akk walked in, a lunch bag in hand. Theo's face immediately turned red.

"Ai Akk!"

"You forgot your lunch at home," Akk said as he placed the bag in Theo's hands. "Make sure you eat well." Akk leaned in, and before Theo could stop him, pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I'll see you at home later."

The screams that erupted from the peanut gallery were enough to shake the classroom windows. Akk waved to the crowd and turned to face Theo's angry expression.

"Akk..."

"You said to drop it. I thought you meant drop the truth?" Akk gave Theo his most cheeky grin. "Right?"

"YOU ARE SO DEAD!"

-----

Akk looked at Theo mournfully from the couch that night. Theo's phone had not stopped ringing and neither had his. Notifications from social media were a steady downpour followed by notifications from friends who had heard the news.

"I'm sorryyyyyyy," Akk said again as Theo finally shut his phone off. "I underestimated how bad it was with your students."

"When I tell you it's bad and not to do something, you should LISTEN."

"If I listened to you all the time, I'd have never asked you out in the first place."

"No, you would have asked me out sooner."

Akk finally got up and wrapped his arms around Theo. "I really am sorry. I didn't realize just how much your students had been bothering you about us."

"Windows actually rattled."

"That's why I'm sorry?"

Theo sighed. "You're going to post on IG to ask for privacy."

"I am going to ask for privacy. Yes."

"And for them to actually pay attention in my class."

"And tell them to pay attention to your class. Yes."

"And you're going to go order dinner."

"I'm going to go order your favorite dinner. Yes." Akk paused for a moment. "Along with a few bottles of wine. And fancy cheese." Another pause. "And take you out to that used bookstore you talked about last night. And then that cafe so you can try all those ice creams?"

"Apology accepted," Theo said at last and Akk sighed in relief.

#akktheo #enchante the series #prompt spam weekend #summer celebration prompt spam

[dreamyace1]

My real college application essay

hello, lovely folks. this is my very first Tumblr post! my heart is full and warm as I am writing this — just the natural occurrence when about to share your story on making the perhaps most important decision in your life so far :)

Life update: yesterday was the last day of my "real" freshman year. I cannot control myself from being emotional and getting sentimental because of how incredibly meaningful this chapter has been. A year ago, I was lost, uncertain of how much more difficult will it take to succeed in taking the path that I truly wanted, acting particularly against what my parents had dreamt for me.

From the brink of an unacquainted-with mountain to now walking through flowered valleys, I am so thankful that I took the courage to swim against the current and eternally grateful to the individuals, especially my older sister, for supporting me to do so. I cannot emphasize my excitement more about the upcoming years of still being with the exceptional friends I made this year and growing more as a person.

_

This was my (essay) entry when I was applying to transfer to Arts and Letters at the University of Santo Tomas:

(July 30, 2022)

"Perhaps It’s Thrice"

By: Raymond Vince G. Manaloto

I once heard that in all of literature, Ulysses, despite being popularly noted as having the best ending, a much more insightful and authentic closing can be found in Sentimental Education by Gustave Flaubert. In its final events, nothing really happens — just two old friends sitting around remembering the best thing that never happened to them. You may wonder how one remembers something that never happened in the first place. Well, fondly. Looking in, Flaubert considered anticipation to be the purest and most consistent type of pleasure. While things that happen to you will often, if not always, disappoint you, those that never happen to you will never dull, never fade. They will always be etched in your heart with a deep sweet melancholy. It seems like, as far as I can remember, this has been unfortunately and fortunately, my life story since day one.

Ever since I was just but a clueless child, I have always felt ambiguous with the environment I was surrounded in, having no sense of belonging to touch. I perpetually felt I was born with a sensitive soul, feeling things profoundly. Perhaps this is the root of why I have always been strongly drawn to writing, language, and literature. When you deeply see and experience things in this world, these areas are easily the closest avenue you can hold onto. Being raised in a dysfunctional family, with my mother often an irascible person when I was a kid, my father working overseas before I was even born, and my older sister sharing the problems of a troubled child I similarly had, altogether being actively engaged in the arduous faith and belief we had in our household, and co-existing with the set of human beings we were hedged upon, writing down my feelings and thoughts on a paper became a solace of mine.

I had my first taste of engaging myself in serious encounters with crafting my curiosities and interests during sixth grade. My classmates saw my love and talent for writing, and somehow that led me to join the school newspaper as a feature writer. Little did I know that I would consistently become a part of various school presses until finishing high school, acting in assorted positions in student journalism, such as being an editorial writer in tenth grade. And although I attended a science high school during my eleventh and twelfth, I was never as interested in the sciences as I am in the arts. Sadly, my family could not afford to support me in pursuing my aspirations. Oh yes, the "Practicality versus passion" bit. It may be a worn cliché, but this struggle has been an extremely real and tremendously difficult obstacle I have grappled with. At some point, I agree that deciding what you desire to be and plan to do in the future, and how it would essentially look, at the age of eighteen, which I am just now realizing is so very young, is a brutal event in our lives.

I was a high school senior when the Pandemic struck and disrupted the pace of our modern society. You got to feel for me when I say that spending what is meant to be the most significant and fun year of a person's high school life in an academic online setting is one of the worst and most traitorous things the universe can give a young student. As graduation (still virtual) was nearing that time, I progressively felt the incessant pressures as to which institution I would attend and what program I would be majoring in. There is certainly an underlying family and cultural pressure to specialize in science, particularly medicine and engineering, in college, especially in Asian countries. It was greatly heightened even more during the pandemic; this is perhaps the primary reason my family urged me to pursue a bachelor of science in biology on the road to becoming a physician. I knew from the start that if this were the program I would major in, I'd soon be floundering with my schooling, which was a huge concern I expressed to my parents, particularly my mother. I tried only my best to convince them that I would be better off pursuing arts. But tragically, I was compelled to go through a semester of studying biology and subfields of sciences I am not engrossed in at all. Although it might seem that during this time, I was in a chapter where of doubt, that was not the case at all — I realized that even when I was in a science high school or in my rudimentary taxing time in college majoring in a program I did not like, I was still always tending to my passionate curiosities; no wonder why my highest marks were in the general subject Readings in Philippine History, (lol) and similar fields of study where I was willing to give my heart and go the extra million miles. Nonetheless, it was a pipe dream—a lousy, impossible, and bittersweet fantasy.

For as long as I can remember, I have constantly longed for subtle things in life imperative to my being and what I am made of, but they never seem to come or burst into life. A quality time with my father. A tad of love and understanding from my mother. Requited affection from a gorgeous human being I am not supposed to fall in love with, yet gives mixed signals or from any fellow for that matter. A dream that is meant to be pursued recklessly, much like a carefree lionhearted four-year-old kid dreaming of being a superhero. The long-overdue emancipation, to be honest, to break free, and become the person I simply want to be. Because no matter how much words can be beautiful, endearing, humorous, insightful, moving, or powerful, life is meant to be, well, lived.

They say writers get to live life twice, in the moment and in retrospection. But personally, I'd like to believe that for some, perhaps it's thrice—others like me, who need a bit of breaking free first. I recently learned that the phrase "life or death" happens to be incorrectly put together. Technically speaking, birth is the antonym for death. But life…it has no opposite. Life is not an extreme, but rather a mean. And so, living should be filled with colorful moments when opportunities, whether amiable or scary, encroach on you and you let them come to you and make you feel alive.

As much as how writing is greatly intertwined with my sensitive soul and has guided me whenever shadows close in, I do not plan to use it only as a tool for survival. I intend to explore history and literature, study languages, and fortify my gift because I feel happy and alive in it. This is me finally breaking free from my family's and people's assertiveness, to turn to chase my dream, for although anticipation is an admirable form of pleasure as what Flaubert entailed in Sentimental Education, living life fully would always be irrevocably a magnificent most satisfying one.

_

#linguistics #university