Originally, it was a program started by one of the math teachers. It paired students who had gotten an A or higher with kids from the lower grades for two study halls a week. Most of them used it for community service hours.
When the program expanded to be more than just math, Grace had been put forward for biology and chemistry. He’d been hesitant at first. Grace preferred to work alone for group projects since other kids had trouble with lab procedures, but his biology teacher had finally convinced him. She let him plate his own slides and use the microscopes during his lunch period, so when she asked him to try it out for two weeks and then he could stop, he figured he’d at least give it a shot.
His first session was abysmal. They had been told to introduce themselves and spend the time getting to know each other before talking about the homework. Grace had stumbled his way through it, and by the time they had actually gotten around to the biology assignments, he realized his tutor-ee (he had to find a better word) hadn’t even brought the assignments with them. Grace reminded them to bring their assignments the following time and they’d parted awkward ways.
His second session was slightly better. His tutee (thank you Merriam-Webster, that was even worse) had brought things to work on and they’d gotten more than halfway through the assignment by the end of the study period, so it was at least progress. He couldn’t get the kid to talk to him very much, mostly got one word responses or the famous “I don’t know” but it wasn’t nothing.
Their third session changed the game entirely. His student (he didn’t care about propriety the other words were bad bad bad) had come in frantic. Apparently there was a big test the following day and their grade was in jeopardy, enough so that if they didn’t pass the test they would be ineligible for sports for the rest of the semester.
It was completely different than before. Grace answered questions, corrected class notes, asked to see other assignments and corrected those as well. He told the kid about how he studied and said he had a few hours free after school if they were still nervous. The absolute relief on their face buoyed Grace through the following few days until he was excitedly dragged aside and shown a test with a B written on the front.
“You saved my life, man. My Dad would have been pissed if I’d been kicked off the team. Same time next week?”
“Um…” The hesitation on his face made the underclassman’s drop. Technically he only had to stick this whole thing out for one more session, but now it would be difficult to leave the program if the kid depended on him.
“Come on, you’re the only one who explained it where it made sense. The whole thing you said about how to remember the difference between smooth and rough ER, that wasn’t even in my notes.”
After their fourth session, Grace told his biology teacher that he would stay in the program. He asked her if there were any other kids who needed help, since he wasn’t using his study hall anyway.
Years later, when he’d given academia a shot and ended up flat on his ass, he’d had to consider what else in his life had really been worth doing. What else he’d even bothered to enjoy that wasn’t research. His first student’s face had popped into his head, clear as day and so relieved that Grace was surprised he still remembered what they looked like. It wasn’t a bad choice, teaching. He was at least qualified, overqualified actually, which would help since he wouldn’t be going in with many references.
Decades later, when Grace is grilling Rocky about his own education, trying to get a feel for how to organize his lesson plans, he asks about tutoring. Rocky doesn’t recognize the word, which is rare for them, and when he goes to enter it into their laptop Grace is struck by the memory a second time and his own remembering of the memory (does that count as a third?).
Rocky asks him about it (he’d been getting better at recognizing when Grace remembered something) and Grace gets to tell him about how he found teaching. How he’d learned to love it when he hadn’t expected to.
“It was the look on their face, honestly. I didn’t want to disappoint them, not when I knew I could help. They were so happy to finally understand the material and I realized that it had made me happy too.”
a request i got and it kinda made me go a little insane.
contains: anton pretends to be an insecure little nerd to plot on the reader, fingering, reader is implied to be a virgin
part one | part two | part three
Anton is a sweetheart. He’s non assuming and soft spoken, so quiet that he has to clear his throat each time he speaks. He’s kind, always extending the same tenderness and patience to people he received as a child. He’s one of the few men in his program that the girls didn’t have trouble approaching if they had a question or trouble with an assignment.
Each time anyone approached him with a question he was helpful, pushing his thick frames up his face before leaning to the paper. With a pencil he’d mark where the mistake was, and explaining it with a gentle voice that had girls leaning in even closer.
After they got a smell of his cologne and the look of his soft skin everything else was easy. The girls would tilt their heads in curiosity about Anton, intrigued at how someone so shy made it this far in life. How someone was so cute from afar but something more once you got close. All he had to do was avoid their eyes and chew his lip a few times before they were sliding their phones over to him.
Just in case I need help with another assignment.
Anton’s eyes would always widen in shock. Not from the surprise of being pursued but just how easy it all was. The girls never found out that Anton was red in the face from the rush and he ducked his head to hide a smile of satisfaction. They would laugh lightly seeing his reaction, observing what they thought was insecurity. Before going on about their day they’d touch his shoulder or pull on him playfully.
Anton is a sweetheart.
But he also has a problem.
He knows he does. His friends compared it to a sweet tooth that bordered addiction, or someone who would walk into a casino with a twenty dollar bill expecting to hit big. They sometimes even called Anton a psychopath when he’d get all giddy telling them about his day.
Anton knew he had a problem, but it was hard to stop when he got the sweet fix or hit the jackpot each time. Nothing could top the feeling of euphoria Anton would get when he’d come to one of those girls after they asked him to come to their place. He’d look at the messages in the comfort of his room and smile, knowing what it meant when they’d preface the study session by saying they were alone. He’s addicted to the game he’d play every time, faking the shy and insecure nerd that pretty girls were going to eat for dinner. Like they were throwing him a bone by inviting him to their apartment or dorm under the guise of doing homework.
They’d answer the door in something easy to take off or something that would cling to them like a second skin. If they were particularly desperate it’d be both, yoga pants that showed everything and a cropped shirt that rode up with every movement. Anton loved shamelessly gawking at the girls behind his glasses, shuffling from foot to foot in front of them before they invited him in. He waited for each direction, eyes darting around their room before he was invited to sit down or told to take out his notebook. He would purposefully be a step behind, showing how lost he was to be in a room that didn’t belong to him or his other intraverted friends.
He loved letting the girls make the first move. On their bed settling in as they really got a look at him in the setting of their room. Something about how clueless he was made the girls all the more strung up. He looked everywhere but at them, shrinking himself on their bed. His timidness made the girls love making the first subtle touch on his flexed arm, or purposefully grabbing his pencil so they could compare hand sizes. Anton loved acting like he was nervous wreck from the longing stares to the side of his face, like he hadn’t done this dance a million times before. He loved messing up his words while trying to act oblivious to the hungry look in their eyes. He loved the pretty smile the girls would get like he was the one falling into their trap.
His absolute favorite part was when they’d turn his head with their soft hands. Anton would falter from the eye contact, letting his lips part in confusion as they focused on him. The notebooks and assignments between them long forgotten as they shuffled closer to him on the bed.
“Have you ever been with a girl before?”
They’d always ask that. Voices light and airy, already having an answer in their mind.
“I have.”
He’d always answer with a stutter. The falter in his voice never made them push any further. They assumed by Anton’s darting eyes that the number was so minuscule asking about it would only embarrass him.
(He stopped being embarrassed of his conquests a long time ago. He also stopped being able to keep track.)
Anton is a sweetheart, with a problem of seeing pretty girls eyes flash when they realize that he is more than capable.
The moment was always the same. The mood in the room would change when Anton would sheepishly take off his oversized hoodie. Each time silence would settle over the room when they saw what he was hiding underneath. His undershirt hugged close to his body, showing the chisel and the hard work he put in at the gym. When he was feeling tired while working out he’d replay the sight of the girls taking in his toned body. They’d reach out to touch his chest as if they were expecting it all to be fake, other times they would just let out a breathless wow.
He always basked in seeing the girls try to maintain their composure. They would become the ones averting their eyes and stumbling over their words. They would be shellshocked on their side of the bed, wondering what else he was hiding. But Anton was still sweet, he always was. He would always wait patiently to see if this was really what the girls wanted. He would pick at the seam of his pants and look down to the forgotten homework to let them know they could go back to what they were doing and pretend this never happened. But the obvious bulge in his pants always made pretty girls reach for the waistband of their pants without a second thought.
Anton was never sure if they gawked at him in an attempt to get his confidence up or if they were truly surprised. As if his build and height were no indicator, each time Anton took off his pants to reveal his dick they were always so shocked. That’s when the resolve would truly fall, when their jaws would drop and they’d blink their eyes from the sheer surprise. Precum would leak from his tip just from the sight of them coming to terms with what was twitching and red and angry in front of them.
“You’re big.”
The infliction in their voice was always different. Some girls would be excited, others would be confused, a few times they almost seemed disgusted. Like there was no way the shy kid in the back of the class was hiding this.
“Am I really?”
Anton wasn’t an idiot. Even if he said it looking down at the bed, he knew that he was endowed and it was pretty. But sometimes he just needed to hear it an extra time, or look up to see a quick head nod when they couldn’t fathom saying it again. He was an insecure nerd after all. The quiet recluse in the back of class that barely had friends. An absolute sweetheart that threw girls around and manipulated their bodies into positions they didn’t even know about.
He loved being a good fuck. For a long time he believed he was put on the Earth to fuck pretty girls and to stop them from judging books by their covers. Anton was killing two birds with one stone by cooing at girls condescendingly while he gave them everything. It was his civic duty to exert his strength and to kiss girls until they were breathless and his glasses fogged. Each time he heard I didn’t know you had that in you an angel gained it’s wings. Whenever they’d tell their girlfriends what the shy nerd did to them in their dorm Anton was making the world a better place. Sometimes he would get called back, sometimes he would run through entire friend groups just to prove he was really committed to the cause.
No matter how many people Anton fucked, no one seemed to believe it. Like it was collective psychosis that the nerd was a good lay, or a big open secret everyone was hush about. Anton was still treated like he was meek, his soft nature made everyone believe he was an open book, so much to the point that they made wrong judgements about his character. He actually hated staying inside and enjoyed exploring the city and trying new things with his friends. He was a sensitive person but he could also advocate for himself and admit when he was wrong. He was quiet, but only because he valued personal, quiet conversations more than anything.
He eventually learned that people’s preconceived notions of him couldn’t be helped. Anton could fuck the entirety of the campus and people would still treat him like he was made of glass. He decided to be an optimist, finding the silver lining in people assuming he was the sweetheart with a cute smile. Their perception of him could’ve been worse, being shy was infinitely better than being loud and obnoxious. So when people would assume things about Anton’s personality he would only react positively. He would let his eyes go wide, acting shocked when someone would tell him about their first impression of him.
“I thought you were an asshole at first.”
You told Anton nonchalantly, as if his whole world didn’t crumble. You didn’t even spare him a second glance as you wrote on your lab report. You were too busy adjusting the calculations and reading over the proper way to dispose the chemicals a million times to make sure it was right while Anton sputtered to himself. He was caught off guard by your honesty and surprisingly quick answer as if it was on the forefront of your mind. You only tilted your head up for a second before you had the answer.
Anton didn’t know what to do about you. Just when he thought he had seen every girl in his major you came along, sitting in the back of class with him. You seemed to be the recluse of a person everyone mistook Anton for. You were in and out of class, not bothering to raise your hand during discussions or to socialize with your peers. You also didn’t seem to latch onto him like other girls of his major did. When they looked for Anton’s face in the lecture hall you walked right past him, not bothering to look up from your notebook or laptop. For the first time in his life Anton felt compelled to make the first move. He thought that you two had built up a good rapport, and that you saw him as your kindhearted and resigned classmate.
But you saw him as anything but that. You said it confidently too, and loud enough for your classmates at the next lab table to look over.
“What do you mean?” Anton said quietly.
You frowned looking up from the pamphlet. You were visibly annoyed, you even motioned to the undisposed chemicals to show him that you two still had class.
“Can we talk about this when our grade isn’t at stake, please?” You asked.
You weren’t commanding for his benefit. You weren’t taking into account that he might be afraid to hear a negative opinion about himself. You weren’t looking at him like girls had before, like you were trying to pick him apart for your own entertainment. You were willing to put validation for Anton on the back burner because you had other things to do. When Anton would have girls gush over him you were benevolent, indifferent to his fake insecurities.
The more you paid attention to your work rather than him, Anton found himself scrambling. He was working hard for your affection. When the teacher announced that class was over and lab reports were due the next morning he leapt at the chance to invite himself over. He was supposed to be shy and insecure, getting nervous over the mere thought of being alone with the opposite sex. His facade went over your head. Instead, Anton watched you do the cost-benefit analysis of inviting him over before you shrugged your shoulders.
“Alright. Just follow me.” You said before setting a ridiculously fast paced speed walk to the other side of campus.
But Anton followed you. He bobbed and weaved through crowds and essentially chased you across the common area while you continued on your pace. Other girls would walk with Anton, trying to pry information out from his clammy hands. You barely spared a second glance over your shoulder like you were trying to lose him. Anton followed you all the way to your dorm, then up the stairs, then waited for you beside your door as you put your backpack on your desk and pulled up a chair next to yours. You didn’t extend an invitation towards Anton to take a seat.
He waits for you to step in. He’s laid the trap by taking off his hoodie even though you kept your room cold, and shuffled his seat closer to yours. He put his elbows on the table next to yours coming closer to the lines you stopped writing on your paper.
He laid the trap. He can see you hesitate, looking from him to the assignment and then back to him. Anton keeps his eyes on the paper, rubbing his fingers over his lips to stop himself from smiling.
“Do you work out?” You asked.
Your voice didn’t have the sultry infliction that girls usually had when they asked him that question. You didn’t reach across and squeeze his toned bicep or shamelessly drag your eyes over his broad shoulders. You asked the question simply, no other intention except for wanting an answer.
“I do. Sometimes.” Anton said.
You only hummed and went back to your paper. Anton scooted closer to you, hoping his Le Labo Lavande 31 and the hand across the back of your chair was invading your space enough for you to really get a good look at him. Anton watched your eyes dart again. You were nervous, eyes wide and Anton felt the rush.
“You smell nice.” You said.
The line was pulled from the trap. You’re caged in and Anton looks to you. He knows about the death grip you have on your pencil, it makes him brave enough to invade your space even more.
“You forgot to write your observations here.” Anton says, trying to make lab reports as sexy as possible.
This assignment would’ve been abandoned a long time ago. If this was anyone else it would’ve never made it out of their backpack. You were adamant about your work, looking at the tips of his pretty fingers where you left a spot blank. He should have his report out too. He should be writing something just like you try to, instead Anton leans closer and he swears the pencil in your hand is going to break from the pressure.
Is this how he should’ve been acting with those girls all that time? This is real nerves rolling off your body. The anxiety almost makes Anton nervous by extension, he shivers when he finally lets his hand on the back of your chair touch your body. You stiffen and he’s amazed. You went from being indifferent to being too aware. He feels you back away slightly, but when his hand tightens on your shoulder you lean in. You’re hot and cold, not knowing what you want. He can feel you tremble, and your eyes dart from his eyes to his lips.
“I’ve never done anything before.”
Anton comes closer. His hand that pointed at a random thing on your paper turns into a fist as he distracts you completely. He brings himself forward until he’s in your line of sight, even when you try so hard to look at anything but him. He smirks when your eyes dart past him, and he fully lets his arm rest across your back. You’re malleable, before you refused to even bend to him but now you move from his slightest touch.
“What do you mean?” He asks. “You’ve never done what before?”
He should go for the nerds more often. The way you already seem sweaty and antsy just from thinking about what is happening makes Anton want to play with you some more. He knows it’s perverse, like a dog playing a smaller animal to death. He wants to see if you’ll twitch, if you’re playing dead just to try and make a run for it.
“I’ve never—I know that—” Anton raises his eyebrows and nods to each one of your broken statements. “It just seems like—”
“Like what?” He smiles and nudges you. His smile is toothy, yours is tightlipped to a straight line. “C’mon. Talk to me.” He continues.
“You smell really good.” You repeat.
You’re the twitching body of a mouse in his jaws. He just smile and nods at your statement, how you go back to saying old things in an attempt to catch your footing. He forces you to sit in the uncomfortable silence. He waits for you to say something knowing you can’t, he waits for you to touch him even if you’re caught like a deer in the headlights.
“I look good too, right?” He starts drawing shapes on your shoulder.
He’s having too much fun. He’s entertained seeing your intelligence fail you. You’re stumped, you drop your pencil to fully clench your fist.
The pencil is rolling back and forth on your lab report, the small sound is the only thing that speaks. You’re still desperately trying to figure out how you got into this situation, how one thing led to another so quickly that his hand is reaching underneath the sleeve of your shirt.
“You look good, Anton.” You agree.
“Thanks.” Anton smiles and you do too, averting your eyes and nodding to yourself to feign indifference. Anton looks down to your shirt, still playing with your skin underneath your sleeve. “You do too.” He says.
Another bout of silence. You let yourself be touched, hands still clenched on top of the table. Anton rests his hand on top of your fist, smoothing over the protruding veins trying to coax them open. This is more fulfilling than playing with popular girls. The game still hasn’t ended for him. He’s on the fifth consecutive jackpot when you finally open your mouth again.
“I don’t.” Your hand opens and Anton clasps over it, smiling to himself when it disappears. “I don’t know what you want me to do.” You stutter.
You’re too cute for your own good. Finally you look at him with big eyes and your eyebrows raised. You give into his touches a little more, finally warming up to all the attention. Still your pupils shake, and Anton brings his hand from your shoulder to your face to keep you from turning away.
“Can I make you feel good?” He asks.
You could barely nod before Anton was guiding you up from your chair and backing you towards your bed. He watched you stumble when the back of your legs hit the edge. You looked up at him, your pretty eyes already looking wet. Maybe he really did have a problem. Because he loved seeing them widen in surprise when he put his hands underneath your arms, lifting you up just enough to set you on the edge of your bed. He loved seeing your jostled expression and the tiny yelp when you landed so perfectly on your sheets.
Anton watched you stay in place, catching your breath from the sudden movement. He watched your chest still as his hands went to the bottom of his tank top. He’s grateful to have such a captive audience. There’s no way he can pretend to be shy after this. You’re astonished as he slowly lifts his shirt, and he watched you shamelessly stare at him before you realized he could see you.
Anton let you eat him alive before he came up to you, until you had to tilt your head upwards to see him. You didn’t dare lift your hands from the bed, like he was going to disappear the moment you touched him. Like he was straight from a dream you only looked up to him, waiting for what he was going to do next. Anton wonders if you thought you’d end up in this position, with him looming over you and his hand creeping to a spot under your chin. He absolutely can’t stop doing this. The view is too pretty, your stillness is addicting. Like you’re too afraid to even breathe too loud in case it’d break the tension. He bends closer to your lips, eyes still open after you screw yours shut. You preemptively grip your mattress for dear life and he can’t help but smile.
He smiles into the kisses, each peck bringing you closer and closer to your mattress. When your back is against the sheets Anton climbs on, refusing the break contact. You look so pretty underneath him, eyes squeezing shut again when another wave of realization hits you. You’ve never been in this position before, with someone like Anton looming over you while still being so sweet. He runs his hand over the apple of your cheek, and fixes your shirt that left your stomach exposed.
“Is this okay?” Anton asks.
He knows it is, because your legs seemed to spread a little bit more and more with each passing second. By the time his hand drifts down to your neck you’re completely open, your soft pants bunching at the place Anton wants to touch you next. The valley of your chest gives him a straight path down, and your bent legs open further.
“Want me to touch you?” He asks.
He knows he’s cruel. You’re metaphorically dead and his face is covered in blood, but still he continues. He’s jumping around your body, reaching out a playful hand like you have the life to play back.
“Please touch me.” You whine pitifully.
Anton presses a chaste kiss to your forehead as his hands work past the elastic band of your pants and underwear. You flinch from his hands, then you preen your hips towards his fingers, then you pull back. He’s mocking when he coos at you, the time pressing a kiss to the side of your head. He almost feels bad. You’re clearly fighting against something, your eyes are shut tight as you press your head into the mattress. Anton tries kissing your eyes open, but it only makes you squeeze them tighter.
With you writhing underneath him, he took the time to look around your room. Your little pegboard above your desk where you had calendar marked with all the important due dates of upcoming assignments. Your neatly placed books and papers, your stuffed animals around your pillows. You didn’t make your bed this morning, instead laying on crumbled sheets and gripping whatever you could get your hands on. Your hand went to Anton’s forearm and clutched it, whimpering something that he couldn’t decipher.
“Does it feel good?” He asks.
You nod, and when Anton tries to pull away he feels your nails dig into his forearm. You seem unaware of what you’re doing, how you’re silently begging him to keep going. You’re just moving underneath him, already beginning to twitch helplessly. Anton purposefully pushes his fingers deeper into your clit until he knows he’s bringing you the smallest amount of pain. He’s pulling the strings, watching your body react to him because you can’t control it. By this point the girls would already be asking him to take his pants off, but you can’t even form a coherent thought. He’s having fun in his jeans, watching you twitch and twist and grip his arm with all your might.
“Anton.”
You flick your hips up and he presses his hand to your hip, pinning you to the bed. You still try to swivel, useless against his strength. He’s intrigued that you aren’t trying to be defiant but you simply can’t help it. All the other girls were pliant immediately, so desperate to please the quiet boy in class they underestimated. You’re defiant because you can’t handle it.
“What’s up?” He asks.
His completely even voice makes you whine. The flush across your cheeks tells him you’re embarrassed, red hot and real unlike his facade.
You don’t answer him. You just dig your nails into his arm and attempt to get his prodding fingers to slide in. He raises his eyebrows at your not-so-subtle attempts to get him to inside of you.
“You want me to finger you?” He asks.
You nod like a good girl and Anton almost feels bad for asking you the question in a mocking tone. He makes up for it by giving you what you want immediately, sucking in a deep breath to match your deep breath. He smiles when he sees you arch off the bed. This is so much more entertaining than anything else. Just two fingers has you making unfiltered noises and gripping the sheets. Anton has to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing, and he has half a mind to ask you if you’re okay in a serious tone. But he just continues driving his fingers into your hole.
He picks up the speed, just to hear the lewd sound you two make. It’s wet, Anton can already feel the mess on the palm of his hand. He pulls your waistband down to your knees, bringing your thighs closer together. He has to fight against your soft thighs clenching around his hand. He’s still able to drive his fingers in and out of your heat. He likes the resistance even though you clearly want more. Anton is surprised when you lift your shirt on your own accord. It’s obvious you’re doing it to relieve some of the heat you feel, but he’s still flattered nonetheless. His hand presses against your stomach, applying force to the lowest part.
“I can’t.” You whimper.
That’s when Anton finally laughs. He chuckles at how panicked you sound and how you turn your head in embarrassment.
“Do you want me to stop?” He asks while picking up the speed of his hand.
You nod your head but when Anton tries to pull his hand away you clench your thighs to keep him in place. He chuckles again, situating one legs on the side of your body and the other between your closed legs. He casts a shadow on you below him, and he can see your eyes open the slightest bit from his movements. He drives your legs apart with his knee, and continues pumping that spot deep in you that leaves you shaking your head.
“I can’t.” You whimper.
“You can.” Anton sees your eyes open, wide and staring directly at him as he drives your legs apart further. “You’re so close.” He says.
Your entire body moves from the speed of his fingers. Even your chests jumps underneath your shirt, and he wants to lift it up to reveal the rest of you. He lets you take it at your own pace since you’re giving him so much already. He just pinches and grabs a handful of your stomach, marveling in how soft you are.
“So cute.” Anton coos. “You had no idea, right?” He asks.
You shake your head and you don’t stop shaking it, like you’re trying to will away your impeding orgasm. Anton watches all of it. He’s never had a pretty girl twitch for him so much, or reach a greedy hand up to grip your chest. Something you do when you’re close, something he wants to do for you. His hand superimposes yours, and grips harder too. You’re arching into his palm and preening your hips on his fingers, and then he watches your body go rigid.
“You’re cumming.” Anton teases.
Your whimpering yes rips through the room, and Anton feels wound up himself. He has to set his sights on something else. Pretty confident girls are fun, but seeing your shame manifest in the way you push and pull at him is much more intoxicating. He likes that he knows what you want but you’re too scared to say it, it’s your body that has to act on its own to fulfill your needs. When you continue going, and your strangled moans turn to broken oh my God’s and your legs start shaking, Anton knows he won’t be able to get enough. He keeps pushing you further because he knows you can take it, and you continue whimpering. He doesn’t stop until you sound panicked, and your hand starts pushing his away.
He still looks down at you with a smile on his face. Your head is turned towards your fluffy comforter, exhaling and inhaling so hard you move the fur with your breath. He’s satisfied seeing what he’s done to you, and he’s even more amused when you turn your head to face him.
Your eyes are wide, your lips are swollen and slick from your mindless drooling. Anton feels something in his chest when your eyes move past his body to the prominent bulge in his pants. He’s a step ahead, shaking his head and moving back to rest on his haunches. That comes later, when he plays with you some more and you start voicing how badly you want to please him. When you reach your hand towards his crotch Anton grabs your hand instead, intertwining your fingers.
‘…?!’ Is what Lucifer is thinking as your head drops onto his shoulder.
You had cajoled him into doing some of his constant paperwork in a bigger chair for a change. So there’s room for you to sit next to him! You’re not even demanding his attention, or the spare time that he doesn’t have, you’re being very considerate, you just wanted sit next to him, that’s all, you had promised!
Lucifer caved, because he is very soft for his human—even though he’s loathe to look like it. You were in fact being considerate… so he had brought a stack of relatively low-importance papers out of his office, into the living room.
You were sitting on a couch together, him with his stack of administrative papers and you with a homework assignment. You finished yours quickly, so you ended up playing a game on your DDD as you lean against him.
He checks on you periodically out of the corner of his eye. He’s relaxed though—as relaxed as Lucifer gets. This is peaceful. Meditative, almost. He’s happy. All his brothers are elsewhere, his tasks are not too overwhelming, he gets to have a nice, calming afternoon sitting in companionable silence with his favourite housemate…
A sudden weight falling on him jolts him out of his trance. Your cheekbone thunks against his shoulder. He blinks. Processing.
In quick succession, his brain goes like ‘..?!’ then ‘it is mid-afternoon why are you sleeping’ and ‘have we been overworking our human?’ and ‘aww. MC really does trust me that much.’
He adjusts the way you’re situated so you’re more comfortable as he finishes up the last of his work. When he’s done, he takes a moment to just observe. To appreciate your trust in him. Also, to congratulate himself again for his part in the creation of the exchange program, because it brought you into his life.
(He tries to ignore the stubborn twinge of nostalgic heartache he feels as well. You’re reminding him so much of Belphie, from back when his relationship with him was good. He’d never admit it, but he misses having his babiest brother fall asleep on him like this.)
Lucifer gathers up his papers, then picks you up, being careful not to jostle you too much. Let no one ever say he doesn’t take good care of his human. He carries you to your room to put you to bed. Clearly you need the extra sleep. Or… well, he tries to. You’re holding onto him pretty insistently.
He expects himself to feel irritated, but… no. He can’t help but feel a little smug, actually. It’s cute, you’re cute, you don’t seem to want him to leave you. So… fine. He’ll oblige. For a short break.
(An hour or two later, you’ll wake up to the smells and sounds of dinner being prepared. You’re… not under your blanket? No, you’re covered by Lucifer’s ridiculously long coat. It’s warm, soft. It smells like him. In this moment, it’s impossible to miss how loved you are.)
_______
Mammon:
The first time this happened (in your room, watching movies without any of his brothers for once), Mammon was stunned. He had frozen up, stuttered some nonsense to no one in particular, then quickly slapped his free hand over his mouth as he realized he would wake you if he didn’t immediately chill out.
Now though? You’ve been in his life for a while. He’s your oldest friend here. Those movie nights had become a habit, even though it remained rare to have one with no one else joining in. So this has happened a lot, and he’s gotten used to it. He doesn’t react so outwardly anymore, not unless one of his brothers show up to make fun of him.
If they try it, Mammon is rather aggressive about shushing them. At first, because he hated to be so obvious about how much he cares about you, but now that he’s a bit more used to it, it’s because he doesn’t want them to disturb you. He feels like he’s protecting you by keeping his brothers from waking you up. Sometimes, he’s the one who wakes you up by telling them to shut up just a bit too loudly, or silently gesturing for them to be quiet or go away a little too enthusiastically.
His brothers roast him even more for that. Poor thing.
Time and time again, you pass out on his shoulder. During a movie, mid relaxed hangouts with various groups of the brothers, in the rare times when hanging out solo with Mammon is a relaxing low-energy affair, while studying, during the lunch break at school, even in class sometimes. His heart warms, and he can’t help but smile at the familiar feel of you conked out on his shoulder again. He doesn’t even mind if you snore.
Mammon is usually such a loud, high energy person. Neither you nor him finds anything wrong with that of course, it’s one of many lovable things about him. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t like being able to just chill with you sometimes though. It’s nice.
Eventually, he gets familiar enough with this that he’s willing to move you around to get more comfortable. With time, he learns exactly what ways he can move you without disturbing you. So most of the time when you fall asleep on him, you wake up in some other position. Sitting in his lap, lying down with a sleeping Mammon wrapped around you, being carried to another room, propped up against his side in your next class, being hugged like a teddy bear in his room, etc etc.
He never questions why you’re tired. He just lets you pass out on him. He wants you to be in the best possible condition, and he will happily take all the time with you he can get. He takes this to mean that you also want all the time with him that you can get, that you would rather stay with him than go to bed when you’re tired because you would rather not be separated from him. Just like how he feels about you. Why else would he be in your room as often as he is?
You trusting him enough to sleep on him all the time makes him feel like he’s being a good guardian demon, like he’s as precious to you as you are to him.
He’s a fan of all the free cuddles he gets out of this, too.
_______
Levi:
You’re in Levi’s room with him, set up very comfortably as you’re marathoning an anime together. You’ve been at it for hours though, you’re already a bit sleep deprived, and you’ve seen this one a few times already. You can’t stop yourself from nodding off. Your head drops onto his shoulder.
Levi freaks out.
“afgshrjdxssh—WH-!” He flails. You immediately snap awake again. “You—uhh-!” He shoves you away in a panic, then immediately changes his mind, pulling you back in, then freezes for a moment before letting go of you to flap his hands frantically. “Nonono stay—wait no, you don’t want to—I mean, you don’t have to—I mean, get o—uhh! Um! I mean! S-stay if you want, but I don’t care if you don’t want to—!”
You blink slowly at him a couple times. Trying to parse his contradictory sputtering. You’re tired, you’re not working at full brain power. You figure he means something along the lines of: ‘ooo I’m Levi, I have bad self esteem and I can’t believe you want to touch me, but I want you to, but I can’t say that because I cope with feeling unlovable by acting all tsundere because that way I feel less pathetic, love you though!’
You know. Standard Levi stuff. You love him so much—and you’d be very happy if he started therapy.
For now though, you just grab his arm and pull him closer to you again. You bury your face in his shoulder. This time, it’s unmistakably a deliberate move. Wordlessly telling him that you do in fact love him enough to want to touch him.
It’s like his body just took a screenshot! He keysmashes out loud.
Slowly, he calms down. He puts one hesitant arm around you. You don’t move. He can’t tell if you’re already asleep again or just pretending to be, but either way you seem to be comfortable.
Soon enough, he finds himself smiling like an absolute dork. This… is actually very effective reassurance. He feels all warm and fuzzy and loved. He likes holding you.
It’s reminding him of TSL fluff fics he’s read where absolutely nothing happens except Henry and the Lord of Shadows cuddle. A way for him to experience affection vicariously through a character he relates to and a character he loves, when he really wants hugs himself but can’t have any.
He squeezes you softly as his heart warms. He squishes his cheek against the side of your head.
“I love my Henry..!” Levi mumbles to himself, under his breath. He has no way of knowing if you heard that, which is why he said it out loud. It’ll be a while until he gets the nerve to say it when he knows you can hear.
_______
Satan:
He is HONOURED, he is OVERJOYED, he is MELTING, he is… very carefully remaining perfectly chill.
It’s the same type of happiness as when a cat decides to sit on you out of nowhere. He’s been chosen!
He is SO happy you trust him so much!
He had been reading, as usual. You had been sitting next to him, as usual. You had gotten tired, and without a moment of hesitation you had buried your face in his shoulder and fallen asleep.
He carefully contains all the joy this gives him, so he doesn’t disturb you. He wraps an arm around you, plants a soft kiss on your head, and goes right back to reading.
If you sleep fitfully, he’ll stroke your hair to soothe you.
When you wake up, he’ll ask if you had a nice nap. He won’t make any moves to make you get off him. If you choose to anyway, he won’t react outwardly, because he doesn’t want to discourage you falling asleep on him again. He wants this to happen lots more! So he’ll just smile at you and go back to his book.
But if you don’t choose to leave, he’ll shift you entirely into his lap to make you both more comfortable. He can hug you properly like this. If he’s sure you’ll be comfortable with it, he’ll kiss your forehead before going back to his book. He’s very happy to keep you there.
_______
Asmo:
Predictably, Asmo’s gonna take ALL the pictures of this!
A few in which he doesn’t look at the camera, as if they were candid shots. Some where he’s posing cutely, a couple where he’s kissing your head, a bunch of various angles of your sleeping face. What can he say, he thinks the way your cheek squishes against his collarbone is just precious.
A bit less predictably, he posts none on devilgram. No, these are just for him.
…maybe the best ones are for the group chat. He’s gotta show off his cute human to someone, it may as well be to his brothers. They’ll appreciate you properly. He’ll share after you’ve woken up, though. He doesn’t want anyone barging in to disturb you.
He’ll share the pictures with you as well if you ask, of course! What he will NOT do, however, is risk you deleting them! He’ll back them up first. He’ll store them in a hidden album if you’re shy about them, but he’s not deleting them!
Well, unless you’re genuinely uncomfortable. Then, okay fine. But please let him keep at least one? You’re so cute!
He’ll be more affectionate over the following days. Trying to be next to you all the time, inviting you to his room at every opportunity, pulling you to sit next to him. All because he hopes you’ll fall asleep on him again. Or just lean on him like that, and let him cuddle you. Please, he’d be SO happy!
_______
Beel:
Beel is so used to this behaviour. Belphie falls asleep on him all the time. He’d be the most chill about it.
As if it’s routine, he’ll secure you in your position with his arm, so you can’t fall and get hurt. He’ll rub your back and hum softly to you to help you relax if you don’t seem to be sleeping well. Beel is warm and soft and big and comfy, like the giant teddy bear he is at heart. He’s considerate and gentle. He’s always really sweet to you, and that doesn’t change one bit even when you’re unconscious.
When he inevitably gets too hungry to stay where he is, he’ll just take you to the kitchen with him. It’s no problem, he does this with Belphie all the time. It doesn’t matter how much you weigh, Beel can carry you easily. He thinks nothing of it.
He can cook one handed too if he needs to. He’s got practice—also because of Belphie. He’s chilling, he’s comfortable, there’s nothing unusual about this at all to him.
If the kitchen noises wake you up, he’ll apologize and share his food with you. He’ll tell you outright that he’s happy to let you use him as a pillow whenever you want.
(Also, he makes a mental note to drop you off with Belphie instead of bringing you along to the kitchen and risking waking you up again next time)
If it doesn’t wake you up, no problem! That’s what he expected. He just carries you around as he does what he needs to do around the house. He’ll put you to bed properly if he needs to go outside of course, but otherwise he’s bringing you with him.
When you wake up, he’ll put you down if you somehow indicate that’s what you want. If you don’t though, he just… won’t. He likes holding you. He’d do it so often if he thought you’d like him to.
_______
Belphie:
…Welp. The table has turned, hasn’t it.
People don’t fall asleep on Belphie while he’s awake too often! He’s not usually conscious to experience this! He likes it though. He thinks you’re being so cute.
9 times out of 10, Belphie will take this as his cue to cuddle up to you and join you in sleep. He can always be tempted into a nap. He’d make sure this the comfiest, nicest, most restful nap you’ve ever taken. He’d make sure you feel so safe and loved. You will NOT be disturbed on his watch.
On the rare tenth time, when Belphie isn’t tired, he might whine about being trapped. When one of his brothers points out that he can move you very easily, he glares at them. He maintains that it’s illegal to move when you’ve been chosen as someone’s pillow. When it’s pointed out that he’s perfectly capable of waking you if he really wants to get up, he looks affronted. He would NOT do that, he says. Do they think he’s completely heartless, he asks.
Well. He wouldn’t do that unless he’s feeling particularly bratty. He’d totally do it to any of his brothers… but he’s soft with you. He loves you. Be so for real, do you think he’d really ever pass up an opportunity to cuddle you? No way. He can go shopping later.
He won’t tell you that though. He’ll bitch about it to your face, complaining until you agree to go shopping with him next time, all the while refusing to let go of you.
He already was not hesitating to fall asleep on you, but he somehow gets more shameless and constant about it. Since you’re doing it too, it’s your thing now. You’d be a hypocrite to complain now.
Yeah, he couldn’t be happier about this. Please sleep on him all the time. Enable him even more! He’ll make sure you won’t regret it.
Sometime during the year of 1984, those in charge at Hawkins High school and Middle school decide to set up a mentorship program between the schools.
Children about to graduate from the middle school are partnered to young adults about to graduate from the high school.
It's a way for the middle schoolers to feel prepared and knowledgeable for high school next year, and a way to help the high schoolers prepare with being leaders, parents, care givers, ect, while also reconnecting them to the joys of childhood before going off to the real world.
Which means- In the final semester of school, certain seniors had their free-study block replaced with assigned times to teach their designated kids.
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Obviously Steve gets paired with Dustin. It goes as well as we all expect. Steve helps Dustin with his hair and his confidence and his style, and Dustin helps Steve with his homework, college essays and learning that popularity isn't everything. Each is grateful for the other and when Dustin says "Mom invited you over for dinner. She said she needs to actually meet her 2nd son you know." Steve doesn't start crying, no matter what that little rat lair Henderson says.
The first real fight of Steve's life is when he and Tommy Hagan beat the breaks off eachother after Steve caught him saying some nasty shit to Dustin, spitting lies about how Steve secretly hated this whole mentorship thing and was embarrassed of Dustin. Steve walks away with a broken nose snarling "You stay the fuck away from my little brother, Hagan!"
Nancy gets partnered with Lucas, because she can't mentor her own younger brother despite asking. It's awkward at first, they both feel awakward around eachother without Mike also being there to fill the space but Nancy quickly helps Lucas navigate which teachers can be reliable for help with homework or social issues and which ones are only there for a paycheck and should be avoided. She introduced him to the year book club, but it wasn't something he held a lot of interest in, instead asking if she could maybe put in a good word with the coach for the basketball team for him. She also shares some of her super secret studying tips. The first time Lucas scores higher on a test than Dustin did, he lords it over him for atleast a month.
Lucas is the one who finally manages convinces Nancy that she should play another campaign of DnD with them, like she did when they were little kids. Nancy even busted out her old Nancy the Ne'er-do-well playsheets, something she'd specifically told Mike she'd burned ages ago to him to stop asking her to play with him all the time. Her backstabbing rouge was unstoppable and it was one of the longest campaigns they had to date, using Nancy as the responsible babysitter as an excuse for them to all be able to stay up and play DnD for 30 straight hours, only breaking for food and bathroom breaks. Mike, the DM, to stay on theme, refused to let the party long sleep to regain spell slots or heal their minds. Any sleepy mistake the party made had consequences unlike any before them. It was honestly the best time Nancy had had since Barb's death, and she hugs Lucas tight and thanks him for pushing her to play.
Jonathan gets partnered with Mike, which is mostly fine by both of them. Mike is familiar with Jon, obviously, he's Wills older brother and they're not unfamiliar with each other. Jon has joined in on their games more than once and had chaperoned Halloween with them once or twice. Jonathan helps Mike navigate the school halls, showing him shortcuts and areas that most people ignored for whenever he needed a quiet moment. He also introduced him to some of the different clubs, offering to show him the ropes in photography if he was interested but also suggesting the creative writting club, poety club or the drama club, knowing a little bit of Mike's interest already from spending time with him before.
Mike's stubborn personality forces Jonathan to step out of his comfort zone. No longer is he able to eat lunch alone by himself behind the school or in the photography classes dark rooms- Jonathan is now spending every lunch sitting at the same table as Harrington, Dustin, Nancy, Lucas and of course...
Will Byers is assigned to the one, the only, Eddie 'The Freak' Munson. He would have absolutely preferred being assigned to Jonathan but he had a feeling that would be against the rules, considering Mike couldn't be assigned to Nancy either. He's certainly a little scared and very nervous at first. He has no idea who this loud, chaotic, and somewhat intimidating guy is, not to mention the way he throws himself around carelessly, yells and screams with little warning, and straight up antagonizes the jocks and the bullies who call him a Freak? And another F word Will would rather not repeat. Will would be terrified but he's seen scarier things before, and Eddie was a actually nice guy when he wasn’t being crazy. His music was loud, sure, but he genuinely was kind, sharing his lunch with Will when bullies took his own, and taking a real interest into his artwork and paintings. Eddie full heartedly believed that 'Zombie Boy' was the most metal nickname possible, and his pure hearted enthusiasm about it was a little contagious. In a moment of tenderness between them, Eddie admitted that when he was younger, he had tried to fit in. Be normal. 'Popular' even. It hadn't worked clearly. He didn't feel like himself, he was miserable all the time, and the worst part? They all still called him a Freak anyway. So be miserable for their sake, when he could be happy for his own sake? It helped put things into perspective for Will. The next time a bully tried to call him Zombie boy, Will took a page from Eddie's book and rolled his eyes into the back of his head, showing the whites of his eyes and making a deep throaty groan like the ghouls from a Romero movie. He actually laughed when the bully legitimately flinched. The moment they both discovered the other loved DnD? Will is convinced. This guy is maybe the coolest guy ever.
Eddie Munson, known for collecting the lost and wayward sheepies of Hawkins High, was instantly drawn to his newly appointed charge. It doesn't take long for him to realize that it must be kind fate that has brought them together. A sad, artisticly inclined child, queer as a 3 dollar bill, with abusive daddy issues and a passion for DnD? He'd be damned if he wasn't looking in a mirror of his middle school self. There was absolutely no way he could let this boy navigate the hells and halls of Hawkins High without imparting upon him all of his wisdom. Showing him that popularity was useless, true friendship and connection meant far more than that, and taking him under his wing when it came to the art and pageantry of DMing, the way the twist the knife with storytelling and raising stakes to keep the players engaged. Will was like a sponge for nerdy information and Eddie was beyond willing to share everything he knew.
It certainly didnt hurt that his kid was friends with Harrington’s kid, and that Harrington’s kid was there to help cushion Harrington’s fall from grace as King.
a/n: whatever, you can pry this from my cold dead heads.
summary: You've been a bit busy with the start of your master's program and Boone is feeling just the teeny tiniest bit left out.
warnings: fluff, alcohol mentions, swearing, insecurities, i hate you theory, when i catch you theory, unedited i wrote this in like an hour and a half
word count: 1.8k
Now, despite popular opinion, Boone was actually smart.
While most people would’ve written him off as an uneducated, thoughtless hillbilly, Boone actually had a decent head on his shoulders. Reckless, yeah, loud and chaotic, sure. But he was the best editor the team had, swiftly cutting through b-roll and different angles, always putting on the best show for their viewers.
But academia was not and never had been and probably never would be Boone’s strong suit. He hadn’t even finished high school.
And when you had made the decision to go back to school for your Master’s you had warned him that it would be a huge time commitment on your end, that you wouldn’t be able to put as much effort or attention into your relationship as you had before.
Your first semester would be the Fall semester, right at the heart of the off-season. He had pledged to you that he would be the best partner to you as you made the adjustment and he had pledged to himself that he would do his very best to stay out of your way.
And yeah, sure, it was an adjustment for you. The long days were killer on you but he always made sure you had a lunch packed and a decent dinner to come home to (and if Cathy and Tyler were giving him tips and tricks and recipes on the side, no one needed to know). He had made sure to make himself scarce or at the very least quiet on weekends, hanging out more with Javi or Tyler and Kate, putting together more footage for compilation videos, and even picking up a new video game Javi had recommended to him. He was pretty sure even Dani and Lilly were sick of him hanging around their place, always bugging Lilly about Cairo and upgrades they could make, even though none of his friends ever had the heart to tell him to go away.
But this was killing him. He had been doing okay, because you usually spent time with him after dinner on the weekends or made breakfast with him and on Friday nights he could coerce you to curl up on the couch with a beer and takeout and watch a movie before you inevitably fell asleep with a piece of pizza in hand, forty five minutes into the movie.
But last night, a Saturday, you hadn’t left the office for dinner until an hour and a half after he had finished it and had stood in the kitchen only long enough to scarf down two helpings before disappearing to finish your homework. And dammit, he missed you. He wanted to curl up with you, you tugging your fingers through his hair, as he laid his head on your stomach and you told him about your day. He wanted to be able to finish editing a video and get your feedback on it before sending it over to the rest of the group. He wanted to tell you about the improvements he and Javi and Lilly were making to Cairo to get better footage and data from the drone.
So today, as you’re blinking yourself awake through your third sip of coffee, Boone declares he’s going to help you with your homework.
You raise an eyebrow at him, silent question in your look. He chooses to ignore it, silently proud of himself, thinking about all the time you’ll get to share with him if he finds a way to help you. Maybe he can read your readings to you as you take notes, or help you come up with questions for discussion, or edit through your reflection assignments for class.
A stack of paper lands in front of him and he glances up at you. You gesture to it silently as you take your seat, clearly waiting for him to “help”.
He gingerly picks up the packet, flipping over to the first page and is instantly overwhelmed by the words “empiricism” and “epistemology” and “temporal” and “postulates” and “discursive constitutions”.
“What in the fresh hell does any of this mean?” He mutters as he flips through it, confusion and embarrassment blurring the foreign words together in the face of the truth: He couldn’t help you with this. He wasn’t smart enough.
You snort into your coffee. “You tell me. You’re the one who said you could help.”
He lets the papers fall to the table, cheeks burning in shame. You falter, setting your cup down before standing up, wrapping your arms around him from behind. One of your hands combs itself through his curls, working out the knots that had formed while he was asleep last night.
“Baby, if I can’t figure it out, I don’t know how you expect to figure it out.”
“Hey.” He protests weakly, face growing even hotter in shame at the callout, twisting to pull away from you but your grip tightens.
“Easy, that’s not what I’m saying.” You say with a tug on his hair. “‘M saying it’s hard all-around and I’m familiar with this field. No wonder it don’t make sense to you. And maybe I shouldn’t have given you the theory, that shit’s meant to be hard, but I wanted to make a point.” He sighs, knowing you’re telling the truth. “Baby, tell me what’s going on.”
“I just-” He sighs, feeling like an idiot for even saying it. “I just miss you.”
Your hand pauses in his hair. “Boone, we talked about this.”
And you had. You had made it so clear to him that you would be busy, maybe too busy, and you’d understand if he wanted to break it off. But he hadn’t wanted to lose you and that fear had made him panic, promising things he wasn’t sure he could sustain.
And Javi and Kate had both warned him separately, the sacrifices grad school required, and even Tyler and Lilly had warned him that the crap he had put up with while they had been in school would be nothing compared to the long work and internship hours, class blocks, and homework loads of grad school.
But he wanted to be with you more than he cared about a couple of road bumps for a few years while you got a degree that would ultimately, hopefully, let you make a little bit more money to create a better life for the two of you. Not that he thought the life you guys had had before was bad, but if another degree and a bit more money in the bank made you happy, he’d back you in that effort, a hundred and ten percent.
And yet, he was starting to get the feeling that he was going to get left behind. You had complained to him that there were primarily men in your program, and while he had laughed with you at the idiot comments they’d make in class, he was starting to wonder if it would just take one connection with any of them for you to realize you could be with someone more your speed. Someone smart and someone who understands whatever fancy-pants words this author was using and someone whose schedules matched yours and would just be a better fit all around.
“Baby, you’re crying.” You whisper and to his horror, he realizes he is, face suddenly wet.
Before he can even do anything about it, your face swims into view as you sit on his lap. His hands immediately find your waist, the need to have you close persisting past the urge to pretend like nothing is wrong.
Your thumbs wipe away his tears. “What’s wrong, my love?” You whisper softly, concern etched into the lines of your face. He gives a pitiful shrug.
“I just think that- that maybe you need to be with someone better. Someone smarter, I guess. Someone who understands what the word postulates means.”
“I think if anyone who understands theory should legally be considered a psychopath.” Your face falls when he doesn’t laugh at the joke and you sigh. “Baby, you are plenty smart, even if it isn’t with this shit.”
“But what if you meet someone better there? Someone who can understand you?”
You give a sad smile. “Baby, you do understand me. And all those men are old or married or gay or extremely annoying. Or E, all of the above. I don’t want them.”
“But you want me?”
It doesn’t make sense to him. It has never made sense to him, but it especially doesn’t make sense to him now.
“Booney, of course I want you. How could I not?”
And well, he could think of one or two reasons. Or twenty.
“Booney, this has been one of the hardest adjustments in my life. But you’ve been so great through it, always making sure I eat and go to bed at a decent hour and do all my homework so I’m not waking up at odd hours of the night, stressed out of my mind. And it’s been really fucking lonely, being at a school where I can’t along with any of my classmates and I don’t know anyone else, but you’re always making sure I’m seeing the Wranglers for barbecue at least once a week, or catching up with Kate over coffee or going riding with Tyler. You’re making sure my head stays on, making sure I’m taking care of myself. And I’m sorry I haven’t been taking care of you in return.
“No,” He protests. “No, this is dumb shit, it ain’t-”
“It ain’t dumb shit, it’s your feelings, and I’m sorry I haven’t been paying attention. I’m gonna make more of an effort to try.” Once he nods, and you see the confirmation you’re looking for, you sigh, hands leaving his face. “Listen, I only got one chapter to read today, so let me finish eating and go do that, and then I’m yours the rest of the day. You can have me all day, although I should maybe shower at some point, cause I can’t remember the last time I took one.”
He offers you a watery smile. “You mean it? I’m not gonna be a major distraction? If you got shit to do, I- I understand. I can go over to T’s or something.”
You shake your head. “No, no. I mean it.”
“Can we just- just stay in bed the whole day? Watch movies or something?” He asks shyly. You nod, a grin growing.
“Sounds heavenly baby.”
He lets you go, maybe a bit reluctantly, as you finish your eggs before disappearing into the office, and then to the shower an hour later. He can’t help but join you, almost too pleased to have your undivided attention.
Later that night, as both of your phones are set on the nightstand on do not disturb, takeout containers strewn across the room, the Harry Potter films flickering on a forgotten screen, he nudges your cheek with his nose. “I fucking love you baby.” He whispers. “You’re- the whole world to me.”
You hum, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I love you too, baby. I ain’t going nowhere, nowhere in the whole world I’d wanna be then right here.”
Well this has to be Hinny! There is a letter exchange program from last years of high school and Harry is on a long-term recovery unit because he did some heroic stuff. He was supposed to start college this year but instead he's stuck in bed getting surgery after surgery.
He is mopey and hates it there so they suggest he joins the program. and he's so bored that he actually agrees to it. He's terrible at writing but he sends his first letter out, introducing himself and what happened to him (heroic and suffering for it, please and thank you) and gets assigned Ginny as a penpal
She quickly picks up on his sense of humour and writes back in the same way, lamenting about the horrible day she has had (The bus was late again, I bet you don't have that issue lying in bed all day. count your lucky stars, Harry). He appreciates her dark sense of humour.
After a few letters she asks if she can come visit and he says yes but then she walks in, so pretty and bubbly and he actually asks her to leave only to find out from the nurse that she's still there in the waiting room writing him a lengthy letter. A few minutes later he gets the letter from the nurse and he reads it and asks the nurse if she's still there. She is
She comes back in and she's not even mad. She just tells him he must be hurting a lot and she isn't going anywhere. It's the first time since he arrived that he allows himself to cry. she just sits there and strokes his hair and tells him he forgot to mention in his letters that he's extremely good-looking.
This makes him laugh and she smiles back at him.
"I just... you walked in here picture perfect and then I'm such a mess and I didn't want you to see me this way."
She tells him she's seen worse all casually and it isn't true but it does take that anxious feeling away for Harry.
From then on she comes by nearly every day after class and they chat about their day and he helps her with her homework. The first kiss follows quickly
His parents only come by later in the evening usually and by pure chance they just never meet Ginny for a few weeks so one day Ginny waltzes in and is like "Hi Harry" Smooch "Just got back from the hairdresser what do you-? Oh hi didn't see you there." (it's his parents)
and Harry introduces her as his penpal and James is like yeah sure looks like your penpal!
PLAYING FROM KODZUKEN'S STREAM . . . just for me by pinkpantheress
if he’s honest, he doesn’t remember her last olympic performance very well.
of course, she's had other programs since then that he's seen, and it didn't really matter. the last olympics was years ago and she was always changing, always improving, always doing something.
it was something he admired about her. while he was fine with the bare minimum and doing just enough to stay busy or get by, there was always some opportunity she was auditioning or registering for. it had been that way since their time in high school, where on top of her own sport she’d help out on the volleyball team, come watch his games, and make sure he’d finished his assignments by the day they were due. he couldn’t deny that her habits had rubbed off on him; she was part of the reason why he had taken up streaming, why he had stuck with it through the rough patches, and why he was trying his best in school (albeit with a little bit of support because sometimes it was a pain in the ass).
what did remembering her last olympics performance have to do with anything?
he wanted to remember it. something other than her dress being a passionate red that matched her personality well and the black color it slowly faded into. a part of him still selfishly thinks maybe she chose those colors because it was his volleyball team’s colors too. the only other memory that comes to mind is atsumu's hands on her hips, and he doesn't want to linger on that.
he doesn’t remember what song they did, or anything about their actual program. he could watch it, but he doesn’t want to hear the commentators say anything stupid about “how well they work together” or worse, a criticism. he doesn’t want to see her little score go up ever so often and how it compares to others, because if he was in charge of judging he’d easily give her the highest scores for every element.
that's another thing he remembers; she’s flawless. she puts in so much time and effort into everything she does, practicing for hours on and off the rink. sure, she skims the ice and sometimes her landings just barely miss perfect precision–she’s complained about every single tiny mistake she’s ever noticed to him–but she’s always handled those little slip-ups so well he never would've paid another thought towards them if she hadn't mentioned them. every one of her movements has a special kind of unmistakable grace, her eyes looking brightly toward the future. it was similar to shoyo and how far he had clambered up into the world, yet it was never enough for him and he was always searching for a new way to do something. they were both such beautifully optimistic people, and perhaps he attracted those kinds of people in order to balance out his own apathy.
when it came to her, sometimes that apathy fell away completely. he wasn’t lying when he had told her that he often got distracted by her. in general, really, but especially when she skated. he enjoyed coming to her practices which had been a lot more often when he was younger and didn't have streams and homework to worry about. more times than not, he had chosen to sit on the sidelines over the comfort of his home. he would bring his switch or sometimes just his phone to play on but only until she started. he always set his device down completely as soon as she was on the ice, entranced by her every movement.
today would be no different, and he would sit with composure through anything atsumu tried. he had to keep reminding himself that partners were always touchy. they had to be touchy. he was stupid to even consider it that; it was integral to the performance that they grabbed onto each other and trusted their partner in order to execute their tricks.
he had his own plans of making atsumu jealous after all, he just had to keep thinking about that instead.
as soon as y/n was out of class, they took the train to the rink. he listened to her talk about her day as they rode. he had skipped school so he didn’t have much to offer her back. they held hands when he noticed someone taking a picture of them, and then for a little while longer until they separated as they approached the ice rink she was practicing at.
they stopped in front of it as she started to explain something before she decided to just grab his hand once again to lead him inside, guiding him to where he could sit while she continued to talk. he tried to listen to what she said instead of thinking about their hands. she was obviously excited as she explained the ice rink to him; some kind of long history and something about how the roof had just been redone.
he would have paid more attention if he hadn’t seen the blonde approaching them, and her words died down as she noticed him only a second later.
atsumu neared with a smile as nonchalant as always, hands shoved into some black jacket over his athletic shorts. he took one fist out, holding it towards him as he nodded in acknowledgment.
“kozume. i don’t think we’ve seen each other since high school, right? how’ve ya been?”
he forgot he had even known atsumu in high school when he'd been twice the dick, a volleyball player and figure skater.
his face almost cringed for a number of reasons. he forced himself to return the fist bump while his mind buzzed with annoyance simply due to atsumu's voice. “yeah. good to see you,” he forced the words out of his mouth.
y/n had stiffened up next to him and he rubbed a thumb along the back of her hand. he almost wanted to kiss her now just to start something but it wasn't the right time. before either of them could say anything else atsumu’s gaze slid towards y/n. his smile didn’t change at all, he only gave her a wink. “see ya on the ice, y/n.”
it wasn't anything special. he winked at anyone he saw as a greeting. the only thing it was good for was making her feel uncomfortable. but moreover, using her name rather than a pet name wasn't the norm for him. whether it was because kenma was around or because he was backing off (as a part of his plan or genuinely), she’d have to decide later.
he hadn’t hinted at anything fake yet and he was as calm as ever even upon seeing kenma who had come without any prior notice.
she had been holding her breath without even noticing and exhaled, feeling the tension break in the air as the blond walked away. “well, now that that moment's been ruined, i’ll go change. you can sit over there if you want and i’ll see you later,” she told kenma, giving his hand a squeeze before she let go and followed in the same direction as atsumu.
they came on together later in one of the outfits he’d seen in the latest post of some ice skating account. they took their time warming up while he took his seat near a chair with a folder on it. y/n glanced often in his direction as she passed by and he would always give her a smile which seemed to make her smile and whole appearance brighten and she’d speed up a little.
the sound of footsteps near him drew his attention away from the rink and he turned to look up at a man who was already looking back at him. he didn’t seem very old, maybe in his late 20s or early 30s. his blonde hair was pushed back by a headband, easily revealing the double piercing on his left ear.
this was her coach if he wasn't mistaken. hadn't she described him as a “pretty princess?"
kenma could only stare at him, waiting for him to say something. he wasn't entirely sure what part of "princess" y/n saw in him, but maybe he had a nice personality under his initial appearance.
then he took out a cigarette and lit it, throwing that thought out the window.
he continued to look at kenma as if he was trying to remember something while he blew out a puff of smoke. whenever someone gave him that stare it was because they were trying to remember where they’d seen him. it was either going to be “aren’t you that boy that plays the games?” (mostly grandmas) or “don’t you play volleyball?” (bonus points if they say something about nationals or “you’re with that guy with the weird spiky hair, right?").
“didn’t you play volleyball in highschool?” he finally decided.
“yeah. i’m kenma,” he answered, unsure of what else to say. a pause later, he stuck out his hand–wasn’t this what people did when they met each other? he wouldn’t know.
“ukai,” the man responded, shaking his hand. “did you play for nekoma or something? went to nationals? y/n made me watch your game, i’m pretty sure,” he sat down near him, picking up his folder and flipping through it.
should he have known more about ukai? other than what y/n called him?
“yeah, i did,” kenma said, averting his eyes to the floor.
“you were their setter?” ukai asked, quirking a brow at him. when kenma nodded he continued, “yeah i’ve definitely heard about you. pretty sure y/n said you were her favorite or something.”
she skated by just as he mentioned her name, giving kenma a small wave.
he waved back, “oh, really?”
ukai watched her skate by as well before looking back down at his folder, “i won't ever forget it. she yelled it at me almost every time she saw you when we watched that game. what, are you guys dating now? thought i saw you walk in with her holding her hand and all that shit.”
another cloud of smoke left his mouth with his last sentence and kenma's face slightly warmed. when he put it like that, it made them sound childish. and how often did she talk about him? what else had she said?
“whatever,” ukai continued, looking towards him again, “i don’t mind you being here. she likes you and you seem like a nice enough guy. make sure you’re good to her. there’d be hell to pay if you break her heart, and not just from me. she’s got some pretty memorable friends too, i'm sure you know them. one of them comes here often to watch, i think he even came with us when partners were being announced.” they were a few seats away and ukai patted the seat next to him, “here, sit closer. i’ll explain their choreography to you.”
kenma was a little hesitant at first, unsure if he wanted to be that close to y/n’s coach (and his smoke) but if ukai already knew so much about him, at least kenma would learn more about him and y/n's performance.
just as he moved seats, y/n and atsumu had made their way towards the center of the rink and ukai was yelling directions at them from his seat.
he flinched at the volume but tried his best to pay attention to what ukai was saying and their movements as speakers overhead began to play a song.
ukai sat back farther in his seat the cigarette falling limp between his teeth as they began while kenma remained upright. “you know a little bit about skating, right?” he asked.
he knew the basics, which was probably all ukai was asking about but it wasn’t good enough for kenma, he felt like he should've know more about her sport before coming here. “yeah. just a bit,” kenma shrugged.
ukai didn’t seem disappointed in his answer and continued to watch the pair in front of them skate. as the hours passed, he had pointed out certain tricks they did, explaining how they’d be rated, how important their footing actually was, and how impressive they really were.
kenma had walked into this rink planning to be as calm and passive as possible towards atsumu, yet everytime he saw atsumu's hands run along her and brush past her skin he felt like he wanted to tear hair out. he'd already told himself it was normal–this was how they had to be, he had to have that hand on her thigh–but it didn’t make the stress in his chest any lighter.
kenma watched as atsumu placed her back on the ground for only a split second before his hands were on her hips again as he lifted and twisted her into the air. it all happened so fast that when he heard her yelp, kenma wasn’t even sure what had happened. he still hadn't processed what had went wrong before atsumu caught her, both of them almost tumbling onto the ice.
her hand was gripped tightly around his arm, their faces inches from each other. she was staring wide eyed into his eyes, her body still trying to catch up to what had just happened. she’d been so close to hitting the ice she thought for sure she was about to land and injure something–probably her shoulder that had twisted oddly at some point in the rotation.
atsumu was breathing just as heavily, his arms still around her torso. he was leaned over her as if he had just dipped her and they stayed in that position for a moment until they had both recovered and he helped her stand back up. he was grinning at her as he removed his hands from her. “you alright there? that was my fault, sorry i scared ya.”
she was still trying her best to calm her heart back down when she replied breathlessly, “yeah–i'm good. it was probably my fault, i don’t think i was close enough to you, sorry. thanks for catching me.” she returned his smile before skating off to ukai who was leaned over the railing asking how they both were.
atsumu followed after her and kenma watched them both approach. atsumu didn’t even bat an eye in his direction, which probably was a good thing. he wasn’t sure exactly how he looked but he was pretty sure he was staring daggers into him.
kenma tuned back into ukai's conversation with y/n as he stepped away from the railing, “that’s enough for today, you guys can come off the ice and go home. take it easy on your shoulder, you got it, y/n?"
she nodded with a sigh, rolling her right shoulder before she turned her gaze towards kenma, a smile on her face as she moved towards the opening in the rail. he offered a hand as she stepped off the ice onto the ground. she took his hand, sighing again before she talked in a quiet voice to him, “it was going super well until the end, sorry you came on a day where we messed up that twist, we’d been doing pretty good, too.” her lips were pursed into a small pout and he couldn’t help but smile.
atsumu was coming off the ice after her and it felt like the perfect time to do it.
he pushed a stray hair behind her ear and cupped the side of her face to grab her attention. “hey,” she looked up at him, one hand reaching up to hold the hand that he had on her face, “you did good, mistake and all”
he leaned closer, closing the gap between them and he felt the way her body stiffened and the noise of surprise she made before she pressed back against him. her lips still felt cold from being on the ice for so long, and it was a welcome contrast to his own temperature. he found he actually quite liked it a lot. the steps behind her went silent and kenma couldn’t resist opening his eyes to see atsumu’s reaction.
to his dismay, atsumu only looked surprised by the kiss, but there wasn’t any hint of anger or jealousy in his eyes. when atsumu noticed that he was looking, he only winked and gave him a smile that looked as if he supported the two.
when she pulled away from him, she followed his eyes to look at atsumu and her face flushed a light pink. moving quickly past kenma without another word, she unlaced her skates at a nearby bench before she disappeared down the row.
neither him nor atsumu said anything. they only stared at each other for a moment longer, atsumu still wearing a pasifistic smile before he followed after y/n.
he hadn’t hinted at pretending at all yet but in kenma’s mind there was no way he supported y/n and him. what was his goal?
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extras <3
this is another chapter i split up bc it was a little long so apologies if the beginning of the next chapter seems a little choppy 😔
AND if my writing sucks idk why it suddenly feels so foreign,, this is that identity fraud imposter thing people get coming in at full force
yes kenma calls atsumu by miya in his texts BUT in the written portion atsumu sounds better than miya imo and i NEED it to sound good </3 NAMES ARE SO HARD I HATE THEM SOMETIMES
I sit in the corner of my room with my little computer and type my silly little hyphens and semicolons please leave me be (I'm talking to my own brain)
while they were texting, kenma really wanted to say something like "yes i'll come to your practice, i want to support my friend" but he physically could not bring himself to refer to y/n as just a friend
y/n was trying her best to respond normally and casually when kenma asked if he could kiss her but she was screaming on the inside to herself during class
iwa showed up at noya's dorm demanding to know what happened bc no one (suna) would tell him. noya was literally shaking but tsukki did not give a single fuck and opened the door to let iwa in
y/n got excited everytime kenma smiled at her if u couldn't tell
atsumu has a phd in gaslight gatekeep girlboss
ukai is such a father figure for y/n and kenma is definitely on his way to getting his approval
i've decided to make kageyama a very important character in this smau because i am in love with him (this will come into play in like 8 chapters lmao)
I have come to a realization about the rest of my life, and I really want to explain in eloquent prose, but I think what’s going to happen is this is going to devolve into too-long lists, because that’s my communication style. I appreciate you forever if you make it through this post.
I was so full of potential. Yes, I was that autistic kid: good at school, especially reading and science, so that my lagging behind socially and emotionally went unnoticed and my difficulties with math had to be because I wasn’t trying. Because I could do anything, and I always had to be working towards being impressive. My education went thus:
Pulled out of kindergarten because of obvious but unlabeled autism issues and happily homeschooled with workbooks and my imaginary classmates, sent to a different science after-school camp at the museum every week
But middle school requires measurable credits, so I was enrolled in online school. This was the early days, when the teachers were only there to grade non-multiple choice assignments and everything was self-paced and unsupervised
Also they accidentally put me in high school classes, then decided I was smart enough to stay there. Cut to me spending distracted days playing flash games and pulling last-second all-nighters at 12
Went to the alternative high school freshman year because my parents knew I couldn’t handle the crowds of a typical one. It was 99% poor kids on their last behavioral or academic chance to graduate. I loved it; there were no cliques and no one laughed at how I dressed or minded that I wanted to sit with them at lunch but read my novels quietly
But mom convinced me it was too easy and I needed to transfer to a charter school that would let me take college classes. So I spent the rest of high school, outside of one extremely ill-advised semester, going to community college. I liked being assumed to be older than I was, and I liked learning and chilling alone between classes. I made friends, but rarely saw them again after that class ended
Middle and high school also involved being very involved in Girl Scouts, 4-5 4-H clubs at a time, an archery team, and various robotics teams. I liked them all individually, but they were too much together, only there was no telling that to my mother
I graduated college 2 weeks after I graduated high school. I was deeply depressed at the time, but this mattered. This meant my life was going somewhere after all
I took a gap year on a merit scholarship exchange program in Germany, during which I spent as much time as possible biking or scrolling tumblr (which I had just discovered), while my teachers were mad I never did homework and my host parents were mad I never did laundry
In such quick succession I can’t remember the exact order, I: went to two different coding classes meant to prepare you for a tech job, except I never grasped it well; went to one semester of community college; and did one term of electrician trade school only to discover I couldn’t keep up with the math required
Finally, at 20, I went away to college for the first time. Ok, so I wasn’t ahead anymore, but I could still graduate on time. My parents convinced me (very easily swayed) that computer science was the most practical program
I hated it, of course. I spent my free time doing one of 3 things: watching Doctor Who (which I had just discovered) late at night in the dorm hallway, playing video games in the lounge at dinner time when no one would bother me, or hanging out with the cool sociology professor who led reenactment trips and loaned me a bunch of history books. I made one friend, but she was depressed and went home at thanksgiving
I also nearly failed basic college algebra, despite asking for help, and only didn’t because it’s basically high school algebra 1 and 2 smooshed together, and I’d taken algebra 1 three times (and algebra 2 never)
I dropped out after that semester because my parents were pressuring me to join the military to pay for college, and on top of moral objections I was well aware I was too disabled to handle that. They said they wouldn’t help next term if I didn’t agree, and I called their bluff. First big decision I made in my life all on my own
Did another semester of community college but dropped out because they wouldn’t accept some of my old credits and I wouldn’t retake classes
Did a semester of university that I actually really liked, because I got to pick my major (anthropology), and I made two friends I really got on with. But I was driving an hour each way five days a week (had gotten my license recently) and it was too exhausting, so I transferred
Did the last 3 semesters at a school I hated amid Covid, wildly screaming preachers, and apocalyptic fiery skies, with so much reading I never did it all and one class I’m sure I would have failed if it hadn’t gone online after spring break
Oh, and that was the year I moved out of my parents’ house
Finally got my bachelors just before I turned 25. Then proceeded to immediately get married and move across the country
Did my masters degree in a one-year program that I finished the summer I was 26, and I really don’t have that much to say about it. There were papers and projects and no tests and little math, so I did fine other than being overwhelmed
So…I was successful. I have a masters, which is more education than either of my perfectly educated parents. I only graduated 3-4 years later than average, though all of college did technically take me 11 years. But, technically, I made it. I was good at school. I switched it up a lot but technically never actually failed. Because I had the potential to be successful. If you asked my mother, she would tell you I did fine and there were reasons I quit at the end of each term
Work…was harder. I do well with very rigidly defined rules and time to consider them. Bosses don’t tend to like that. But it’s not like I was ever fired. Quick work rundown:
Full time summer job with a teen job forest service program at 16. Mom woke me up and packed my lunches and drove me, but I liked it well enough and she was proud of my lack of complaint
Full time live-in housekeeping at a satellite university campus in the mountains at 19. I was lonely and quit after 3 weeks when I got in trouble for washing sinks too slowly
Half time job in a high school kitchen making lunch at 20. I caught the bus every morning, but Mom still made me breakfast and woke me up. Also no matter how much I rushed, I was never fast enough and a couple of my coworkers were bullies who sprayed me with the sink sprayer and jumped out at me around corners
Full time summer job at 20 at a call center. Mom drove me when she took my brother to high school and I took the bus home. Worst job I ever had. The customers liked me but I was always in trouble for not retaining enough customers who wanted to quit. Probably would have been fired if I hadn’t quit 3 months in
Half time work in an elementary school kitchen from 21-22. This went much better since the variety of food was smaller and my coworkers were a couple of kind mom-age women. I only quit because our boss wanted to cut my hours to 2 a day, and I spent more than that on the bus
Part time work at the public library from 22-24. Here I flourished since there was no rush, it was quiet, and everyone was nerds. The repetitive job that didn’t require thinking was getting boring 3 years in, but really I only quit because I had to focus on my last semester of undergrad. Note though that I only worked 12-16 hours a week there
A notable few months at 23 where I worked 5 days a week as a para at an elementary school, 3 evenings and Sundays at the library, and 2 evenings and Saturdays at the tax prep office. I could walk to 2 of these and took the bus to the library, and was working 50-60 hours a week. Honestly, I functioned shockingly well, but couldn’t have kept it up
I took a break through grad school, so my next job was as a substitute teacher (I’ve made my decision, it doesn’t matter if i tell you now) at 26. Obviously this was part time and meant to be temporary, as I had a degree in education and was going to become a classroom teacher. It wasn’t an uncommon step (though all my classmates found jobs faster than me; I applied to 30 jobs and got one interview with no callback). I didn’t love driving all the way across the city for work, but mostly it was fine
Moved towns at 27 and got a sub job there, which I’ve now had for 2 and a half years. I mostly love it, except the bit where I don’t love unpredictability. I know several of the teachers who text me when they need someone. I get to know the kids. I go by my gender neutral title (though need to get better about explaining pronouns). None of the elementary schools are more than a 9-minute drive from my house
But it was meant to be temporary. I have friends who are unable to work full time, or at all, some of whom rely a lot on family to help with life. And I don’t see anything at all wrong with that. It’s not a failure…unless you’re me.
But that’s wrong. And it’s a weird feeling, like I’m a fraud faking having needs, but I do think the way I am disabled is incompatible with long-term full time work, and as my partner earns enough I don’t need to do that, I think…this is going to be my life.
I am a writer who also teaches part time. The longest I’ve ever lived in a house has been 4 and a half years, but I plan to stay in this one forever. I am also disabled in such a way that I won’t die if left alone, but can’t really keep myself healthy on my own (every time my partner goes away I become a hermit with no sleep schedule who subsists on plain cereal).
And it’s a big thing for me to admit this to myself (and…all of you, I guess), because the expectation was that I would just do whatever was necessary to obtain success. Because my dad did, and he’s disabled in similar ways to me, but he’s also never really been happy and at all of 52 has health problems that keep him from working. He was fond of the phrase “willing to do what’s necessary.”
Except, what’s necessary to me is writing books and going to plays and taking the train to visit my friends. What I always wanted was enough money to spend at the bookstore and a house in a pretty neighborhood and a cat to pet. I knew from the time I was 13 or so that I didn’t care about status or wealth beyond basic comfort, but I don’t know if it clicked until very recently that I don’t even have to have a career to have a life.
Anyway. That was longer than some essays I’ve written, so you deserve a treat if you made it this far 🍬🍭🍇🍓
