so i took the chibis to a lads cupsleeve event aaaaaand yeah you can imagine the time rafayel had

new pv got me thinking BIG ANGST POTENTIAL for caleb x non mc.

you're secretly dating idol!caleb, keeping your relationship under wraps for both of your safety. one day, you see that the company that caleb is under has uploaded a new video. you instantly feel confused, because caleb has never told you that he was filming a new music video. you click on it, excited to see caleb's remarkable talent again, until you realize that it's a collab—and it's with mc, his childhood friend who's also an idol, the one that he keeps having dating scandals about (but he keeps refuting, so you have never been given a reason to feel jealous, until now). you see how closely they dance with each other, their movements looking way too intimate, and it makes your heart lurch. you even feel sick, your stomach churning with discomfort.

after the video is finished—you barely even watched it—you send the video link to your chat with caleb and simply send "congrats with the new vid! proud of u :)". caleb sends back "thanks babe! <3", thinking that everything's fine... until you stop texting him days after that. you don't even answer any of his calls anymore, and it sends him into pure panic. he knows you're still working, because he texted your friends for updates about you, but even they're acting cold with him, and he doesn't understand why. he tries visiting your apartment, putting the digits of his birthday in the door keypad—but then it beeps red. with his heart dropping all the way to his stomach, he realizes that you've changed the password, and he doesn't have access anymore. he tries to knock on your door, and he hears shuffling inside, but you don't answer.

in that moment, he realizes how much he fucked up, and the possibility of genuinely losing you is becoming more and more of a reality.

falling for your physics professor

physics!professor!caleb x engineering!f!student

⋆౨ৎ directions for use

⋆౨ৎ side effects

Women in STEM.

Beware of any university offering a scholarship for women in STEM. It’s a scam. A bribe to lure young, hopeful women into the depths of hell under the guise of female empowerment and gender equality.

Or at least, so you feel as you select a mandatory physics course for next term. If coding doesn’t make you bald from sheer frustration, then you’ll be tearing your hair out while attempting to calculate 3D vectors.

So imagine your surprise when you return from break and all of your friends are gushing over this supposedly hot new physics professor. You scoff as you walk with your best friend, Lucinda, to the lecture hall, listening to her ramble about how he just transferred from Linkon University.

The theatre takes your breath away. High ceiling with dewy drop lights and medallions fanning out in a geometrical pattern. The wooden desks are curved around a central podium and blackboard. Above the board is a baroque mural; pastels and cherubs, fluffy clouds and Christianity. Your bestie begs you to sit at the front, but you compromise by sitting in the middle.

Even if this new lecturer is supposedly super hot, he’s your teacher, not a dating option. You can’t delude yourself into thinking that some 30-something-year-old man would be interested in a stressed, uni student such as yourself. He’s probably married already, given the rumours of his charm and playfulness.

“How do I look?” Lucy asks nervously. She turns to face you, still futzing with her hair despite being the most beautiful woman in the room.

You sigh, “Stunning. But remember: he’s our teacher.”

She rolls her eyes and groans, “Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s not like anything will actually happen. But I still wanna look nice, you know? Just in case.” Unable to contain yourself, you snort behind your palm. The glare she casts your way is lethal. It makes you laugh harder.

“In case of what?” You get out before doubling over. She grumbles in response and fixes a crooked pen on her desk.

As you compose yourself, she suddenly slaps your arm and whisper-yells, “Oh my God, he’s here! Look!” Wiping tears from your eyes, you sniffle and glance down at the central podium.

never leaving

𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 [𝟏𝟐]

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 3k

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff and angst, making out but nothing too crazy

summary.

author's note. :) let me know what you think y'all. reblogs/interaction are highly appreciated!

↢ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ↣

𝗡𝗢 𝗠𝗢𝗥𝗘 𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗘

“You’re one of the Heroes.”

It’s quiet enough that you could hear a pin drop. 

With the windows open, an uncomfortably icy breeze grazes your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Even your own voice sounds foreign to you, the words awkward and hesitant as they leave your lips. 

At your side, Kinich has his elbows on his knees, forehead resting on his clasped hands. Hunched, like the burden of it all is weighing down on his shoulders.

He nods shallowly.

The borders of your heart come caving in—each breath squeezes into your lungs, struggling and weak.

You aren’t a fool. You’d known the Abyssal attacks were growing more and more frequent, but you’d never imagined that it would come to this.

Kinich is one of the Heroes. One of the fated Ancient Name Bearers, an integral part of your Archon’s plan to fight the Abyss and save Natlan from collapse. Kinich is part of that. Your Kinich.

Malipo Kinich.

╰┈➤SHIPWRECKED!

SYNOPSIS: The school ships you with Caleb, but you both were already sailing

PAIRING: teacher!Caleb x teacher!reader

TAGS: fluff, bantering, fun teachers rivalry,

NOTES: 1.3k words. wowie im not so satisfied with this but please enjoy this short caleb fic before i brainstorm a better fic for apple hubby.

Caleb stole your markers again.

You know this because the red one now smells like his overpriced cologne and the green one is missing entirely, probably buried under a pile of gym mats or wedged into a trebuchet he built for Year 11 physics. He’s across the hall, explaining projectile motion with your blue marker like he’s narrating a sports documentary.

You consider filing a formal complaint. Or a restraining order. Or a hit.

A student passing by glances between you and Caleb, then mutters to their friend, “They’re either about to kiss or kill each other.”

Caleb catches your eye and winks. You mouth ‘I will end you.’

He smiles like you just proposed.

Later, you find your green marker taped to a dumbbell in the PE office with a note:

‘Found it during warm-ups. It misses you. — C.X.’

✦ chapter 4: you're not subtle

you’re about to stand.

almost.

your hands shift like you’re about to push yourself up — legs stiff, knees popping quietly from sitting too long on the cold rooftop concrete. your palms brace against the floor, fingers splaying out, ready to rise — ready to leave.

this is genuinely my most favorite series ever,,, i love u author

𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 [𝟏𝟎]

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 3.3k

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff and angst, light mentions of blood and injury

summary.

author's note. meeting your first love again sure gets awkward!!! also first consecutive turnfire update in who knows how long lol, yippee!! reblogs/interactions highly appreciated!

↢ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ↣

𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗟𝗗𝗡'𝗧 𝗣𝗨𝗧 𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗠𝗬 𝗙𝗜𝗥𝗘

Kinich doesn’t win the Pilgrimage, and at first, you’re relieved.

It leaves him safe from the Nightwarden Wars, at least for now. It’s one less sleepless night for you, as selfish as that line of thinking might be. 

Kachina makes it, and though you’ve only interacted with her once, it makes you worried. Being born and raised in the nation of Pyro, you’re fully aware of the expectations for those with Ancient Names—participating in the Wars would be an honor for any of those warriors. But she is still a child nonetheless, and that thought leaves you wishing to take her place.

Truthfully, you hadn’t really paid attention to the group stage, operating on the assumption that Kinich would make it through, and still reeling from your prior interaction. His friends had caught up to him at the end of your last conversation, calling him away and leaving everything rather unfinished.

But really, you’d been grateful for their intervention. Even now, you’re still not sure what you would’ve said to him.

To me, you’re not just anyone. You never could be.

The party was loud. Too loud, honestly. Bass thumping through the floor, bodies swaying, lights flickering like they were trying too hard to be edgy. The place smelled like cheap cologne, alcohol, and leftover pizza crust.

Scaramouche hated it. He only came because you asked. And because the invitation came from Venti, your mutual friend, who had some very persistent energy.

"Come onnnn, just one night! You two are always holed up studying or sulking or whatever. Loosen up!"

Scaramouche regretted it the moment he stepped in. He stood near the wall most of the night, hoodie still on, arms crossed, ignoring everyone except for the occasional “You good?” from random drunk strangers.

You, on the other hand...

You had promised you wouldn’t drink. You had said it clearly — "I’ll stick to soda, I swear."

But then Venti gave you that grin, twirled some glowing mystery drink in front of you and said, "Just one. You won’t even feel it."

Now?

You were a mess.

Flushed cheeks. Wobbly legs. Eyes glassy and dazed as you tried to make your way across the room with your arms out like you were playing tag with the air.

Scara saw you just as he was heading out the door. He paused mid-step, hand still on the doorknob, when he noticed your body sway a little too far to the left — dangerously close to collapsing on the coffee table. He sighed. Loudly. Eyes closing for a beat.

"Idiot," he muttered.

And then he turned around.

"Come on." His voice was low, annoyed — but there was an edge of worry under it. "You’re done for the night."

You looked up at him with a dazed smile, blinking like you were surprised to see him.

"Scaraaaa," you slurred. "You came…"

“Yeah. Big mistake, apparently.”

You reached out dramatically, poking his shoulder. "You look so moody. Like a vampire. A hot one."

His eyebrow twitched. "Okay. You’re definitely done."

It took effort.

Your legs were pure jelly. Every few steps, you leaned on him so heavily he had to catch you around the waist. At one point, you stopped walking just to look at your shoes and whisper,

"My feet are doing the cha-cha…"

"…Great," he muttered. "Maybe they’ll dance all the way home."

Despite the sarcasm, he adjusted your arm over his shoulder and helped you the entire walk back to your apartment. People passed by on the sidewalk, a few giving odd and weird stares, but Scara didn’t care. Why would he even?

You were babbling about clouds and cats and why cereal tastes sad at night. He didn’t reply to most of it — but he listened.

That's the part you won't remember.

By the time he managed to get you through your apartment door, you had your face buried against his shoulder and were humming something soft under your breath. He finally dropped the keys on the table, let out a long exhale, and carried you to your room — bridal style, because your legs were giving up entirely.

"God, you’re heavy," he muttered.

You giggled into his neck. "You smell like rainy books."

"…Whatever the hell that means."

He nudged your door open with his foot and carefully lowered you onto the bed. You flopped backward dramatically, limbs sprawled like a starfish, eyes fluttering shut. He bent down to take off your shoes, already reaching to grab the blanket, ready to get this over with so he could finally go sulk in peace in his own room.

But then—

"I like you."

His hands paused.

Right on the edge of tucking the blanket around your shoulders.

He blinked. "What?"

You didn’t open your eyes.

Your voice was soft. Barely there.

"I like you, Scara... I always did..."

The words weren’t playful. Not like earlier. They were gentle. Raw. Slurred but sincere. Like something you'd been keeping in your chest for way too long, and now that your walls were down, it slipped out.

He froze.

His throat tightened.

He just… stared at you. Heart thudding. Mind blank.

You, with your sleepy smile and flushed cheeks, completely unaware that you’d just cracked something wide open.

For a long second, he didn’t breathe.

But then—

He quietly pulled the blanket up to your chin and stood up without a word. He lingered in the doorway, hand resting on the frame. His gaze lingered on your sleeping face — so peaceful, so unaware of the tiny earthquake you’d just caused in his chest.

He exhaled through his nose.

"Don't say that while you're wasted." he muttered.

Then he turned off the light and closed the door to your room.

But that night, he didn’t sleep. He lay awake in his room, staring at the ceiling. And over and over in his head… He kept hearing it.

"I like you."

Like a soft echo.

Like a memory he wasn’t supposed to keep.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ ─── THE GREATEST IN THE LEAGUE

running through the crowd you pushed past more people than you could keep track of. at least you shouted a quick apology at them as you pushed past, ignoring the looks of disdain that were sent in your direction. if it were any normal circumstance, you would feel bad about the rudeness of it all, but you were late.