#but that doesn’t mean i have /no/ problems and it doesn’t mean i think i’m better than anyone else

[endstar]

The aus relax in the meeting room. Doing their own thing and trying to find ways to entertain themselves… they let the young demon do as he pleases, not minding the free help. They lay about mainly just fiddling with puzzles and, sharpening blades they haven’t had too used for an uncomfortable amount of time …

Eventually, survivors guilt Doug speaks.

𓆟"….so… how we feeling about this?"𓆟

∞"what do you mean? About this weird sudden pocket of okayness?"∞

The fish shakes his head no, his frils quivering slightly with mild nervousness.

𓆟"no… I mean… all of this. Everything. From the sudden appearance of our beloved anxiety demon, to the death of… Hundreds of us. I mean… We haven’t had time to think about how we feel, have we?"𓆟

A malak grumbles.

⚠︎"wow.. a lovely thought coming from you, mr feels."⚠︎

Doug stands up, his tail slashing slightly and he wails in a quiet town.

𓆟”I’m being serious for once! I really hate this! And that… cat… is not the only reason I don’t! And I know I’m not the only one here who feels the same way!"𓆟

The other AUs look down, their expressions grim as they hold their pocketed weapons and small bits of comfortable armour for comfort… they could never seem to take it off now. The fish man paces anxiously.

𓆟"Lucifer left us again! All of them did, because what? Because there’s a shit ton of new gods that they freed? We all know SHE is no coward, and she knows how to get around problems! FUCK, I think she did this intentionally! And now we’re falling into a trap, and there’s NOTHING we can do because we are completely DEFENCELESS in this situation!"𓆟

He pulls on his frills

𓆟"Wh-whats worse now to me is that… we’re even MORE below then now! We’re NOTHING. Just a bunch of burdens…"𓆟

His malak approaches and puts his hand on his shoulder slowly.

𓆟"…don’t say that… we’re not burdens, we’re just…"𓆟 He sighs. 𓆟"…listen… Lucifer could’ve left us at any point in time… he hasn’t. He loves us."𓆟

𓆟"NO HE DOESN’T! HE ONLY LOVES HOW HE FEELS AFTER HE HELPS A PERSON!"𓆟

His Malak flinches back at his Doug’s outburst, his ears pinning.

𓆟"…we’re not his friends. Not anymore… or.. maybe we never were… we are only his stress balls, his way of… both feeling better, and feeding his perceived obligation with his overwhelmingly strong moral code… I know I’m not the only one who sees it. He helps people, he acts like their friend…”𓆟

𓆟"…then he leaves."𓆟

The meeting room is silent, as people try to find an argument to save Lucifer… most unable to find an actual other than Lucifer being traumatized… that he’s stressed. But… only they can get someone so far… and they are all too scared to go talk to the newfound God… he isn’t as friendly as he seems more to them… to cover up this conversation they use their tactic that helped hide their traitors… their thoughts of being allowed and covering up the conversation, only being able to be heard if someone is intentionally listening in.. and with how they’re “protectors” have been doing? They know they won’t.

Even CK can’t defend Lucifer here, well… he can with the whole stressed and traumatized argument, but… survivors guilt has made it clear that he won’t take that for an answer... he respects Lucifer… but he can’t help but admit the poor demons trauma screws them over quite a bit.

𓆟"…I saw that nowhere Doug Lucifer made friends with crying the other day. I don’t know nowhere, but… I have a funny feeling I know why."𓆟

A beirce speaks up.

𓅨"listen… just… give it time… Lucifer is a good person, and he’s gaining new powers and abiliti—"𓅨

𓆟"sure! But is he a good friend? Calling someone your friend doesn’t make them a friend forever!"

The multiverse is full of infinite possibilities...

Most worlds tend to connect through similar builds. Through stories, people, themes...

It's no surprise seeing a stranger to the multiverse. What IS surprising, however, was his condition. Covered in deep wounds, limbs twisted and torn, and he appeared to be drowning in his own blood by the time he was found. Holy weapons were embedded in his skin, and the flesh sizzled liked bacon around it.

He had red skin, gray hooves, horns that looked far too round and circular to have normally grown out of his head. His long pointed tail is covered in hand prints, and there are bones exposed out of his back. He lays face first in a pool of his own boiling blood, barely breathing or moving.

@ask-underfazverse

Cry’s come from the mass amounts of strangers, many just back away to cowedly to do anything, but a few step up, and begin to heal him. Mainly the younger, less evil Malak’s, a few Doug’s that are just simply concerned, and only one Bierce.

Dream Malak very hurriedly takes him to his hospital, with the help of the others.

[chuxmy]

Hello! I really love all your work, especially the Seung Jae one. Speaking of Seung Jae, can I request a one shot smut about him (if you're comfortable to write smut) where reader and him have a private and secret relationship. Then one day, someone was flirting to the reader but reader is so shy and naive that she thinks that he is friendly to her. Then, Seung Jae saw it and felt rage, jealousy, and possessiveness towards her. Btw, their relationship is not toxic but there are times that it can be toxic when Seung Jae can't control his emotion. Thankie 😘

Only mine

Pairings: Geum Seongje x Fem!Reader

Summary: You smiled at the wrong guy.

Warnings: Smut, explicit sexual content, possessiveness, jealousy, praise kink, mdni

A/N: *gulp* it‘s kinda hot in here..

You’ve always been soft.

Polite. Shy. The kind of person who smiles at strangers without thinking twice. It’s part of your charm one of the reasons Seongje fell for you. But sometimes, that sweetness felt like a curse.

Because it made people think they had a chance with you.

And today, someone took that chance.

It was during break, near the vending machines. A boy from another class. You didn’t know him well he wasn’t even on your radar. But he struck up a conversation. Said something about how you looked better every time he saw you, called you “adorable” in this half joking, half serious voice.

You thought he was being friendly.

You smiled. Awkwardly. Tucked your hair behind your ear and said, “That’s really nice of you,” like you always did.

You didn’t see the possessive stare from across the hallway.

But Seongje did.

He saw everything.

You don’t notice his silence until hours later after school, when you meet in the unused music room, like always.

You close the door behind you, expecting his usual smirk, his lazy voice teasing, “Took you long enough.”

But when you turn, he’s already across the room. Eyes dark. Hands in his pockets.

Something is off.

“Seongje?” you ask gently. “What’s wrong?”

He says nothing. Just stares at you.

Then moves.

Fast.

You barely register the way his hand slides behind your neck, how his mouth crashes onto yours, how your back slams into the nearest wall with a gasp. His kiss is rough. Messy. Tongue pushing past your lips like he’s trying to claim every part of you.

You whimper, clutching at his hoodie. “W-wait, what—?”

“You smiled at him,” he hisses against your lips.

You blink. “Who—?”

“That fucker by the vending machines.”

Your breath catches. “He was just being nice…”

He laughs, but it’s humorless. “You really believe that?”

You swallow. “I didn’t think—”

“That’s the problem. You never think when it comes to this shit.”

His tone isn’t cruel, but it’s sharp. Laced with frustration. With something worse.. hurt. As if your smile had cut him in ways you didn’t even understand.

“I’m sorry,” you say, voice small. “I didn’t mean to upset you—”

He kisses you again. Harder. Teeth clashing.

“You didn’t upset me,” he growls. “He did. But watching you smile at him like that… like you enjoyed it…”

“I didn’t,” you whisper.

But he doesn’t stop.

His hands are already under your shirt, calloused fingers skating across your ribs, making you shiver.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he murmurs darkly. “You don’t see how guys look at you. You think they just want to be friends?”

Your silence answers for you.

His hand slides up your thigh, under your skirt. You gasp when his fingers brush your inner thigh, the heat of him pressed between your legs.

“They want you,” he breathes, dragging his lips down your jaw, to your neck. “They want to take you from me. And you don’t even fucking notice.”

His touch is rough, almost desperate, like he’s trying to erase the idea of anyone else from your skin.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” you say softly, trembling.

“I know,” he mutters, dragging your panties down. “You never do.”

Then, lower, much lower he rasps, “But you need to remember who this belongs to.”

You inhale sharply when he dips his head, mouth brushing against your core.

“I—I didn’t know someone could be this jealous…”

He looks up, eyes blazing.

“You think this is just jealousy?” His voice drops an octave. “I love you so much it makes me crazy.”

Then he slides his tongue along your folds.

You choke on your breath, hand flying to your mouth to muffle the moan. Your other hand buries in his hair, gripping tightly as his tongue moves with skill you didn’t know someone like him had.

“You’re already soaked,” he murmurs against you. “You liked me getting jealous, didn’t you?”

“N-no, I—”

“Liar.”

He fucks you with his tongue until your thighs shake.

Then he stands, pulling you to him. Lifting you with one strong arm under your thighs, he carries you to the piano bench and sets you down, your legs spread around him.

His pants drop. You barely see it happen, your eyes are half lidded with need, your breath uneven.

He doesn’t ask.

He slides in deep, all at once.

You cry out, your hands flying to his shoulders.

He’s big, he always is and this position makes it even deeper. You squirm, gasping his name.

“I know,” he groans, forehead resting against yours. “I know it’s a lot.”

But he doesn’t stop.

He won’t.

His hips begin to move slow at first, then faster. He grunts softly each time he sinks into you, the wet sound of your bodies filling the small room.

“You’re mine,” he whispers again and again. “Mine. Mine. Mine.”

“Yours,” you gasp, clinging to him like a lifeline. “Only yours.”

Your body wraps around him like you were made for him. His thrusts hit deep, dragging broken sounds from your throat.

You cry out when he hits that perfect spot inside you again. And again. And again.

“Look at me,” he demands, voice wrecked. “I want to see your face when I make you come.”

You do.

You look up at him, eyes wide and shining with emotion and he shatters.

“Fuck, I love you.”

Then your orgasm slams into you like a wave, blinding, breath stealing, intense. You moan, body shaking, clinging to him with everything you have.

He follows seconds later, hips jerking as he empties inside you, groaning your name.

When it’s over, he doesn’t move.

He stays pressed against you, arms around your waist, face buried in your shoulder.

You’re both breathing hard.

Your fingers stroke his hair.

“…You okay now?” you whisper.

He laughs quietly. “No.”

You blink.

He lifts his head. “Because I know I’ll feel this again. The second someone else even looks at you.”

You smile sadly. “You can’t keep getting mad at me for being… me.”

“I know.” He kisses your collarbone. “But I can remind you who you belong to.”

You cup his cheek.

“You don’t have to remind me.”

He closes his eyes, leaning into your hand.

“…I still will.”

[futbolfatale]

Love at a flash

MasterList

Pairing: Alpha Paige Bueckers/Omega Reader

Based on This Request!

Summary: Meeting Paige when she is taking her dallas photos that leads fucking in her cowboy hat.

Tags: Scenting, Breeding, kink/mentions of breeding, Oral Sex (R! Receiving),

WordCount: 1.1K

Being on the photography team for the Dallas Wings was never your dream. But still, it’s a good job that you have insurance and flexible hours. That being said, it does have a downside, that being all of the unmated alphas. Normally, they would flirt a little and get over it. You were one of the only unmated omegas employed by the wings, which put an obvious target on your back. The difference with Paige is that she doesn’t use her words to flirt with you like the other Wings do. She flirts with her eyes and fills the room with her scent.

She is supposed to be looking at the camera, but she keeps looking over at you while you control the lighting. “Here, Paige, your very own welcome to Texas,” Alexis hands Paige the boots and hat. She props the hat on her head, looking straight up into your eyes. The ice blue of her eyes is startling, and she doesn’t look away as the camera flashes. “Thanks, Paige, I think that’s all we need from you today. Amazing job, everybody.”

You start to pack up all the lighting equipment. You help your co-workers tote the heavy bags of equipment back to the van. One could say you're extremely helpful, or they could say that you just wanted to avoid a certain flirty alpha. Once the Van is loaded, everyone leaves outside waiting for the boss so we can get back to the studio. While everyone else is shit talking or lighting up a cigerette you sit in the back of the van with the doors open. You scroll through your Instagram trying to make time pass quicker. It seems to be working, your feed is filled with news about the draft and thirst edits of Paige. So maybe you enjoy the occasional Paige Bueckers edit, but she could never know. Not that she would ever have a chance to be around you other than the photography session, once in a blue moon. “What are you watching?” Someone asks, looking over your shoulder. The slick back blonde bun and cowboy hat make you want to run away. “Nothing.” You shut your phone and slip it into your pocket quickly. “OHHH c’mon just tell me im even more interested now.” She leans in, her scent flooding in all around you. Her scent of Apple and white tea is just aggressive enough to make to listen to her. She didn't even need to use an alpha command. 

“At least come inside and get some water. I think Alexis is going to be a while longer, and it’s a little warm outside.” Paige tries to convince you. “I’m fine out here, my water bottle is in one of these bags.” You rummage around searching for your bag. ‘Please come inside with me.” Her voice has taken a soft tone, and she grabs both of your hands between hers. It is a miracle none of your co-workers have realized what's going on. Well, your arousal scent will be giving it away any minute now. “Come back inside with me,” she brings both of your guys' hands to her lips. She presses a gently kiss to your knuckles and your fucked. I mean who could look this gorgeous Alpha women straigh in her eyes and say ‘’no i don’t want to fuck you’’ nobody that the problem and she knows it. You follow her back into the building, your co-workers watching with laughter and crude jokes. 

“Sorry. This is really not where I wanted to take you, but the rest of the team is in the locker room.” Paige explains, pushing you gently against the wall of the janitor's closet. She nestles her head into the crook of your neck, licking at your scent gland. “This is a bad idea. If you get caught, you could get kicked off the team.”You try to reason. As much as you want this, she shouldn’t ruin her career over one hook-up. “That's where you are wrong, They want alpha players to find their fated mates. You know why?” She asks, but the question is not meant to be answered. “But we're not,” you start to talk, only for Paige to press her hand against your mouth. “But we are. I feel it, you know. They say alphas can tell their mate from the first look, and I knew. God sculpted you for me. He made you perfect in every way. He made it so we would meet right now so that I can be here with you.” Paige makes her point by rubbing her fingers over your scent gland, sending a shiver down your body. “Once your body recognizes me as your mate, you’ll fall into heat, and then I will fill you with my pups. Would you like that?” She asks, grinding against you. “I want it. Please want you,”  that's all Paige needs to hear. She unbuttons your pants, sliding down onto her knees in front of you. When she gets to your ankles, she pauses to untie your shoes and slip those off as well. She sets them aside with gentle care, and your pants follow. She takes the time to fold your pants before setting them on top of your shoes. This fuels your frustration, you grab the top of her hat and pull her face back to your thighs.

“Patience, baby. I'm getting there.” Paige laughs softly, running her hands up and down your thighs. You don’t feel like waiting; she wanted you, and now she needs to follow through. “Just.. please god, want you inside me.” You moan, hips rolling against her. “You're going to have me just be patient. I want to taste you first.” Paige finally pulls your underwear down before ducking between your thighs. She starts at your clit sucking at it with practicied ease.”You taste so good.”She whispers against your skin before moving lower to lick at your slit. You lean more heavily into the wall and let your legs spread wider for her. She wraps her arms around your thighs, holding you in place while she gets her taste. “Fuck we got to go we can’t do this here. It won’t be good for you.”Paige stands abruptly, leaving you panting against the wall. “Paige what the fuck is wrong with you” You whisper shout pushing off the wall and grabbing her hand.

“We can’t do this here. Let me get your pants back on, and we can take this to my apartment. I promise you'll get your orgasm there.” Paige rubs her thumb over the back of your hand while she speaks. “Here,” She pulls away to grab your clothes and help you get dressed. Once you're dressed, Paige takes your hand and takes you out to the parking lot. You're surprised to see the work van gone, along with most of the cars that had previously been in the lot. “Cmon, my car's over here.” You follow Paige mostly because you want to, but also because you don’t have another option.

Should the Reader get a nickname for future blubs for this?

[cosmiclily]

hey, sorry if you're tired of seeing me, but what do you think about reader rejecting Vi multiple times cause Vi is like a fuckgirl and reader doesn't know if Vi is only playing or mocking her, and don't wanna get hurt, but Vi it's totally serious and wants to get reader so bad?

btw, hope you're okay, have a great day, love ya! 🫶🏼

all of the girls you loved before

♡ vi x f!reader

wc: 4k

notes: i love seeing your asks 😭😭 don’t worry !! (sorry for taking so long to make this lol i haven’t been writing this much lately) i love this idea and i LOVED how this turned out, i want a girlfriend so bad now 😔

If you asked any gay girl (or bi, or questioning—basically anyone even remotely attracted to women) about Vi Vanderson, you’d get one of three very specific responses:

1. “She’s the love of my life, but I can’t get her to look my way.”

2. “I hate her and I hope she dies a slow, dramatic, painful death.”

3. “She said she’d call me back and I’ve been waiting for a week. Can you tell her to text me?”

Which, honestly, tells you everything you need to know about her.

Violet Vanderson had that reputation—the kind where she’d either broken your heart, your roommate’s heart, or was currently in the process of doing both. She had an effortless charm, a smirk that could melt steel, and a walk that made heads turn in slow motion. Basically, she was a walking red flag... and yet, somehow, irresistible.

So when she’d throw a wink my way, flash that annoyingly perfect grin, and drop the cheesiest pick-up lines known to mankind—“Your eyes are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, princess”—I didn’t exactly swoon. I simply rolled my eyes.

Because we were friends. And if Vi flirted with strangers for fun, she flirted with me for sport.

“You know, princess,” she said on a typical morning, stealing one of my fries with no shame, “you’re the most gorgeous girl in here. When are you finally going to let me take you on a date?”

I didn’t even look up. “Piss off, Violet. Go flirt with Sarah or something—she’s been staring since you walked in.”

Vi glanced over her shoulder, spotted Sarah practically drooling, then turned back to me with a smug little smirk. “She doesn’t have your charm.”

I snorted. “I’m not on the menu.”

“Maybe,” she said, plucking another fry. “But I’m patient.”

And that was the problem with Vi—she knew exactly how to walk the razor-thin line between teasing and tempting, and she was dangerously good at pretending it didn’t mean anything.

The real question was: when did I start wishing she meant it?

I mean, I wasn’t that stupid... right?

No. There was absolutely no way I was falling for my walking-red-flag-of-a-friend. The same friend who flirted with any girl who so much as breathed in her direction. The one who collected hearts like seashells on a beach and didn’t even pretend to keep track of whose they were.

Of course I wouldn’t be that girl.

I wouldn’t be stupid enough to feel a little flutter in my chest every time she called me princess. Or get all flustered when she teased me just to see me blush. Or mad—irrationally mad—when she smirked like she knew exactly what she was doing.

And she did know.

“You’re gonna wait forever, then,” I said flatly, standing up and grabbing my tray, done with being caught in Sarah’s piercing glare. “I’m not interested. At all.”

I didn’t wait for her response, didn’t risk looking back at her face, because if I did, I knew I’d see that stupid half-smile of hers—the one that said, I know you’re lying.

But as I walked away, I heard her voice ring out across the cafeteria, louder than necessary and way too dramatic.

“Don’t do this to my heart! You know you love me!”──────────────────────

The next time Vi tried to convince me we should go out, I was sitting under my favorite tree on campus during lunch, headphones in, enjoying the rare peace, when her shadow suddenly blocked out the sun like a bad omen.

I didn’t even have to look up. “If you’re here to confess your undying love again, I’m gonna need it in writing. Preferably notarized.”

Vi laughed and dropped down beside me like she belonged there. “Can I at least offer a bribe before the proposal?”

I sighed and took one earbud out. “Depends. Is it food?”

She grinned like she’d just scored a goal. “Better. It’s me. I come with jokes, tattoos and limited emotional availability. Total package.”

I blinked at her. “Wow. I can’t imagine why you’re still single.”

“Me neither,” she said, leaning back on her hands, stretching like she was trying to give the sun a show. “Maybe it’s because the girl I actually like keeps rejecting me in increasingly creative ways.”

I scoffed at that, like she actually liked me. I ignored the way my heart did an actual somersault in my chest.

“Maybe,” I muttered, biting into my sandwich like it could distract me from her eyes on me.

She leaned in just a bit, lowering her voice like we were sharing secrets. “Come on. Just one date. If you don’t have the best time of your life, I swear I’ll never flirt with you again.”

I turned to her slowly, looking her dead in the eyes. “You say that like it’s supposed to scare me.”

Her smirk only deepened. “Because you’d miss me.”

“Oh, yes, I’d really miss being aggressively hit on while I try to eat a sandwich with too much mustard. Huge loss.”

“You pretend to hate it,” she said, nudging her knee against mine. “But you haven’t told me to stop.”

I narrowed my eyes, cheeks warming despite my best efforts. “Maybe I like watching you embarrass yourself.”

Vi raised a brow, eyes glinting with something that made my stomach twist. “Then you must love me by now.”

I scoffed. “Love you? Please. I tolerate you the same way I tolerate cramps and coffee withdrawals.”

She clutched her chest like I’d stabbed her. “Brutal.”

“Good,” I said, wrapping my sandwich back up. “Maybe then you’ll finally take the hint and let me rot in peace.”

“Not a chance, princess,” she said, all confidence and charm, her infuriatingly pretty eyes locked on mine. “I’m in this for the long game.”

And to be honest? I was almost—almost—ready to give in. To say yes, just to see what she thought she’d get out of this.

Maybe she liked the challenge. Maybe it thrilled her to know I was the only girl who hadn’t fallen headfirst into her lap. Maybe the chase was more exciting than the prize.

And that’s what scared me the most.

Because if I said yes—if I let her take me out, let her treat me like I was the only girl in the world for a night—what then?

What if she kissed me, touched me like I was something soft and fragile instead of her sarcastic best friend, and took me back to her room? The same room where she’s taken all the others before me. The same room I’ve heard stories about, or walked past, knowing some random girl was probably still tangled in her sheets.

Would I just be another name on that list?

Would she lose interest the second I stopped being a challenge?

Because once I crossed that line, there was no going back. Our friendship wouldn’t survive it—not intact. And neither would I.

Somewhere along the line, Vi stopped being just my flirty, reckless friend with too many one-night stands and a wink that could burn straight through steel. She became someone I couldn’t afford to lose.

And that made everything so much more complicated.

──────────────────────

After that day by the tree, it felt like something shifted. Like Vi sensed that I was slipping. That maybe—just maybe—I was close to giving in. And if she did notice? Oh, she absolutely took it as a challenge.

Maybe she was doing the same thing she always had, or maybe this time it was different. Maybe I was just different—too tired to keep pretending her attention didn’t affect me.

“Good morning, princess. Looking beautiful as always,” she said with that casual confidence, her grin tugging slightly at the little scar on her upper lip.

And of course, my traitor eyes immediately darted to her mouth. Like clockwork.

It was too early for this. Too early to fight the urge to smile back or roll my eyes or reach out and touch her—God, why did she always look so good first thing in the morning?

I tried to muster a response, something snarky, something that would remind her (and myself) that I wasn’t buying it.

“Do you ever wake up and decide not to flirt with someone?” I muttered, brushing past her with my coffee in hand. “Or is this just a full-time job for you?”

“Only when you’re around,” she shot back, grinning like she’d already won something.

I didn’t respond. Couldn’t, really. Because if I did, my voice might crack under the weight of how badly I wanted to believe she meant it this time.

And she didn’t stop. Not that day, not the next, and definitely not the one after that. If anything, she doubled down.

Every morning came with a new compliment, a pet name, a reason for her to stand too close or brush her hand against mine like it was an accident.

“Nice shirt,” she said one afternoon, leaning over the back of the couch where I was writing one of my essays. “Brings out your eyes. Not that I need a shirt to notice those.”

I didn’t even look up. “You say that like you haven’t recycled that line a hundred times.”

“Maybe I have,” she murmured, her breath warm against the shell of my ear. “But it still makes you blush.”

Damn her.

I slammed my laptop shut and stood, brushing past her. “You are unbelievable, you know that?”

She followed, undeterred. “What can I say? I have a soft spot for beautiful girls who act like they hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” I snapped, stopping short. “I just don’t believe you.”

That made her pause. For the first time in a while, Vi didn’t have a quip ready. She just stood there, lips slightly parted, like she hadn’t expected honesty to sting so much.

“I’m not trying to mess with you, Y/N,” she said after a beat, softer this time. “I know I’ve been… stupid with other people. But you’re not them.”

And that was the most dangerous thing she could’ve said.

Because some part of me wanted to believe her. So badly. But that little voice in the back of my head—the one that remembered every time I saw her kiss someone else at a party, every wink she threw at another girl—it wouldn’t let me forget.

So I laughed. Cold. Dismissive. Defensive.

“Try that line on someone who hasn’t heard your greatest hits, Violet.”

──────────────────────

I tried avoiding Vi for a while. Maybe if I didn’t see her, I’d build up some kind of immunity to her constant flirting. Maybe the distance would help me put my walls back up, stronger than before. Maybe I’d stop slipping.

Desperate times, right? I even went to a party. But of course, the moment I stepped into the frat house, there she was, like fate had planned it just to mess with me.

Drink in hand, hair styled exactly the way I liked it—messy but deliberate—and that stupid black jacket hanging off her shoulders like she owned the night. She was leaning in close to some girl I didn’t recognize, and it took everything in me not to turn around and leave.

She had that look again. The “I’m going to ruin your life, and you’re going to thank me for it” look. Eyes half-lidded, head tilted just enough to seem effortless. I watched as she tucked a strand of hair behind that girl’s ear, smiled like she meant it, and brushed her fingers along her shoulder. Textbook Violet.

And it made my blood boil.

I tried to play it cool. Pretend it didn’t bother me. Pretend I wasn’t two seconds away from marching over there and dragging her out by her smug smirk.

But then she looked at me.

Just one glance—one second—and suddenly it was like her flirty dial cranked up to a thousand. She leaned in even closer to the girl, whispered something, and then—of course—she made her way over to me.

Drink still in hand. Grin still plastered across her face.

I didn’t even wait for her to speak.

“Oh, don’t stop now,” I snapped, arms crossed tight. “She looked like she was really enjoying herself.”

Vi blinked, taken aback. “What?”

I laughed, bitter and sharp. “Don’t play dumb, Vi. She was practically on top of you.”

The smirk twitched back onto her lips, but this time it looked more like a shield than confidence. “Is someone jealous?”

And that did it.

“See?” I snapped, louder than I meant to. “That’s exactly what I mean. You say you want me, that I’m the only girl you’re actually serious about—but the second I’m not around, you’re back to being the stupid version of you. Flirting with anything that breathes. How am I supposed to take you seriously when you act like that?”

Her smile dropped. Just like that. Her jaw clenched, and she stepped closer, something softer flickering behind those impossible blue eyes. “You really think I don’t mean it?”

“I think you don’t know what you mean,” I said, my voice trembling now, though I tried to hold it steady. “And I’m not going to be just another girl you use to pass the time.”

Silence settled between us. The music around us kept playing, but it sounded so far away. For the first time, she didn’t throw back a comeback. She just stood there, those goddamn puppy-dog eyes searching mine, her throat working like she was trying to find the right words.

“I’m not trying to pass the time,” she said quietly, voice low and rough. “I’m trying to get you to believe that I’m in this for you. And yeah, I flirt. That’s how I cope. That’s how I hide. But nothing I’ve ever said to them meant even half as much as what I say to you.”

I wanted to believe her. I really wanted to.

“I want to believe you,” I whispered, looking away. “But your words don’t match your actions, Vi. And I… I don’t want to be just another girl on your bed.”

She took a breath, and for a second, I thought she might say something reckless and heartbreaking. But instead, she just said, “Then tell me what to do to prove it.”

──────────────────────

Then tell me what to do to prove it.

Her voice echoed in my head long after the conversation ended.

And true to her word, Vi didn’t just let it go.

The next day, there was coffee waiting for me at my desk. We had the same 8 a.m. lecture, and as I stepped into the room and made my way to my usual table, I saw it—my exact order, the one I never told anyone because it was way too specific, was waiting for me, my name written in her messy scrawl on the side.

“I’m not flirting,” she said as I eyed the cup suspiciously. “I’m just… paying attention.”

Day two: A sticky note on my computer that said “You looked beautiful yesterday. Just thought someone should tell you”

Day three: the Jane Austen book I’d been dying to read—the one I kept complaining was always checked out from the library—sitting on my living room table. Another sticky note on the cover: “Someone finally returned it! :)”

Every day after that, there was something new. Something soft. Something small. A gesture that felt intentional. Deliberate. Real.

And she wasn’t flirting the way she used to. No more over-the-top pickup lines. No more exaggerated winks. No more “princess” with a grin that dared me to fight her off. Now, when she looked at me, it felt… different. Like she wasn’t trying to seduce me—just see me.

And it was terrifying.

Because on one hand she was being true to her word, she was showing me that she actually—actually!!—wanted me, not just because I was a challenge, but because it was me.

But on the other hand, I couldn’t shake the fear. What if she slipped? What if the next party rolled around and I turned to see her back to whispering in someone else’s ear, smirk in full force, drink in hand?

What if this version of her—soft, steady, real—was only temporary?

Still, with every action, every quiet gesture, it was like she was telling me, “Yes, I’m serious about you.” And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t ignore the growing feeling that giving her a chance was the right thing to do.

Maybe I was going to be the stupid girl who fell for her walking-red-flag-of-a-friend.

──────────────────────

I don’t know what finally broke through my defenses.

Maybe it was the book.

Maybe it was the way she stopped trying to win me over with smirks and pickup lines and started showing up with nothing but sincerity.

Or maybe it was how quiet she’d gone about it all—how she never pointed out the things she did, never asked for credit, never even looked to see if I noticed.

But I did.

God, I noticed.

Every sticky note. Every small gesture. Every look that lingered longer than it should have.

So the next time she handed me a coffee, I didn’t roll my eyes. I didn’t raise a brow or accuse her of flirting.

I just took it.

“Thanks,” I said, soft and a little unsure, brushing my fingers against hers for maybe a second too long. “You remembered the oat milk this time.”

“You’re welcome,” she said slowly, carefully, like she didn’t want to scare me off by saying too much.

I held her gaze a moment longer than I usually would. Then I glanced down at the cup, smiling faintly when I saw our names written side by side in her handwriting, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I swallowed, heart in my throat. “I was thinking…” I said, trying to keep my tone light even though my palms were sweating, “if you’re not busy Friday night, maybe we could… grab dinner or something?”

Vi blinked. Once. Twice.

Then her whole face lit up like I’d just handed her the moon.

“You’re asking me out?” she said, grinning so wide it was nearly blinding. “Is this a trap? Are cameras gonna pop out?”

I laughed, embarrassed, but I didn’t take it back. I couldn’t. “Don’t push it, Violet.”

She leaned in, her voice softer than I’d ever heard it. “I won’t. I swear. Just tell me where to be… and I’ll be there.”

──────────────────────

Friday night came faster than I expected, and the moment I saw her standing outside the restaurant, every ounce of my carefully built composure cracked.

She wasn’t in her usual leather jacket and cocky smile. Instead, she wore a crisp white shirt, tucked into her loose black jeans. Her hair was still slightly messy, and she kept spinning the rings on her fingers like she was nervous. Vi. Nervous. That alone nearly made me trip over my own feet.

“You showed,” she said, looking me up and down slowly.

I walked up to her, trying not to look like I’d been holding my breath the entire ride there.

A soft smile tugged at her lips. “You look… incredible.”

“And you’re still a flirt,” I replied, brushing past her with a smirk, my cheeks flushing. “But thanks.”

She chuckled and held the door open for me, just a little shy this time—like she was still half-expecting me to change my mind.

Dinner started awkwardly. We both fumbled over the menu, over small talk, over who was going to order the wine. It felt like trying on new clothes—familiar pieces in an unfamiliar context.

But somewhere between the second glass of wine and a story she told about her and Jinx sneaking onto a rooftop to watch fireworks, things started to ease. I was laughing—really laughing. And Vi… she just looked at me like I’d hung the stars.

“You know,” I said, taking another sip of wine, “I thought I had you all figured out.”

“Yeah?” She raised an eyebrow. “What did you think?”

“That you were just in it for the challenge. Trying to get into my pants because I didn’t immediately fall at your feet. And that once you got what you wanted, you wouldn’t even look my way again.”

She huffed a short laugh. “And now?”

“Now… I feel like you’re being genuine. I don’t know. You keep surprising me.” I paused. “And I like it.”

She reached across the table, slow and careful, her fingers brushing mine.

“And I hope I keep surprising you,” she whispered. “As long as you let me.”

I let my hand turn, let our fingers tangle—just a little.

Maybe I was still scared. Maybe I still didn’t have all the answers.

But in that moment—with her looking at me like I was something rare—I wasn’t turning away.

We ended up walking after dinner, neither of us ready to call it a night. The city buzzed softly around us—the way it always did after 10 p.m.—still alive, but quieter. Calmer. Like it was winding down, holding its breath along with us. We wandered toward the park, the air cool and just a little crisp, carrying that quiet kind of magic only late nights could.

“Okay,” Vi said, nudging me gently with her elbow. “Be honest. Dinner wasn’t a complete disaster, right?”

I smirked. “I mean, you didn’t make me mad, and you didn’t flirt with the waitress—huge progress.”

She laughed, the sound echoing lightly in the open air. “So I get points for not being a menace?”

“You get points for trying,” I replied, casting a glance at her from the corner of my eye. “And maybe for making me laugh.”

Her smile softened at that. We walked in silence for a bit, but it wasn’t awkward—just… easy. Comfortable. Somewhere along the path, we passed a little ice cream stand still open, and Vi tugged me gently to a stop.

“Ice cream?” she asked, her eyes practically sparkling. “My treat.”

I raised an eyebrow. “If this is your secret strategy to win me over, it’s dangerously effective.”

“Not a strategy,” she said with a grin, already pulling out her wallet. “Just craving something sweet.”

The old woman behind the counter gave Vi a knowing smile after handing us our cones. As Vi turned back toward me, I caught the faint pink on her cheeks.

We found a bench near the edge of the lake and sat, ice cream in hand—mine was mint chocolate chip, hers something absurdly fruity. The streetlights cast everything in a soft golden glow, and a breeze rustled the trees overhead. In the distance, someone strummed a guitar lazily. It felt like a scene from a movie I hadn’t realized I was starring in.

“You’ve got a little…” Vi gestured vaguely toward my face.

I blinked. “What?”

“Here,” she said, and before I could react, she leaned in. Her fingers brushed my cheek, her thumb warm as it wiped a smudge of green ice cream from the corner of my mouth.

It was such a small touch. But it stopped everything.

She didn’t pull away right away. Her eyes flicked to my lips—slowly, carefully—and then met mine. The air between us shifted, suddenly charged. My breath caught in my throat. Everything about her—her nearness, the way her hand lingered just a second too long, the way she looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered—made the world go still.

I could’ve pulled back.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I leaned in, just slightly, testing the waters. Vi mirrored the movement instantly—like we’d both been waiting for this and didn’t want to move too fast and break it.

Her lips brushed against mine—soft, unsure, hesitant. When I didn’t move away, she kissed me deeper. Gentler. Like she wanted to memorize it, savor every second.

And I kissed her back.

It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t rushed. It was slow and careful, like she was trying to say everything she hadn’t been able to in words.

When we finally pulled apart, both of us breathless, her forehead rested lightly against mine. Her hand still hovered near my cheek.

“Still not flirting,” she whispered, her eyes fluttering shut.

I laughed quietly. “Liar.”

But I didn’t let go.

And neither did she.

──────────────────────

masterlist

[writeriguess]

Hey neema! Can I request Reader and Kirishima blatantly flirting with each other all the time, but neither of them doing anything about it because they're insecure and then Katsuki gets fed up with it and starts jokingly paying attention to Reader so Eijiro finally grows a pair

Red Riot, Green Light

Kirishima’s arm is solid under your fingers as you trace a lazy circle over his forearm, feeling the shift of muscle beneath his skin. His usual sleeves are rolled up, and honestly? It’s a tragedy that he doesn’t wear tank tops more often.

“You’ve been working out more,” you murmur, watching the way his bicep tenses when you drag your nails lightly over it.

Kirishima grins, flashing those sharp teeth of his. “Not really. Just maintenance. You know how it is.”

“Oh, yeah,” you say, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I totally understand the struggle of keeping my perfectly sculpted muscles in check.”

He chuckles, shaking his head, but there’s a slight pink tinge creeping up his neck. “Hey, I can always train you, if you want.” He flexes his arm under your touch like a total show-off. “I promise to be gentle.”

Your eyebrows lift. “What if I don’t want you to be gentle?”

Kirishima coughs. Actually coughs. Like he just choked on air. You bite back a grin as he scrambles for a response, red climbing up to his ears.

Across the table, Katsuki groans, slamming his hands down loud enough to make both of you jump. “You two make me sick.”

You blink at him, confused, still lightly touching Kirishima’s arm. Your hand hovers there for a second before you lean back in your chair, giving Katsuki your full attention.

“Sick?” you echo, feigning offense. “We’re just talking.”

Kirishima nods quickly. “Yeah! Just talking.”

Katsuki levels the flattest, most unimpressed glare you’ve ever seen at the both of you. “You’re not just talking. You’re practically fucking flirting in Morse code at this point, and I’m done watching you idiots pussy out.”

“Wha—?!” Kirishima’s entire face goes red. “We’re not—”

“You are.”

“We aren’t—”

“You are,” Katsuki snaps, pointing a finger at him. “And it’s pathetic.”

Kirishima looks at you, eyes wide and pleading, as if you’ll back him up, but you’re more entertained than anything else. “I mean,” you say, giving a slow, dramatic shrug. “I think we’re pretty charming, actually.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes. “Yeah, no shit. That’s the problem.” Then, his smirk turns sharp. “Maybe I should do something about it.”

Something in the air shifts.

Kirishima straightens in his seat, looking suddenly alert. You narrow your eyes, sensing trouble.

Katsuki tilts his head slightly toward you, a lazy grin stretching across his face. “Since he’s not gonna do anything about it, maybe I should.”

Then, he winks.

You blink. The world tilts for a second.

“Wait—” Kirishima starts, voice suddenly rougher.

Katsuki ignores him, sliding his chair closer to yours with an easy confidence that makes your stomach flip. He braces an elbow on the table, resting his chin on his palm as he gives you a slow once-over.

“So, sweetheart,” he drawls, in a tone you’re pretty sure no one has ever heard from him before. “What’s it gonna take to make you mine?”

Your entire system blue screens. Kirishima visibly jolts like he just got electrocuted.

“I—” you start, unsure whether to play along or explode from sheer what the fuck energy.

Katsuki doesn’t give you the chance. He reaches over, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, and grins when Kirishima clenches his jaw hard enough to make a noise.

“Oi, Red,” he says without looking away from you. “You had your chance. You gonna step up or let me have ‘em?”

Silence.

Thick. Charged.

And then—

“No.”

One word, but Kirishima’s voice is rough, certain.

You barely have time to process it before he’s shoving his chair back, standing up so fast it nearly tips over.

He’s close—inches from your face, the heat of him radiating off in waves. His pupils are blown wide, jaw tight, hands clenched into fists at his sides. His entire body practically vibrates with restrained energy, as if he’s one second away from—

Katsuki smirks, pushing himself up to leave. “About damn time.”

You barely register him leaving because Kirishima is still right there, gaze locked onto yours, expression something fierce and unshakable.

“You’re mine,” he says, voice low.

Your breath hitches. “Eijiro—”

He leans in, so close his lips nearly brush yours. “Tell me I can kiss you.”

Your heart slams against your ribs. You barely get the word out before his mouth is on yours, and suddenly, neither of you are insecure anymore.

[inthelibrarybtw]

you want me to pretend? | ten

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: college!basketball!captain!rafe x college!student!reader content: fluff, college au, smau/irl, jealousy, jordan, rafe crash out, cursing

summary: You were trying to make one problem disappear. You were tired, so you lied. That small lie led you to contact the last person you wanted to ask for help. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Rafe; only that you didn’t want to deal with his constant teasing more than you already did. Also, you two weren't that close, but this one lie was going to bring you two closer and maybe help some truths come to light.

word count: 1.1k

authors note: ten? when did this happen? I'm really thankful for all the love that you guys have given to my blind children. Enjoy another flashback 😚 I intended to post yesterday but I got a fever and went to sleep it off.

09 | 10 | 11

Sophomore Year - October 2022

Sophomore Year - November 2022

Thanksgiving had been the perfect opportunity to finally get together with Angie and fully discuss the topic of Jordan. Ever since the day you two had met, you had been consistently talking to each other. While he had initially caught your attention, now it was a whole different story. You talked all day, every day—well, almost every day. 

“So you really like him right now?” Angie asked as she sat down on your bed. 

“I feel like we’re becoming really close; we talk almost all the time,” you said with a small smile. 

“Almost is not always.” 

“Yeah, on weekends he just disappears, but he’s with his family and doing a lot of schoolwork, so that’s why.” 

“Wait, so he just doesn’t answer on weekends?” 

“We talk, but it's very little on weekends. He reappears on Sunday afternoon, and we talk again. It’s a lot of voice notes, and I like that.” 

“Oh, he’s a voice note guy… Huh, he didn’t give me those vibes.” 

“Yeah, I like that because I feel it’s more real. You hear the actual tone in which he is speaking, and it’s just really nice to hear him.” 

“Maybe at first I wasn’t really sure about him, but I guess he’s not that bad.” 

“He is really sweet; we can talk about a lot of stuff,” you smile again. 

“You think it’s going to get deeper? Like are you and him, and me and Ethan, going to be having double dates soon?” she teases, and you chuckle. 

“Oh, we are already talking about that?”

“Yeah, why not? Ethan and I have been talking for two months, and I think he is going to be my boyfriend,” Angie says, smiling.  

“I’m so happy for you; he better treat you right.”  

“Same goes for Jordan; he better treat you right. But from the audio you have sent me, he does sound nice, and he was very unexpected, so…” She wiggles her eyebrows.  

“Yes, it could be something good. I don’t want to get too ahead of myself. We have been talking for just a month, so I don’t know where this is really going.”  

“So, Rafe…?” You shake your head softly, “like at all?”  

“I…” you stutter for a second.  

“Ha!” She pointed at you, “I knew it.”  

“I don’t like Rafe; I never liked him.”  

“Then why the hell is this on your bed?” She grabbed the jellycat he had given you for your birthday.  

“It was a gift; what was I supposed to do? Throw it away? It’s cute; I like it.”  

“So, no emotional attachment to that or the person who gave it to you?” You shook your head, not realizing your face was saying quite the opposite.  

“Right, so really, really nothing for Rafe?”  

“Yeah,” your voice faltered, “nothing at all.” You smiled, but Angie knew better than to believe you.  

“Zero? Nada? Nothing? Not even physically?”  

“Finding someone attractive doesn’t mean you like them; I told you.”  

“Ah, right, yeah.”  

“Angie, stop it; I don’t like Rafe.” She lifted her hands in defeat.  

“Fine, fine, you don’t like him.” 

Sophomore Year - December 2022

Rafe sat down on the living room couch. The house was anything but quiet, but at least the living room was now clean and free of a screaming Emily. His sister had gotten far too excited about her Christmas presents, and with every single one, she had screamed. He understood it, but he was also not in the mood. They all had helped her get her new toys into her playroom. Wheezie stayed with Emily, so that was why he had gone back to the living room. His loneliness didn’t last long.

“What’s that face for?” Sarah asked, sitting next to him.

“What do you mean?” he replied.

“You look all annoyed. I have a wild guess as to why, but I don’t want to get ahead of myself.”

“The thing is, I feel like I shouldn’t feel this way. It's not like she’s my ex, you know.”

“Yeah, but you like her.”

“Yes, that much was obvious; thanks for stating it again.”

“I’m just saying it's normal to feel this way. She likes someone else, and you still like her.”

“Are you sure she likes him?”

“I haven’t talked about it much, but she has mentioned it sometimes; not a lot, though.” He sighed.

“Well, according to Kelce, he has gone MIA for weeks, then goes back to talk to her like nothing happened, and he claims it’s just because he’s busy, but no one can be that busy.”

“I feel like your jealousy is making everything way worse than it actually is.”

“Yeah, well.”

“It’s okay, though; I understand it, but I do have to say that you need to eventually move on.”

“I know. I decided that a few days ago, but Kelce told me he thought she liked me, and that threw me off. I just started thinking about that.”

“And you didn’t talk to him about this?”

“Why would I?”

“Right, you don’t talk about feelings with the boys,” Sarah said, rolling her eyes.

“I have you for that; I don’t need them,” he nudged her with his elbow.

“Aw, look, you are nice,” she chuckled.  

“Shut up,” he chuckled back.  

“Back to the Y/N thing… I know this is not what you want to hear, but try to meet someone just for the fun of it.”  

“If you think I’m gonna get over her by dating someone else, you’re wrong. Before I say this, I know how cheesy and stupid it sounds, but that's just how things are.”  

“I’m gonna let you finish.”  

“I promise, the second I saw her, it was like the rest of the girls were nothing. I have tried, BELIEVE ME, I have tried talking to other girls and flirting with them, but they are all so… uninteresting, or maybe it is just because I really, really like her. I don’t even know why I like her so much,” he exhales and groans, “I’m so messed up.”  

“Wow,” Sarah said, looking at him. “Yeah… you are messed up, but hopefully you will eventually get over her, right?”  

“I hope you are right because this is embarrassing. Not even Topper got this down bad for you, and that man did some questionable things when he was trying to date you,” Sarah chuckled.  

“Yeah, well, it worked, so…”  

“For him. I’m not gonna embarrass myself, even if I wanted to. This problem is so easy to fix.”  

“Okay, now you lost me.”  

“Jordan. He is my problem. I could literally just kiss her, and voilà, problem solved.”  

“Oh geez…” Sarah sighed. “First things first, you would create more problems by doing that.”  

“Yeah, but he would go bye-bye.”  

“You spend too much time with Emily.”  

“She’s the coolest 4-year-old I know.”  

“Yeah, because she’s your sister.”  

As they started talking about Emily, Jordan and you got forgotten in the conversation, but not from Rafe’s mind. Much to his dislike, he was going to keep being annoyed and jealous about that for a few more months until he eventually called it a day.

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REBLOGS, COMMENTS AND LIKES ARE ALWAYS WELCOMED

INTHELIBRARYBTW ✧.

[maniculum]

The details of JSTOR’s various access options aside, this is an example of a surprisingly common misconception.

Online databases have been the default method of accessing academic writing for long enough that, in my experience as a college instructor, the majority of undergraduates do not know what an academic journal is. They’ve heard the term but don’t know what it refers to. As a result, they assume the databases are the ones publishing the research — I’ve lost track of the number of papers I’ve seen that say something like “in an article published by ProQuest…” Or they know that “journal” is a relevant term but they think that’s just what you call a peer-reviewed article, so they’ll write “‘[Article Title]’, a journal published by ProQuest…”

I try to explain it to them, but it’s an uphill battle. I have several issues of Speculum in my office that I bring into class as a visual aid — “Okay so this is a journal. Note the volume & issue numbers printed on the spine; you’re supposed to include those in the citation instead of just a link to the place online where you saw it, so that reader can locate the article whether or not they have the same institutional access as you. You’ll see that it contains multiple articles; that’s why the terms ‘article’ and ‘journal’ are not interchangeable, and why you include page numbers in your citation. The thing you are citing is an article, which was originally published in a journal, and which you are now accessing through a database. Got it?” They seem to understand when looking at the physical copy, but it doesn’t stick when they’re back to looking at digital resources.

I actually see this problem less with material they find on JSTOR — my theory is that it’s because JSTOR’s default view of a resource is a PDF scan of the original, whereas other similar services — e.g., EBSCOhost — default to showing it in plain text. Which is probably good for accessibility, but it also means that students who are used to getting their information from websites do not clock that they’re not looking at the original format of the article.

A conversation I’ve had a lot at this point in the semester as students are revising their final papers goes like:

Student: You keep saying I need to include page numbers, but there aren’t any page numbers, look.

Me: Click that button that says “View PDF”.

Student: Ohhhh…

Sometimes I’m tempted to make using actual physical print sources a requirement so they have to interact with a journal in its original form at least once, but that would mean cutting them off from the vast majority of library resources, since university libraries have pretty decisively switched over to a digital-first model. Maybe I’ll experiment next semester with “at least one source you cite has to be a peer-reviewed article you located in print; include a picture of you holding the print journal so I know you did it.” I kind of suspect most of them would rather just eat the grade penalty for not meeting source requirements though.

JSOTR why do you make your research locked behind a subscription? So much knowledge, lost forerver…

Hi there. We often receive questions like this, so we'd like to provide some clarity here (we have a few previous posts on here about this that are a bit outdated). Scholarly publishing and the hosting of said published content is complicated, and we see how it can appear complex from the outside.

JSTOR doesn’t own the content hosted on-platform. We're not a publisher ourselves. We’re a mission-driven nonprofit that works with publishers like university presses and scholarly societies, and we pay licensing fees to host their scholarship. Those fees go back to support scholars, editors, and academic publishing as a whole.

Institutional and personal subscriptions helps us pay those fees, digitize and preserve physical materials, maintain reliable access for millions of users, and serve libraries and students around the world—including institutions in Africa (free access), low-income countries (near-free), and correctional facilities. Our role is to make these troves of knowledge more discoverable and accessible. In many cases, hosting an item on JSTOR actually helps to ensure it isn't lost to the ages or left in storage.

Over the years, we've worked to make more items on JSTOR free to access. So far, that includes:

Open access journals and ebooks you can read and download

More than 664,000 articles published before 1923 in the U.S. (and before 1870 elsewhere)

8.5+ million articles available for free online reading when you register for a free account

Collections from Artstor, collections shared by colleges, universities and museums, and Reveal Digital’s alternative press newspapers, magazines, and activist journals

A growing number of open research reports

Articles that connect scholarship to current events and cultural contexts via JSTOR Daily

Scholarly monographs in our Path to Open pilot program, where titles from university presses are accessible to participating libraries immediately and become open access three years after publication

Plus, there are a few additional ways you can access the articles you find on JSTOR:

Some institutions offer alumni access to JSTOR

Many public libraries provide access to JSTOR

Often, authors of articles will send them to you if you contact them directly

We should also mention: JSTOR doesn’t have full control over the access terms for most of the scholarship we host. That’s up to the publishers who own the rights. These partners play a vital role in creating and curating scholarship, and we work closely with them to make as much available as possible while respecting the sustainability of their work.

All the above is to say that JSTOR is just one part of a much larger publishing ecosystem. We’re committed to our values and to doing our part in preserving the scholarly record, making as much of it available as we can. We have a team of over 350 people hard at work on article intake, metadata, search functionality, support, and more.

There’s already a lot you can explore for free, some without a log-in and even more with a free account. Start here if you’re curious!

[revelboo]

Sooo just went to my Dad’s funeral today. I feel a good amount of closure now. Your stories have helped make the last few days better. Thanks for that! :D

Mind updating us on Ratchet? Or ES bumblebee? Somehow that version of Bee has made me fall for him heres my 15 year old ball of spazz Sprinkles for attention.

Sure. Hope you’re doing okay 💕

The Future Freaks Me Out Pt 5

ES Bumblebee x Reader

• Stretched out in a lawn chair with a book, you look up at the sound of tires. And Bumblebee is transforming and hesitating as you lift an arm in greeting. Before turning and lifting a hand slightly to shield his optics. What is his problem? “Um, that’s a lot of skin,” he calls out, looking embarrassed and you laugh. Is he shy?

• “I’m tanning,” you say, voice laced with laughter at his expense as you stand, setting aside your book and his door wings fidget. Because that really is a lot of skin. “I’m going to a waterpark with some friends in a couple of weeks,” you add and he freezes at that.

• “You’re not wearing that out, are you?” He asks and you just arch your brows at him wondering what the issue is. Maybe since he doesn’t wear clothes, it’s just weird to see you in swimwear when he’s used to seeing you with a lot more on? Watching his door wings flick, you’re not sure that’s the issue, though. Can’t even guess why it would bother him. “I mean, you can obviously do whatever you want.” Uh huh. He really looks like he means that, you think in amusement. And you’re tempted to just let him keep digging that hole, but you take pity on him.

• “It’s okay,” you say and he’s not sure where to look. Can’t look at you while you’re dressed like that, because he’s not sure he’ll be able to look away. You look incredibly soft. And it’s a relief when you grab a thin, lace coverup and pull it on to at least somewhat hide some skin. “You’re too cute, you know.”

• And he’s flustered all over again, running a big hand over his face as his door wings flick. “Cute,” he repeats and you can’t tell if he’s offended or pleased. Definitely embarrassed, though. Walking over to him, you have the errant thought that it’s too bad he’s not human, because he really is a sweetheart.

Previous

[wendichester]

can you write smth about cas x reader where shes autistic and dean and sam dont know how to handle her because one minute she's fine, the next shes not and only cas knows how to handle her? absolutely no pressure sweetheart, love your work and would love to see your where you take it 🫶🏼🩷

𓍯𓂃 the language only you speak,

summary. you're overwhelmed. the noises. the lighting. the air. everything's too much. everything but castiel. castiel is everything you need.

pairing. castiel x autistic!reader genre. fluff

wordcount. 756

notes / warnings. soft cas being the best emotional support angel 🩷

It starts small. It always does.

The bunker’s too loud tonight. Dean’s clanging around in the kitchen, and Sam’s arguing with him over something dumb, and the lights are too bright, and the hum of the AC feels like it’s drilling into the soft spot behind your eyes.

You try to smile. You try to be normal.

But it’s like your skin is wearing you instead of the other way around. Everything itches. Everything scrapes.

“Hey,” Dean says, tossing a beer cap onto the counter. “You okay?”

You nod too fast, too hard. The wrong rhythm. Dean’s eyebrows pinch, confused. Sam glances at you, then at Dean, like you’re a puzzle with missing pieces they can’t find.

You open your mouth, but no words come out.

Dean shifts awkwardly. “Uh… well, we're gonna watch a movie if you wanna—"

“No,” you blurt, louder than you mean to. "No thank you."

The words are stiff, clunky, mechanical. They feel wrong. You feel wrong.

Sam frowns. “You sure? It’s not scary or anything. It’s just—”

“I said no," you choke out, pressing your palms to your thighs, grounding yourself. "I’m fine. I'm fine."

You can tell they don’t believe you.

They exchange that look — the one where they don’t know if they should back off or push. The one that makes you feel like a bomb with a missing timer. Dangerous, unstable.

You bolt.

You don’t mean to. You just have to.

The hallway spins around you as you speed-walk to your room, shutting the door quietly (quietly, you have to stay good, you have to stay polite, don’t slam it, don’t draw more attention).

You sit on the bed, wrapping your arms around yourself, fighting back the burn building behind your eyes.

It’s stupid. You’re stupid. They probably think you’re crazy.

You're so lost in the spiral you almost don’t hear the soft knock on your door.

“Can I come in?” Cas.

You nod, even though he can't see you.

He enters gently, not saying anything. He doesn’t turn on the overhead light. He doesn’t stomp his boots. He just crosses the room like he's made of water and weightless things, and sits beside you on the bed.

“I could sense your distress,” he says simply.

You blink rapidly. “I’m fine.”

Cas tilts his head. "That is a common lie among humans."

The smallest, tiniest huff of a laugh escapes you. It cracks the shell you’re in just enough to breathe.

Cas waits.

Not like the others do — not heavy with expectation, not pacing in impatience — but truly waits. Like there’s all the time in the universe and he’s already given it to you.

You squeeze your hands together so tight it hurts. “It’s just... sometimes everything’s too much. Too loud. Too bright. Too everything.”

Cas nods, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Like you just told him the sky is blue.

“They don't mean to make it worse,” you whisper. “They just... don’t know what to do with me.”

“They love you,” Cas says quietly. “But they do not understand you the way you deserve.”

You blink again, tears finally breaking free. Cas reaches out — slow, careful — and places his hand over yours.

Warmth. Steady. Anchor.

“You are not a burden,” he says. His voice hums like a prayer. “Your feelings are not wrong. Your needs are not wrong. You are not wrong.”

You clutch his hand like a lifeline. Like a tether pulling you back to the earth.

“I don’t know how to make them not... uncomfortable," you admit, voice shaking. “I don’t want to be a problem.”

“You are not a problem,” Cas says firmly. “You are a person. One who experiences the world more sharply, perhaps. But that is not something to fix. It is something to cherish.”

You hiccup a soft, broken laugh. “Dean would probably disagree.”

Cas’s mouth twitches into something almost-smile. “Dean is often wrong.”

You snort. Cas squeezes your hand, just once.

“They will learn,” he says. "I will help them."

You look at him — this strange, stubborn, tender creature who always sees the parts of you you try to hide — and for the first time tonight, your chest feels a little lighter.

You lean your head against his shoulder. He lets you. No flinching, no fidgeting, no trying to fix you. Just there.

Just enough.

Maybe you’re not broken after all.

Maybe you just needed someone who speaks the same language.

And Cas? Cas is fluent in you.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[you-little-arsonist]

ok so if anyone wants them, here are some buddie fics that have mutual masturbation and/or phone sex in them (don't look at me), idk these are probably pretty well known but i'm still making my way through all of them. they are all complete and they're all rated E because well. also CHECK THE TAGS because i didn't write them all out here!

Your place is where I'd rather be instead by mickeysmyheart/ @mickeysmyheart (3.5k)

The next thing Eddie does, short circuits Buck's brain. Eddie takes his shirt by the bottom and pulls it up and over his head, keeping it bunched up and putting it to the side on the counter. Eddie is now shirtless. He’s shirtless in his kitchen. Oh. OR Buck teaches Eddie how to make lasagna over FaceTime when Eddie gets his shirt dirty and has to take it off and it alters Buck's brain chemistry.

Last night, you called on accident by mickeysmyheart/ @mickeysmyheart (8.3k)

Buck goes back to his bag and pulls out Eddie’s black tank top. He brings it up to his nose and inhales— he can tell himself it means nothing later. He moans on his exhale. Holy fuck. OR The one where Buck finds one of Eddie's tank tops in their locker and takes it home & in El Paso, Eddie brought one of Buck's LAFD shirts with him. You know the GIF.

Kiss me through the phone by mickeysmyheart/ @mickeysmyheart (2.6k)

Buck finds himself sitting up in bed— his back against his pillows— phone close to his ear. His heart is beating like crazy— both of theirs are. “That something you want, Eddie?” Buck says in a low, deep voice. “Want me to tell you how often I’ve thought about getting down on my knees for you?” Eddie’s breath hitches. That’s all it took for Eddie’s dick to get hard as fuck— twitching with the need to be touched. “Jesus, Buck,” Eddie moans out as he reaches his free hand into his briefs, touching himself. OR Buck is bored and Eddie can't sleep so the two end up having phone/video sex

to have and to hold (platonically and heterosexually) by teenytinytomlinson/ @littlefreakbuckley (21.2k)

So in the middle of Eddie’s dining room, with his brain to mouth filter non-existent (as per usual), Buck blurts out, “Marry me.” Eddie sits straight up, looking at him with eyes wide as saucers. “Excuse me?” “W-well, just think about it. If we get married I can add you and Chris to my insurance policy and that solves your problem.” Eddie’s mouth forms a perfect little ‘o’. Buck waits patiently for the floor to open up and swallow him whole. When the ground doesn’t do as he’d hoped he realizes he has to say something else. “Obviously, w-we don’t have to,” he’s quick to assure. “But if we did it would be platonic, of course, because you’re straight and–” he pauses, praying for another rogue stroke of lightning. Anything to put him out of his misery right now. “-and like I know that I’m bi now, but this wouldn’t be like that y’know? It would just be two friends helping each other out.” He’s rambling, the words won’t stop tumbling out. “Like a friends with benefits type situation! E-except you know not those kinds of benefits! Like actual benefits! Health and dental.” or, Eddie is moving to Texas, losing his insurance, and marrying Buck all very heterosexually and platonically.

A Phone Call Away by Ironkissedfanfics/ @ironkissedmage (5.7k)

Buck had his apartment to himself for the first time in months, so of course he had to take advantage of such a lovely opportunity to get off without fear of anyone hearing him. It's just his luck that he butt dials someone while he's fingers deep in himself. And he's just not sure if it's a blessing or a curse that it's Eddie he called.

while i think of you by markofalover/ @markofalover (4.2k)

Just Buck speaking, apparently, is enough to get him hard. His brain starts hurting. Like he’s guzzled down a Big Gulp sized Icee in the summertime. …or, Eddie slowly loses his mind and has phone sex about it.

anyway those are some of the best ones, please tag me if you guys know of more like this! and thank you to all these authors, you are truly doing the lord's work

[scary-grace]

soooo….my thoughts on Midoriya at the end of all things BNHA. I want to preface by saying I was never a Midoriya hater — if I dislike the protagonist of a story, I don’t keep reading. I came into things feeling fully neutral, and at the conclusion of the manga, I’m much less neutral. I think the vast majority of my dislike for him comes from his total capitulation to BNHA’s extremely callous worldview, but there’s a significant part of me that’s frustrated with myself for thinking that he was better than he was. therefore:

points the fandom takes for granted:

Midoriya is selfless

Midoriya is a good person

Midoriya wants to save others

As far as the fandom’s collective understanding of Midoriya, I think this is where we went wrong. I think it was an understandable mistake, given the definition of “hero” we were operating under (the Stain definition, if you will. I think it’s notable that Stain’s definition of a hero, which aligns more closely with the classical definition of hero, is treated as laughable by the rest of the characters. But I digress.) Under BNHA’s standards, being a hero means a variety of things — being famous, making money, fighting villains, etc. I’m not saying that Midoriya’s motivations as a five year old need to be completely pure. What I am saying is that what being a hero means to Midoriya is not what it means to us, and that’s where the trouble starts.

Initially Midoriya appears to be selfless, but what the narrative quickly reveals is that his selflessness is actually a form of reckless self-sacrifice. I don’t think it’s fair to evaluate him as a good or bad person at the beginning of the story — he’s a kid, and classifying people as “good” or “bad” is part of how BNHA got into this mess. But I think I can definitively answer the question of whether Midoriya wants to save others. And the answer is no.

But Grace, the imaginary hero fans in my head protest, Midoriya saves tons of people in the story! He saves Kota! He saves Eri! Midoriya is all about saving people. I disagree. Midoriya is all about being a hero, and saving people is something heroes do; ergo, he wants to save people. Why do I think this? Because if actually helping others, if improving people’s lives, was what mattered to Midoriya, he wouldn’t have fixated on All Might and he wouldn’t have gone to UA.

See, even though BNHA society prioritizes and elevates heroes to a ridiculous degree, they’re still able to grudgingly admit that there are problems that can’t be solved by punching people. Doctors are still necessary. Teachers are necessary. One can imagine that social workers and caregivers and nurses and EMTs are all very much necessary to keep society going. BNHA might be all about heroes, but there are still tons of ways for someone to help others that don’t involve putting on a cool outfit and flying around. At age 13/14, that’s likely evident to Midoriya, and after seven-plus years of official quirklessness with no belief that it’s possible to get a quirk + no real evidence that it’s possible to be a hero without one, he’s had enough time and distance to start looking for a way to live a life that allows him to help people.

But Midoriya doesn’t want to help people. He wants to be a hero.

Not only does he want to be a hero, he wants to be a traditional hero — not a rescue hero like Thirteen, whose actions have an immediate positive impact, or an underground hero like Eraserhead, whose work doesn’t result in newspaper headlines, but a hero like All Might, who’s world-famous, who’s rich, who’s an icon and an object of adulation. The people who need saving the most are never going to be reached by a hero like All Might, and Midoriya’s smart enough to know that. If saving people was his goal, emulating All Might would be antithetical to it. Which suggests saving people isn’t his goal at all.

This isn’t me saying Midoriya is a bad guy. In this way I think he’s a very typical kid, and ultimately, the goal of becoming a hero does imply living at least some portion of his life in service to others. What I am saying, I think, is that while we as the fandom could be forgiven for assuming that saving people was Midoriya’s dream, it was never his ultimate goal.

that’s all for now. more of this coming later, likely in the vein of dissecting his worldview.

[chuxmy]

Hii! I hope you’re doing well!

Could you do reader fixing Baku’s bruises after he got in another fight with the union members, could it also be romantic?

Taking care of you

Pairings: Park Humin (Baku) x Fem!Reader

Summary: After a fight, you patch up Humin and a quiet kiss reveals what words never could.

Warnings: violence, injuries

A/N: Hii! Yess I’m doing good. I hope you like it 🫰🏻

The air was thick with heat and leftover adrenaline as Park Humin stood alone at the edge of the alleyway, his shirt collar torn, fists scraped raw, and blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.

He didn’t look at the three guys groaning on the ground behind him, Union members, the usual type that thought they could outnumber him and win.

They didn’t.

But they did a hell of a job trying.

Humin exhaled slowly, like his breath was trying to keep him upright. His jaw clenched as he rolled his shoulders back and stepped into the weak glow of a flickering streetlight, head bowed slightly. His knuckles were red and cracked, a cut just beneath his eye swelling into a bruise already turning a violent shade of purple.

And then he saw you.

You had been searching for him ever since you heard whispers in the school hallway, something about Humin getting into it again. Another fight. More Union dogs barking up the wrong tree.

“Park Humin,” you breathed, and the name came out sharper than you intended.

He flinched a little at your voice, not because he was scared, he never was but because of the disappointment laced in it.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he muttered, trying to walk past you.

“Too bad,” you snapped, stepping in front of him. “I came anyway.”

His gaze dropped, his lashes low over his dark, unreadable eyes. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” You grabbed his wrist and yanked it gently. “Come on. You’re bleeding.”

He hesitated. “It’s not—”

“Now, Baku.” The nickname rolled off your tongue like a scolding mixed with concern.

He sighed through his nose but followed you. Maybe it was the weariness settling in, or maybe he knew there was no point arguing when you looked at him like that.. like he wasn’t just a fighter, or a problem, or a bruised set of fists, but something worth being worried about.

He sat on the edge of your bed, hands resting on his thighs, bloodied knuckles twitching now and then. You knelt in front of him with the first aid kit cracked open between you.

You dipped a cotton pad in antiseptic and reached for his face.

“Hold still,” you murmured.

He didn’t move, but his eyes locked on yours. There was something in them that you couldn’t quite name, tiredness, maybe. Regret.

You dabbed carefully at the cut below his eye. He hissed, jaw tightening.

“Still think you’re fine?” you asked, voice quieter now.

He didn’t answer.

You worked in silence for a while. His skin was warm under your fingertips, even bruised and battered. You tried not to notice the way he watched you, or how the dim light made his features look softer, vulnerable in a way he rarely allowed himself to be.

“You didn’t have to fight them,” you said finally.

His lips twitched, almost a smirk. “They started it.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to finish it every time.”

“I’m not letting them get away with shit.” His voice was low, raw. “Not after what they’ve done to us. To the others.”

You knew what he meant. The Union had left more than bruises on everyone. You, Sieun, Gotak even Juntae none of you were untouched. But Baku… Baku took it personally. Every threat, every insult, every blow, it fueled something in him that wouldn’t rest.

Your fingers hovered over a bruise along his cheekbone. You hesitated, and then finally whispered, “I just don’t want to see you like this again.”

His gaze dropped to your lips. “I know.”

You finished wrapping his knuckles and leaned back, resting on your knees. “There. You’re patched up.”

He looked down at your hands, still hovering near his. Then, slowly, he laced his fingers through yours.

Your breath caught.

He didn’t say anything, not right away. The silence stretched, thick with something that had been building for a while. Unspoken things. Careful glances. Unnecessary risks taken just to protect each other.

“Hey,” he said quietly, thumb brushing your knuckles. “You know I wouldn’t lose, right?”

“That’s not what I’m afraid of,” you murmured.

He tilted your chin up with one finger, his touch impossibly gentle for someone so often wrapped in violence. “Then what?”

You looked at him, really looked at him. At the pain behind his smirk, the bruises trying to heal, the boy who fought everyone else so hard he forgot how not to fight himself.

“That one day you won’t come back.”

The tension broke like glass. He pulled you close, not with force, but with the kind of need that had been waiting for permission. His forehead touched yours, his breath warm against your lips.

“I’ll always come back to you,” he said.

And then he kissed you.

It was slow at first, almost cautious like he was afraid he’d break you too. But you didn’t pull away. Your hands found his jaw, rough and warm beneath your palms, and he deepened the kiss, tilting your head just so.

It wasn’t a fairytale moment. His lip was split. Your hands trembled. There was blood on his shirt.

But it was real.

When you finally pulled back, both of you breathing a little harder, he rested his forehead against yours again and let the silence speak for him.

You didn’t need him to say the words yet. They were in the way he kissed you like you were the only safe thing in his world. The way he let you clean his wounds. The way he looked at you like you made the fight worth it.

“Stay,” you whispered.

He smiled faintly, eyes closing. “Always.”

[galaxymagitech]

I feel like Lucky Day makes more sense in the context of conservatives wanting to dismantle regulatory organizations and health organizations (like the EPA, CDC, FDA, etc. in the US—I’m more familiar with US politics than British politics), rather than the context of police brutality or overmilitarization.

The fact is that there is a very real, verifiable threat that the majority of people understand is real. There are people whose job it is to deal with this threat. They are not perfect, but they are good at dealing with this threat. And then a grifter comes along claiming the threat isn’t real, and in fact this lifesaving organization is just Stealing Taxpayers Money and doing false flag operations and so on. Now is this threat climate change, pandemics…or aliens?

Here’s the thing: there are cracks. There are always cracks. UNIT is far from perfect. I’m pretty sure UNIT should not have authority to arrest those people. Kate unleashed a dangerous monster in revenge and was completely willing to let it kill a civilian (although that civilian was aiming a gun at her, it was definitely excessive and brutal).

It wouldn’t be a story if Conrad wasn’t right about something. In a small, incomplete way. If someone didn’t tell him to stand down, because he’s rocking the boat and people just want to live their comfortable lives. If he and his friends didn’t film themselves being arrested and standing up to soldiers with guns. If he didn’t walk out into UNIT and say, while recording, that that’s a lot of guns to be pointed at one man. He wouldn’t be a good villain if he didn’t have a kernel of truth and the ability to make himself seem sympathetic. Conrad’s lies are appealing because they fit with everyone’s worldview in some way. Conrad is a destroyer. And he makes you think that destruction is for a good cause—for your good cause.

So no it’s not “UNIT Good, Conrad Bad”. It’s “don’t trust destroyers” and “be careful what ideas you latch onto” and “anything can be framed the way the person giving the narrative wants.” It’s “there can be two bad guys” and “just because Side A has problems doesn’t mean Side B is a hero” and “the enemy of my enemy isn’t necessarily my friend.”

I also think that perhaps there’s commentary to be made here about how anything can be couched in liberal activist language and dressed in liberal activist concepts. But that doesn’t make it right.

You look at Conrad and you see what you want to see. What you think the world is. And whatever oppressive power system you want to stand up to, he says he’s doing that. Ruby is right—it’s about power. Whoever you believe is the Evil Ruling Power, Conrad is against it. All you have to do is believe in him. Small price to pay, right?

[christinesficrecs]

Running a little behind, so here is April's frf. 🥰

An Apple's Blossom by Dexterous_Sinistrous | 62.5K | Explicit

Derek had an aura about him—one that drew you into his orbit despite the warning of an imminent threat.

It was like a dream, more than Stiles realized at first.

Because it wasn’t real.

Nothing about the man Stiles had started to fall in love with—romanticize—was real. ~*~ Stiles is a recently graduated art student who agrees to marry his family's rival, only to realize that maybe love is a little more complicated than he first thought.

My Name is Derek Hale by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella) | 74.9K | Mature

“What day is it?” Derek demanded.

“What?”

“The day! What day is today?!” Derek let Stiles go, but only so he could reach into his pocket and pull out his phone. He tapped at the home screen, and then went so perfectly still that Stiles was pretty sure this guy wasn’t human. No human could stand that still.

When it was clear Derek wasn’t going to move again without some prompting, Stiles said, “It’s Wednesday.”

“That’s impossible,” Derek whispered.

“Not really, it comes around every seven days.”

“This is impossible,” Derek said again, looking around himself, as if he was searching for something.

another name for love by endversed | 36.9K | Explicit

Derek is a single parent to a teenager. He's given up on love since losing his daughter's mother.

Stiles is an FBI agent in town on the hunt for a feral omega. He might have something to say about Derek's stance on love.

Waiting In The Wings by stereksterek | 19.8K | Explicit

Melissa folded her arms and stared at Stiles, “I’m still having a hard time believing that Derek Hale, of all people, is your boyfriend now.”

“Yep! Derek’s my boyfriend! We’re totally rocking the whole relationship thing. I mean, we’re no Scott and Allison when it comes to PDA, but we’re both very affectionate behind closed doors. It’s kind of hilarious actually, because some people think that Derek doesn’t even like me when we’re in public, just because he growls or glares at me from time to time. But we’re just a misunderstood couple, y’know… Kind of like other star-crossed lovers out there. We’re basically this generation’s Romeo and… Miguel.”

Melissa was grinning so wide that her face almost hurt. Stiles had wildly overcompensated, and now she knew he was lying.

“If you and Derek are boyfriends, you won’t have a problem inviting him over for dinner then.”

Stiles malfunctioned for a full second before squawking like a dying bird, “Dinner?!”

I spent every evening praying for the dawn by WeAreTheLuckyOnes | 9.6K | Explicit

Stiles leaves the FBI after a traumatic case and returns to Beacon Hills after being gone for ten years, only to find that Derek has somehow magically acquired a tiny baby with a shock of dark hair that looks too much like Derek to belong to anyone else, but feels like Stiles's too.

Alternatively, the one with a magical Nemeton baby where Stiles and Derek realise they've both been dancing around the fact they each know they love the other and they're just too stupid to admit it.

*** Honourable Mention 🩷

One Dollar Yoda by exclamation | 10.7K | Mature

Stiles is an unbonded spark, so he’s been dealing with courting alphas since he was ten. It’s gotten a lot worse since he turned sixteen. Some are assholes, some are nice, but Stiles hasn’t wanted to spend the rest of his life bound to any of them.

When Derek Hale shows up at his school, Stiles expects him to be just another asshole alpha attempting to buy him with expensive gifts. But Derek Hale puts no effort whatsoever into his courtship gifts. Stiles ought to be offended but instead he finds it refreshing.

[ashyblondwaves]

I Would Have Died For You

Katniss can’t say what’s broken, only that it is. But Peeta’s still there, and sometimes, that’s enough.

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

The room is dark except for the hearth; the quiet is almost maddening. It’s the kind of quiet that only comes after something breaks. This time, it was only a quick headline. Another name we knew, another reminder of what we survived and who didn’t. No one says a word about it, and they don’t have to. The silence speaks for itself.

I sit on the floor, my knees drawn to my chest, nails digging into the skin. My blanket is abandoned somewhere behind me. The fire’s almost out, there’s nothing left but the occasional snap of a stubborn ember. It’s not cold, not really. I can feel the heat of the embers on my face, but I’ve been shivering since the sun went down.

The stairs creak behind me. His steps are soft. Far softer than they used to be. Every step used to come with noise, but now, it’s like he’s learned how to walk around ghosts.

“Katniss?” Peeta’s voice is low and careful. Not tiptoeing, not anymore. Just... steadiness.

I don’t turn around. I can’t. My throat is full of something heavy, and if I open my mouth, it might escape. I’m afraid I’ll start sobbing or screaming or maybe laughing in a way that isn’t quite right.

Even so, he waits.

Then, when I don’t speak, he crosses the room and sits a few feet away, just close enough to feel, but far enough to leave me space. His presence settles around me like a blanket I didn’t ask for and didn’t realize I needed.

“I would have died for you,” I finally murmur. The words fall out. I didn’t mean to say them, but they’re true. And I’m tired of choking on the truth.

Peeta doesn’t flinch. He just looks at the dying embers like it has all the answers. 

“I know that now,” he says.

“No. I mean it,” I say, shaking my head. “I wanted to in the arena, in the Capitol, everywhere. It was always easier to think about dying than… than surviving.”

My voice breaks on the last part, and I hate it. I hate that even now, after everything, I still can’t say what I mean without it sounding like a mess.

Peeta shifts, but he doesn’t reach for me yet. He never does unless I ask.

“But you did survive,” he says, quietly. “You’re still here.”

“Yeah.” I huff a humorless laugh. “That’s the problem.”

He doesn’t argue. And though he never tells me not to feel what I’m feeling, sometimes I wish he would for my own sanity. Instead, he just lets it live in the space between us.

“I don’t know how to be what you deserve,” I whisper. “You give and give and I… I can’t even remember how to hold someone without feeling like I’m going to break them.”

Finally, he moves closer. Knees to knees. Still not touching me, but it feels like he’s wrapped around me anyway. Not in the way I used to feel guilty about. In the way I’ve started to trust and depend on.

“You don’t have to be anything but here,” he says. “I didn’t survive so you could love me the right way. I survived so I could love you, even when you don’t know how to let it in.”

Something sharp and soft twists inside my chest.

I look at him, and for the first time tonight, I see him. His eyes are tired, and there’s a smudge of flour still on his sleeve from whatever he’d been doing before he realized I wasn’t in the kitchen with him anymore. He never stops trying. Not even when I give him every reason to.

“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice wrecked. “I want to be better. I just... don’t know how.”

He reaches for my hand, slow, like he’s afraid I’ll pull away, but I don’t. Our fingers meet, and it’s like breathing for the first time in days.

“We’ll figure it out,” he murmurs. “Together.”

He holds my hand, and it’s filled with promise. It’s not a fix, it’s not a cure. It’s just something to hold on to when the wind picks up again.

The embers are all but out, and I realize I’m shivering from cold now. I shift closer to him, my knees brushing his, and let my head fall against his shoulder. It doesn’t feel dramatic. It feels necessary.

Peeta doesn’t say anything, he just leans into me gently. I can feel his warmth, his heartbeat, his whole steady presence.

I don’t cry. I thought I might, but I don’t. The ache is too deep for tears. It’s old, buried, and half-fossilized. Grief for everything we lost. Guilt for everything survived. An ache for everything I still can’t give him.

But he’s here anyway. He always is.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m holding on by a thread,” I whisper. “Like if I let go, I’ll disappear.”

Peeta’s arm wraps around my back, hand splayed between my shoulder blades.

“Then I’ll hold on for both of us,” he says into my hair.

I close my eyes.

That should make me feel weak, but it doesn’t. Not with him. With him, it feels like choosing to stay alive. Again. And again. And again.

We sit there in silence for a while. The kind that says everything words can’t reach. 

“Come to bed?” He eventually asks. 

“I won’t sleep,” I say without hesitation. 

“That’s okay. Just be near me,” he replies, his thumb caressing the side of my face before He stands and reaches for my hand again. I take it and let him pull me to my feet.

Upstairs, the bed is crisp and clean from when I made it hours ago. It feels more like a lifetime. A lifetime since I read the headline and the world suddenly closed in. But as I slip in, the sheets still smell like him. Like bread and pine and something warm that I can only describe as Peeta. Peeta slides under the covers behind me. I let him pull me close, chest to chest, and I don’t have to brace myself for the act of intimacy. I don’t even flinch. I crave it tonight.

I let myself breathe him in. Let myself feel it as Peeta traces lazy circles on my back with his fingers. 

“You don’t have to know how to love me,” he says. “You just have to let me love you until you remember how.”

And it’s not a declaration. It’s not even a reassurance. It’s a lifeline.

I press my forehead to his collarbone and whisper, “Okay.”

And for the first time in days, maybe even weeks, I believe that maybe surviving doesn’t always have to feel like punishment.

[petrichormore]

tr!Bad and tr!Water need to have a conversation with each other a million blocks out where no one else can give input tbh. There’s a lot of “I need this and I’m not getting it ” from both sides - which is helpful in communicating - but there’s not enough “what would you have me do”

The question “what would you have me do” could clear up whether or not the friendship is salvageable pretty quickly I think. They’re not really understanding each other currently even though they are trying to communicate, and that question could break through all that. If Bad asks “what would you need me to do to save this friendship” and Water says “isolate yourself from everyone besides me and spend more time with me than anyone else” then that’s. Well that’s it. Bad is unwilling to do that (as of right now) so that’s the end. Problem solved.

But Water might, with the question “what would you have me do” be able to elaborate that it’s the ‘favorite’ portion of Bad having friends that she dislikes, not the ‘having friends’ itself. At least, that’s the vibe I’m getting. That still might be too much for Bad, but maybe there’s things he can do to prove to Water that others are not his favorites without ever verbally choosing a favorite specifically. Maybe actions can speak louder than words in this instance, and neither of them have even explored that because they’re not asking what they should do. They’re not discussing what they want a potential friendship to actually look like, in practice - they just have a nebulous concept that neither of them agree on.

The same goes for Water btw, but I feel her asking the “what would you have me do” question is less applicable because she’s the one trying to sever the connection, while Bad is the one trying to salvage it. Not to say I don’t think Water wants a friendship, she clearly cares (even if she doesn’t want to care), but if someone is going to take action first it’s probably going to need to be Bad, leading by example. The question needs to come from him first, and then he decides if he’s willing to do what Water suggests. If he is willing to at least try, then Water can follow up with “so what about my scenario isn’t ideal for you? what would you have me do?”

I say all this like I think they’d actually talk out their problems healthily even though Water is apparently perfectly aware of what boundaries are in regards to a relationship, and that they’re healthy - she just doesn’t want them. Which. I mean. That’s kind of a red flag, isn’t it. Not that I or Bad or any holywater duo fans care.