#i may or may not be projecting a bit onto this fic

[password-door-lock]

Unknown doesn’t really care about you. That’s been his conviction from day one, the truth to which he has clung with a vice grip throughout his acquaintance with you. He doesn’t care about you, he doesn’t care what’s convenient for you, and he doesn’t care about your feelings. He certainly doesn't care that you've been restless all night, waking up at odd intervals to sniffle for a bit before returning to your tossing and turning. He supposes that he does care if you’re able to help him fulfill his plan, though you’ve already thrown a wrench into it once by refusing to enter the code correctly at the apartment. He had no choice but to bring you back to Magenta, which may have been a bad call, but Unknown has about as much patience for surprises as he does for liars— which is to say, none at all— and your inability to listen forced him to make a snap decision on the spot. 

Presently, he's working at his desk, and you’re asleep on the couch, stirring and whining occasionally in what he imagines is discomfort. He wonders if you're experiencing something akin to the nightmares that plague him when he forces himself to rest, but then goes out of his way to dissolve the thought. Unknown doesn’t like to linger on his own pain. Why would he? So instead, he watches you sleep fitfully. After a few minutes of this, you blink awake. You sit up, looking around frantically. “Did you have a bad dream, prince(ss)?” Unknown asks, amused despite himself. You look adorable even in the faint light provided by his monitor, with your eyes wide and your head swiveling comically from side to side.

“No; don't worry,” you reply, “But my throat hurts, and my nose is all stuffed up— I think I might have a cold or something.” That much is obvious from your voice. 

Even so, Unknown’s fingers pause where they are above his keyboard. In fact, his whole body freezes. He’s stiff, unsure of how to handle the situation. If you have a sore throat and a stuffy nose, then you’re almost definitely sick— Unknown doesn’t have time to process all the reasons why he doesn’t like that thought. He only allows himself to acknowledge the fact that it irks him. “You’re sick,” he informs you, trying not to sound nervous. It’s important that he maintains a calm tone in order to maintain his iron grip on the situation. 

You’re already starting to tremble so obviously that he can see it even from his vantage point across the room. What reason do you have to be trembling? Unknown wonders. He’s the one who might get sick as a result of your negligence— he’s been in here with you all night, breathing your air and touching things you’ve also touched. If you’re sick, then there’s a pretty solid chance that Unknown is going to be next— he growls, annoyed at the thought of losing progress with his work for something so pointless. If his head gets foggy with fever, he’ll work a lot slower, which will doubtlessly cause problems for him in his quest for revenge. It pisses him off that this is something over which he has no jurisdiction— you might be at the mercy of his whims, but your illness is not. 

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out. He should feel good that you’re apologizing, taking responsibility; he should enjoy the knowledge that you’re shaking in fear of how he might respond to this latest inconvenience. Yes, you should be sorry, shouldn’t you? You’re the one who brought some bug into the intelligence room, after all. 

But, inexplicably, Unknown does not feel comforted at all. “Don’t waste time apologizing,” he snaps. It’s always grounding to snap at people— it reminds him that he’s in control. Of course, you do that well enough on your own; you make your devotion obvious with every thoughtful gesture and every offhand word. It’s almost cute, the way you bend over backwards for him. 

Before he can tell you what you should start doing in lieu of telling him you’re sorry, you lapse into a prolonged period of violent coughing. “Sorry,” you choke out again once you’re finished. 

“Okay.” Unknown doesn’t even bother telling you not to apologize again. He’s annoyed that you’re sick, but he’s even more annoyed that he has to stop working to help you deal with your emotions. Can’t you handle your feelings on your own? Why would you rely on him for something like this? Wouldn’t it be easier for you to just sulk in the corner without making a peep? But Unknown concedes that in all other cases, your reliance on him is a good thing. It makes you easier to control. 

Maybe this is a necessary sacrifice, he decides, and that’s what’s compelling him to continue this discussion. If he handles your feelings neatly, you might follow his instructions better, and he can spend his time on more important things. If he lets you stew with your strange guilt, especially when you’re trying to recover from a cold, then he’s going to have to deal with it later, when your emotional and physical condition are both significantly worse. Unknown isn’t interested in that. 

“Is there anything I can do to help you?” You ask, as if he hasn’t already made it clear to you that there isn’t.

Unknown is beside himself. What are you talking about? How could you possibly help him? You can barely carry on a conversation without losing your train of thought in a fit of coughing. “No. You don’t need to worry about that,” he tells you flatly. “Just keep quiet and rest so you get better fast, hm? I don’t want to deal with a sick assistant any longer than I have to.”

“Are you sure?” You ask. Though he doesn’t understand why, Unknown is suddenly very glad that you’re feeling well enough to pester him. “There’s gotta be something I can do.” 

“I just told you what to do,” he reminds you, “So maybe you should start listening before you regret it.” 

“You’re threatening me? Even though I’m sick?” As if your feigned shock wasn’t annoying enough, you take the liberty of pretending to cough into your hand. Of course, this fake cough soon turns into a fit of very genuine coughing— good. It serves you right for trying to mock him. 

“Mhm,” Unknown hums, "Now, why don’t you try to follow directions instead of talking nonsense?” It puts him at ease to play this game with you. He doesn’t have to contend with any emotions he may harbor about the situation if you’re up for a verbal sparring match, and he’d never pass up an opportunity to assert his control. 

“Whatever you say.” You salute him, then sneeze obnoxiously into your elbow. For how long, exactly, is he going to have to deal with this behavior? “What did you want me to do, again?” 

“Now you’re just looking for attention,” Unknown decides. He has no idea why you’re so committed to the idea of working when he’s giving you not simply the license, but the direct order to rest, though it doesn’t really matter. He’s already told you several times that he doesn’t need you to work on anything, and besides, he wants you to feel better. But that makes sense— of course he would want his assistant to be functioning normally. His motivations are entirely justifiable. “Go lay back down and don’t bother me again.”

“Okay, okay,” you hold up your hands and gaze at him with adoration. “I get it! You don’t want me to work! Who are you and what have you done with Unknown?” He just glares at you, waiting for you to finish giggling at your own joke. “But, sure, whatever, I’ll try to rest. Feel free to wake me up if you need something, though. I want to help you if I can.” 

Unknown rolls his eyes. He’s glad to have such a loyal assistant, but you seriously need to stop challenging his authority like this. “I’m not going to tell you again,” he warns. 

“I said okay! Look, here I am resting.” After another prolonged coughing fit, you make a big show of laying back down on the couch and closing your eyes— and if Unknown finds himself smirking a little at your fake snoring noises, that’s none of anybody’s business.

[phlegm--princess]

june pre transition going through alot of denial and internalized transphobia (esp on the meteor where she has a lot of time to herself) but eventually coming to terms with herself and transitioning with the help of jade. and shes like very self concious about herself at first cuz the transphobia and fear are still internalized. later she gets much more comfortable with herself and jade and gets the courage to be more out with people But shes faced with a lot of the same transphobia she worked so hard to deconstruct in her mind and her identity becomes a topic of debate ridiculously often when shes just trying to like. be around people in public or whatever. so shes just like. <_<

[penultimatestalematewithdeath]

Me: I should write a short little fic about Artemis dealing with OCD because personal reasons and also because there’s no way he was “cured” of Atlantis Complex permanently after a few months of treatment.  (Also, without magic, the parts of Atlantis Complex he would continue to struggle with would probs be human OCD)

*over 7,000 words later*

Me: SHORT! I said SHORT!  

[torialefay]

"Regardless of That Fucking Assignment..." 📝

professor!seungmin x fem!student!reader smut 🔞

✨ synopsis: you tried to be professional after being selected for a position under the hottest professor on your univeristy’s campus. turns out, the professor doesn’t give a fuck about “professional.”

✨ warnings: this piece, although consensual, does revolve around a morally grey area. this is strictly fictional work, and should only be considered as such. contains a lot of roleplaying that is not appropriate for everyday life. I do not condone any acts that are represented in this fic. this is strictly fictional work, and should only be considered as such. ; unprotected sex, semi-public sex, slight breath play

Dr. Kim was easily the hottest professor at your university. Young, handsome, and intelligent were the perfect recipe for quickly becoming your favorite classes to go to.

Thankful that he actually taught courses for your major, people outside of it would still sign up just to see him. Well, more like fawn over him, in hopes that he would somehow notice and fall for them, like the clichés they’d seen in movies. It was a bit annoying, considering you’d have to make sure to register early for his classes, but you didn’t mind as long as you got your spot. It made your performance in his class look better in comparison at least.

You’d always performed well in his classes, but you always felt a bit behind. You’d considered asking for his opinion on who would be best to go to for tutoring, but you didn’t want to get flustered in front of him. You surely didn’t want him to think you were struggling in his classes because it was hard to pay attention to anything but him… But ultimately, that was the truth.

Which is why you were very surprised one day to receive an email saying that you’d been selected for the fellowship you applied for… with Dr. Kim as the head.

“Hello, Dr. Kim,” you said nervously after knocking and peaking your head into his office.

He was relaxed, seated behind his large mahogany desk with a plaque on the front ordained with the inscription “Dr. Kim Seungmin.” He’d had a pen in one hand while holding his chin with the other, lost in thought.

“Ahh, y/n. Come on in and take a seat,” he smiled, lifting his head out of his hands and gingerly resting the pen onto the paper underneath it.

You shyly opened the door wider in front of you, just enough so that you could glide through and carefully close it.

Afterwards, you smoothed your skirt down around your thighs and crossed the short space of the room before seating yourself in one of the nice, leather-backed chairs that he had placed neatly in front of his desk.

“I’m glad you could meet with me on such short notice,” he said warmly, looking you in the eyes.

You couldn’t help but blush a little. Even if you’d had around a hundred lectures with him under your belt, it was nothing like the one-on-one conversation you were having now. Butterflies crept up into your stomach that you quickly tried to shoot back down. If you were going to work with this man on a fellowship project for the next year, you were going to have to learn to set those feelings aside… starting now.

“Yes, of course,” you said formally. “I’m very thankful and excited that I was chosen for this position. It really does mean a lot to me, so thank you for giving me this opportunity,” you smiled back, hiding any nerves that you may have had.

Dr. Kim chuckled a bit. “No need to thank me. You’re a great student. I’m always happy to see your work. You have a lot of great ideas, you know? I don’t say that many students challenge me to think about things in a different way, but you’re… different. Very different,” he smirked.

You automatically felt your face flush. ‘Surely this will get easier with time,’ you reassured yourself, taking a deep breath as nonchalantly as possible.

“Oh really?” you began, calming your voice. “I do get worried sometimes that maybe people could find my work a bit… unconventional?” you raised an eyebrow, trying not to falter.

“Good thing I’ve never been the conventional type,” he winked as he smiled, looking down directly after to grab the paper sitting next to him.

‘Did he? Did he just?…’ your mind began running. ‘Surely he didn’t mean it like… No, there’s no way. That’s just his personality. He’s witty. Of course he’d play around like that. He’s just cool, calm down.’ You tried your best not to let your internal freak out show on your exterior.

“So,” he started, looking back up to you, “give me your ideas. Obviously on your application, you threw out quite a few interesting ones. As long as I agree, we can work on whatever you’d like this year.”

“Hmm, well…” you began before running through your list of ideas with him. You had one proposal that you’d been fixated on, but it would require a lot of effort and attention, and you weren’t sure about the logistics of it working out. It would required a lot of time from the professor as well, so you’d almost nixed it altogether. Something about it just kept coming back though, you you figured you’d at least mention it along with the plethora of other ideas that had been rattling around.

“Woah, woah- stop right there,” Dr. Kim put his hands out, preventing you from continuing on to another point. “That’s really good,” he nodded his head. “I’ve read up on so much, paper after paper. But no one’s ever done that before.” He sucked in his cheeks as he continued to lightly nod and fixate his eyes off into the distance. “That’s smart… that’s really really smart.” He smiled, bringing his eyes back to yours now. “I knew I chose the right one. You're really impressive."

"Ohh no," you said, blushing with a smile as you waved your hand in disagreeance.

"What, you don't think so?" He teased, leaning back in his seat. "Why's that?"

"I'm just really interested in it is all. It's not that I'm special."

"Ahh," he nodded, understanding. "Well, I disagree." He folded his hands. "I noticed you the very first class. I even remember what you were wearing."

The sudden comment had you taken aback. "Really?" you asked, wide-eyed.

"Of course. You're quite memorable," he said coily.

Your heart kept speeding up in your chest. 'Calm down. Calm down.'

"Come on, Dr. Kim, you don't need to say all that," you tried to play it off. "I appreciate building my confidence up, but I will always try to work harder," you finished with a solid nod.

He stilled for a moment as if contemplating his words. "Oh really? Work harder?"

“Well… of course?” your voice carried up, confused on why that was such a notable statement. “I could always be doing better in your class.”

Dr. Kim nodded. “Mmm, I guess that’s true. Tell me, y/n, whose class is your favorite? You can be honest with me. I’m just curious to know.” He cocked a brow.

“Hmm…” your eyes darted up as you began to think. “I’m not saying this to be facetious, but I really do enjoy coming to your lectures. Dr. Pramal’s lectures have been very good recently as well.

He giggled. “Dr. Pramal? Come onnn, he basically wears a toupee. My classes have to be at least a little more fun than his.”

“I don’t know,” you smiled, “He tells a lot of dad jokes. He may give you a run for your money.” You raised your brows at his daringly.

“Ahh, okay. Dad jokes. I’ll have to remember that. That’ll get me some brownie points then huh?”

“It just might,” you shrugged. “I think the class would really enjoy it.”

A smug smirk came over his face. “I didn’t mean brownie points with the class. I meant brownie points with you.”

“Ohh,” you blushed, looking down. There was no way, you thought, that he meant the words the way that they were coming across. But it did fluster you anyways. “But I guess… haha yeah, I guess maybe that’d put you ahead of Dr. Pramal… maybe.”

Lighthearted. This was the way to go, you thought.

“Playing hard to get… I see how it is,” he grinned ear to ear.

“Hey, we’ve gotta see how good those jokes are first!” you thought quickly.

“Alright, fair enough. I’ll get some good ones prepared for next time. Just for you.”

At that moment, there was no denying it anymore. There was no way, unless he was absolutely toying with you, that he’d be making all of these advances without realizing. You were sure he knew that almost every person was crushing on him, so you weren’t sure if he was just trying to play around, but either way, you knew that if you had been standing, your knees would have already buckled and given in. There was no going back now.

“Well,” you began, “since I shared my opinion, I think it’s only fair for you to tell me which classes are your favorites to teach?” You felt bolder now. More confident.

“Hmm… I wouldn’t say that I have any one favorite. They all have their pros and cons… but right now,” he tapped his pen on the table, “maybe I prefer the ones that you’re in. It always makes my day a bit better, but the classes go by so quickly.”

“So you decided giving me this position would be a good solution?” You giggled, finally leaning into the fantasy unfolding in front you.

“Absolutely not,” he stood with a smirk, gingerly beginning to walk behind where you were seated. “Excuse the language, but you’re fucking brilliant. It’s why I was so drawn to you... Having you on was a unanimous decision by the board.” He leaned down behind you until he was hovering just next to your ear. “But this…” he breathed out. “This is just a bonus.”

He took one hand to gently brush your hair over the opposite shoulder, making sure the area beneath him was open and exposed. He slowly let his fingers trail along your back until they rested on your shoulder, only for a split second, before sneaking lightly to trace along the lines of your collar bone. You could hear deep breaths coming from his throat.

“Tell me you don’t want it, and I’ll stop…” he whispered lowly.

Your head clouded. Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine any of this. You wanted this, didn’t you? Yes, you wanted this.

But how would it affect your future? What if someone found out?

His hot breath hitting your ear drowned out any hesitancy you could have had. ‘Fuck it.’

“Don’t stop,” you whispered back, feeling shy, but excitement leaking out of you nonetheless.

He slowly let his lips find their way to your shoulder, planting the lightest kiss you’d ever felt, as if he was testing out the waters. As you began to get chills, he slowly began trailing kisses across your collarbone and to your neck, taking time there so gently suck. Nothing too crazy. Nothing too harsh. He wanted no evidence left behind. No emotions involved.

And that is exactly what you believed. Before he leaned in to kiss you.

His arm reached to rotate your shoulders towards him as he brought his lips to yours. The passion he poured in was immaculate. Like he’d been hungry for weeks. He tugged at your bottom lip with his teeth, asking permission to go even deeper.

Without breaking the kiss, the walked around to the front of the chair, holding your head steady for him the entire way. Once he reached his destination, you let his tongue find its way into your mouth. He started with light circles around your own until he was quickly moaning into you. The desperate sounds leaving his mouth had you echoing, making you squirm even more.

You could feel yourself growing more and more wet with each second. Swallowing in every last moment, you basked in the bliss of it all, but you couldn’t help but to want more.

He smiled as he realized how worked up you were getting. Resting one hand on your cheek and the other around to the small of your back, he guided you up until you were standing.

He slowly waltzed you around, never breaking the contact with your mouth. As the moans grew heavier and heavier, you slowly began to push yourself up and onto his leg, needing any sort of friction possible.

He took that as his cue to extend his thigh out for you, running his hands down to hold your ass before rubbing it harshly.

You winced at the new pressure as you slowly began to push yourself up and down on his thigh, losing your breath at how good it felt.

The scene in front of him was quickly getting too much to handle. You knew from the growing hard on that you felt each time your leg hiked higher.

As he groaned loudly, he pulled his lips from yours and yanked your body into his, separating any centimeter of space that could have existed.

You let out a low whine in response as his lips went back to your neck, nibbling away as you fucked yourself onto him. His fingers burrowed into your hair as he went, encouraging you to go faster.

You reveled in the way your clit was engorged now, making sure to hit just high enough with every thrust. And as he began to pant more heavily, Dr. Kim moved his thigh up and down for you, adding to the intensity that you felt.

“Oh fuckkkk,” you let out when things were getting too much to bear.

The sweet sounds coming out of you were too much for him. Abruptly, he pulled his lips from your neck, taking hold of your head to bring it eye level with his. He stared into you like he now owned you. “You can’t tell anyone about this. Promise me,” he demanded, rutting his leg up into you, forcing you to take it as he watched..

“I promise,” you breathed out, grappling to his chest as your eyes rolled back, about to reach your high.

“Feels that good?” He chuckled, planting a harsh smack to your ass.

“Oh fuck,” you winced, loving the roughness he was giving you. Your face flew into his chest. “It feels so fucking good. Harder… please.”

“Harder?” His voice was raised now.

In any normal situation, you would have been worried that someone would hear. But in this moment, you couldn’t have given a fuck if you tried.

Another smack left you dripping through your panties. “Fu-u-u-ck,” you cried. You knew you wouldn’t last much longer. You held onto him tightly as the knot in your stomach formed. “Keep going, keep going,” you whimpered out, chasing your release.

You heard him grunt as he began thrusting harshly, as quickly as he could, into your cunt. Although you couldn’t see his face, you knew he was enjoying every last second.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” you let out lowly as your clit throbbed in just the right way. The warmth got to be too much. The thrusts were too much, and suddenly, you lost it.

Flailing out all over him, you tried your best to cling on and ride out your high. The sexual tension that had been pent up for so long had finally spilled out- hard. You began shaking and crying out into him, not caring if you were too loud now or if anyone heard.

Once it was beginning to be too much, you pulled off, shaking and pushing him back. You were sure you couldn’t take one more second without passing out.

He took the opportunity of being separated from you to make the few strides toward his door to lock it. You couldn’t believe that you’d completely disregarded that once you’d been caught up in the moment.

Catching your breath, you turned around to grip onto his desk, holding yourself up with your arms. You were able to get a few deep breaths in until the professor returned behind you, pulling your ass toward him.

“Fuck,” he smiled, gripping your hips and squeezing, letting your ass push against his clothed dick. “That was so fucking beautiful.”

All you could do was moan in response, rolling your hips around. Although your heart had had a few seconds to calm down, you could feel it speeding right back up.

As he massaged you with his hands, he continued letting his thoughts turn into words. “Now I want to know how beautiful you’d look on my dick. Getting fucked right into this desk. Will you let me?” His hands ran up and down between your hips and your ass, rubbing you lightly. Almost as if he was… cherishing you?

“Mmhmm,” was all you could get out, still trying to fully recover.

“I need to hear you say it,” he barked back. “I need to hear you say yes. Say that you want this.”

“Yes, Dr. Kim,” you breathed out as harshly as you could, your response landing you another smack on the ass as he brought his hand to the back of your head to push it onto the desk and have you perfectly bent over for him.

He wasted no time, undoing his belt and letting his trousers fall to the ground, quickly pulling his cock out from his boxers to let it spring up and hit him.

He hastily threw the bottom of your skirt over your ass to reveal your panties underneath, completely soaked in the middle from the time you’d just had.

“Goddamn,” he chuckled. “All of this for me?” He rubbed his thumb up and down your slit, causing you to wince, before ripping your panties to the side. It caused them to partially rip, not that you minded. “Even prettier than I could have imagined,” he said, licking his lips and staring down at your pussy. “Fuck.”

He took one hand from you long enough to spit in it and bring it down to stroke his hardened cock. He moaned the slightest bit, touching himself while thinking of what was to come.

Using one hand to hold you down and the other to steady as he lined himself up at your entrance, he pushed in slowly, letting himself enjoy the feeling of your pussy stretching around him. He savored every last centimeter that he could get inside of you before bottoming out. A large breath escaped his lungs as he tried to stabilize himself. It was all too much of a sight to behold.

Pushing you into the table harder, he inched his way out before thrusting back in, trying to warm you up to him.

You couldn’t deny how delicious it felt. He was bigger than you were used to, and the way he had you pressed down was taking your breath away. You tingled head to toe from the sensation. It was better than anything you could have dreamed up in class- a few thrusts of his dick inside of you, and you could already confirm.

He picked up his speed inside of you as you let out a whimper, already feeling like you’d taken much more than he could give.

He railed into you relentlessly, letting out gutteral grunts and moans with each snap of his hips into yours. The sounds of it were lewd, but it only added to how you felt.

“Ahh fuck, you feel so fucking good,” he growled lowly, trying to focus enough so that he wouldn’t cum right away. “You’re taking it so fucking well.” He moved a hand up to your hair to form a pony tail that he could pull back on. “Don’t you think so?” he yelled, pulling your hair slightly back.

Surprised, you yelped, which only turned him on more. “Yes, Dr. Kim,” you managed to get out between shallow breaths. You didn’t know how much more you could take.

“You like it when your professor fucks you, don’t you? You always wanted to be used by me, huh?” he teased, thrusting into you even faster, tighter hold on your hair.

“Yes- yes, I love it,” you strained.

Something in him must have ticked because before you could process what was happening, you had been pulled up by your hair so that your back was arched, torso now fully upright. The professor now had a hold on your hair, but all the way around your waist as well to hold you up.

You felt yourself choke on your own throat from how far back your head had been tilted. The iron grab you felt from him behind you hinted that this would be something you’d have to get used to. He chuckled as you gasped for air, beginning to pound into you harder.

He admired the way you looked for him. Perfect ass slapping against him at every thrust. Your body contorted in the most unnatural shape, just because he willed it. Your face red from the blood rushing around. So perfectly behaved for him. Letting him do whatever he wanted. So willing to give it all up. He couldn’t fucking stand it anymore.

Relentlessly he growled, fucking into you harder than he had before. He could feel the sweat seeping from his brow, but it didn’t hinder him. All that mattered in this moment was using you until he couldn’t stand anymore. Each thrust into your tight pussy brought him closer and closer.

It was the hardest you’d ever been fucked. You were past the point of return. After moaning harder than you’d ever thought possible, you were officially fucked out. He kept hitting the same perfect spot over and over until all you could do was cry out and gasp for air. No thoughts anymore, just needing that second wave of relief. You clenched around him as you tried for a deep breath, quickly working your way there.

“Ahh shit,” he hissed as he felt you- pure, unadulterated, untamable lust now clouded his eyes. Something different had come over him now. He was no longer your professor. No. Now… his one purpose in life was to fuck you senseless.

“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve wanted to do this?” he spat at you, yanking your head back even harder so he could get a clear look into those pretty eyes while he rammed into you. “How many times I’ve wanted to stop in the middle of class to just bend you over and take you?! I’ve contemplated so many times if I should hold you back after class so I could talk to you. Get you to put those pretty lips on mine, ah?” He was aggressive, almost yelling out of his mind through gritted teeth. "I’ve wanted you from the very first day I fucking saw you. Last year. An entire fucking year of acting good,” a harsh pound into you, “and acting professional,” pound, “around you," pound. "But goddamn it, I just can’t do it anymore! You drive me fucking crazy, y/n! You drive me so fucking crazy!” He yelled forcefully, quickly releasing his grip on you so that you fell forward onto the table.

Your lungs sucked in as much air as possible as you had a momentary sense of relief. But within a few seconds, Dr. Kim was reaching with his hand to rotate your head around to the side, right next to his own as he’d bent himself over your body, still fucking into you with all the strength he had.

“I’ve got to fucking have you,” his voice rumbled lowly, looking into your eyes. The words alone made your pussy quiver.

'Fuck. There's no fucking way. Does he mean?...' You were sure you were going to cum any second.

“Tell me I can have you… Fucking hell, tell me I can have you,” he growled, watching you desperately. Hungrily.

You closed your eyes as they slightly rolled back in your head. “Yes… Fuckkk, yes, you can have me,” you moaned out as his thrusts became too much for you to handle.

He violently crashed his lips into yours as if he’d been starving for them this whole time- like he'd been saving his appetite for this very moment. He ate at you like you were the most delicious thing he would ever taste.

And with the perfect thrust, you felt it. The feeling that had been creeping up for so long, exploded now, leaving you in complete shambles. Cursing, moaning, throwing yourself all around, you just couldn’t control yourself any more. You tried pulling yourself back, but his mouth kept you anchored to him, resulting in you throwing all of your groans into his mouth.

You didn’t know how it couldn’t be over, but he growled as he finished fucking into you, the wet sounds of your release only adding to his pleasure. You were getting overstimulated to the point that you were sure you were going to cry.

“Ahhh,” you wailed, not able to handle it any more.

“Oh fuck, baby, fuck!” he yelled, throwing a few final, violent, thrusts into you before pulling out. He continued to moan harshly as he pumped himself in his hand, letting his cum spurt out all over your ass, covering it almost completely. He stroked it until there wasn’t a single drop left inside of him.

'Baby?' you thought, contemplating if you'd misheard him.

Once he was sure he was finished, he breathed in and out deeply, trying to catch his breath while grabbing for a few tissues on his desk. He used them to lightly clean you up while you too were still bent over, struggling to get your breath back.

As soon as you heard his pants come up and zip, you were sure he was done. You slowly used your hands to push yourself up and off the table. Your muscles twitched as you went, absolutely exhausted. You didn’t know if you’d even be able to stand on your own, let alone make it back to the dorm.

You were slow as you turned, flattening your skirt down and trying to get your footing, but failing.

“Woah, woah, take it easy,” Dr. Kim smiled happily, knowing he was the one that had done this to you. He reached his hands out for you to hold so that you could get your balance.

“Yeah, thanks,” you said, blushing while nodding downward to acknowledge his help.

You both stood for a moment, absorbing the scenery and what had actually just happened. You almost couldn’t believe it.

As if it finally registered, you were suddenly uncertain of what to do next. You ran a hand through your hair before crossing your arms over your chest. You wanted to act like you weren’t nervous, but you knew that you were failing miserably.

“Well, I should probably head out then,” you tried to play off as light-hearted, moving your body out of his way and toward the door. You couldn’t believe you were about to have to do the walk of shame… at fucking school.

“You don’t have to-” Dr. Kim started, almost too eagerly, “you don’t have to go…” he calmed himself. “If you don’t want to. If you need time to, umm.” You’d never seen him be at a loss for words like this. “Get collected and everything.”

His eyes were softer than you’d remembered. For once, he didn’t look intimidating. He looked almost… sweet?

But none of that changed the fact that you had just fucked your professor and needed to go clear your head.

“Oh,” you smiled, trying to look grateful. “I appreciate it, but I think I’m alright. I should probably go finish up on an assignment I’ve been working on for your class actually. But really, thank you,” you said, bowing your head in gratitude, about to reach for the door handle.

“Wait,” he insisted, moving closer to you. “I just wanted to say that I really did mean all the things I said about you. Regardless of whatever this was, you are so fucking brilliant. I don’t want you to think that this is why I wanted you for the position. I hope that you’ll stay on… and that we can actually work together.” You thought you could make out a plea in his tone.

“Of course I’ll stay on, Dr. Kim. I’m excited to work with you,” you smiled, realizing now that you had some kind of upper hand.

He smiled back as he took a few steps backward, letting you turn to reach for the door once more.

“Please, call me Seungmin… Except in class of course,” he winked with a chuckle as he moseyed back behind his desk.

“Alright then, Seungmin,” you annunciated teasingly, smiling at him with big, innocent eyes. “I need to get to work on that assignment, but I’ll email you later so we can find a meeting time that works for us both?"

Seungmin just rolled his eyes with an annoyed grin. “You’re getting an A, regardless of that fucking assignment. And please... just give me your number instead.”

[sagewritings]

Grace and Arrogance - James Beaufort x Fem!Reader

pairing: james beaufort x fem!reader

synopsis: amidst playful bickering, the dynamic between you and james transforms from turmoil to bliss when james sheds his facade of arrogance to reveal hidden admiration.

word count: 2.1k

warnings/tags: mentions of a car accident, fluff with james beaufort

a/n: hello everyone! it's been a while since my last post because i haven't really had any inspiration and time over the past months but after watching maxton hall last week, i just couldn't help but write! ! i wrote this in like an hour on my notes app so it may seem a bit rushed but that's okay :>

if you’d like to check out my other works, you can check the pinned post in my blog :>

i hope you’ll like this fic! happy reading!

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

Being a regular visitor at the Beaufort estate has familiarized you with every corner of the house. Now, you have memorized every room and decoration, immediately spotting whatever is newly added. The Beauforts didn’t mind your presence, with your family being close friends of theirs.

But it was not the Beauforts' son who you were particularly fond of.

You were extremely close with Lydia, your best friend since childhood. Despite both of you coming from wealthy backgrounds, your upbringing was notably different. Your parents owned a chain of hotels and restaurants across Europe, but they insisted on raising you humbly, teaching you the value of hard work and modesty. This upbringing made you see through the arrogance often displayed by James, Lydia's brother.

James, with his confident smirk and air of superiority, was someone you couldn't stand. Your encounters often led to playful bickering, a routine everyone at Maxton Hall was familiar with. But behind your teasing, there was an underlying respect for each other, one neither of you would openly acknowledge.

One sunny afternoon, you found yourself in the Beauforts' expansive garden, your favorite place to unwind with Lydia. She was lounging on a chaise, flipping through a magazine, while you were engrossed in a novel. The peace was soon interrupted by the sound of footsteps.

"Well, well, what do we have here? The ladies of leisure," James's voice drawled, cutting through the tranquility.

You looked up, ready to retort. "And here comes the lord of arrogance. What do you want, James?"

James smirked, leaning against a nearby pillar. "Just enjoying the sunshine. Is that a crime?"

"Only if you're planning to cast a shadow over our peace," you shot back, not missing a beat.

Lydia chuckled from her seat. "You two are impossible. Can't you ever have a conversation without turning it into a fight?"

"It's not my fault your brother is insufferable," you said, closing your book and standing up to face James.

"Insufferable? That's a new one. What else do you think about me, Y/N?" James asked, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Do you really want to know?" you challenged, stepping closer.

"Absolutely," he replied, his gaze locking onto yours.

Before you could respond, Lydia interjected. "Okay, enough, both of you. Can't we just have one afternoon without the bickering?"

You glanced at Lydia, then back at James. "Fine. But only because Lydia asked."

James shrugged, a smug smile on his face. "Whatever you say, Y/N."

Despite your frequent clashes, there were moments when you couldn't deny James's charm. Like the time he helped you with a school project, his intelligence and wit shining through in a way that caught you off guard.

You were in the library, struggling with a particularly difficult economics assignment. The sound of approaching footsteps made you groan inwardly. Of course, it had to be him.

"Need help, Y/N?" James asked, looking over your shoulder.

"I can manage, thank you," you replied curtly, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of admitting you were stuck.

He pulled up a chair next to you anyway. "Let me see."

You sighed, sliding the paper towards him. "Fine. But no gloating."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he said with a wink, scanning the problem. "Ah, I see the issue. You're overthinking it. Here, let me show you."

For the next hour, James patiently explained the concepts, his usual arrogance replaced with genuine enthusiasm for the subject. By the end of it, you had to admit he was a good teacher.

"Thanks, James," you said, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips.

"Anytime, Y/N," he replied, his expression softening.

Despite these moments of truce, your dynamic remained largely unchanged. That is, until the day you stopped going to your classes in Maxton Hall without warning. Lydia knew the reason but couldn't divulge it due to your parents' wish for privacy. This secrecy, however, only fueled James's concern and curiosity. Despite your clashes, he had always admired your kindness and humility.

Days turned into weeks, and your absence left a noticeable void. James found himself more worried than he cared to admit. His irritation grew, not just because you were gone, but because Lydia refused to tell him why.

James sat in the library, his usual spot, staring at the empty chair across from him. It felt wrong not having you there to challenge him, to banter with him. The silence was suffocating.

"Where is she, Lydia?" James demanded, cornering his sister in the hallway.

"I can't tell you, James. It's not my place," Lydia replied, her expression firm yet sympathetic.

"You know something, and you're keeping it from me," he accused, frustration evident in his tone.

"Trust me, if I could, I would tell you. But I can't," Lydia insisted, turning away.

James ran a hand through his hair, his frustration palpable. "You don't understand, Lydia. I need to know she's okay."

"She is. That's all I can say," Lydia replied softly before walking away, leaving James standing there, his mind racing with worry.

He spent sleepless nights thinking about you, imagining the worst scenarios. Had something happened to you? Were you in trouble? Each passing day without any news felt like an eternity, and the worry gnawed at him incessantly.

The mystery was finally revealed during a dinner at the Beaufort estate. As you and Lydia's parents chatted, the conversation inadvertently turned to your family. James listened intently as they discussed the car accident that had left your father seriously injured. You had been absent to take over the family business in his stead, juggling the responsibilities of an heir with the pressures of high school.

"It was such a terrible accident," your mother said, her voice tinged with worry. "He was lucky to survive, but the recovery process has been grueling."

James's heart sank as he listened. The image of you, strong and resilient, dealing with such a massive burden alone, tugged at his heartstrings.

"Y/N has been amazing," your father added, his voice filled with pride and concern. "She's stepped up in ways we never imagined, taking on the business and keeping things running smoothly."

Lydia's parents nodded sympathetically. "She truly is remarkable. We can't imagine the pressure she's under."

James felt a pang of guilt and a surge of determination. He admired you even more for handling such immense pressure with grace. The next day, he decided to visit you.

You were in the midst of preparing for a business meeting when James arrived at your house. The sight of him surprised you, and your initial reaction was to push him away.

"James, I don't have time for this," you said, frustration evident in your voice as you shuffled through papers.

"I'm not here to argue," he replied, stepping closer. "I'm here to help."

You looked up, skepticism in your eyes. "Help? How?"

"I know how to run a business. Let me support you," he offered, sincerity in his voice.

You hesitated, the weight of your responsibilities making you wary. But the genuine concern in his eyes made you relent.

"Fine. But don't think this means I like you," you muttered, turning back to your work.

James chuckled. "Wouldn't dream of it."

He stepped forward, his presence steadying you as you felt the weight of everything crashing down. You fought back tears of exhaustion, the stress overwhelming you.

"Y/N, let me take some of this off your shoulders," James said gently, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves.

"I… I don't know if I can trust you," you admitted, your voice trembling. "You've always been so… unserious."

James's expression softened, his eyes filled with understanding. "I get it. I've been a jerk, but I care about you. More than I let on."

You looked into his eyes, seeing the sincerity there. "Why now, James?"

"Because I admire you. Your strength, your kindness. You're handling all of this with such grace, and I want to help you. Please, let me," he pleaded.

Your defenses crumbled, the exhaustion and stress finally taking their toll. "Okay," you whispered, the word carrying the weight of your vulnerability.

James stepped closer, his arms wrapping around you in a comforting embrace. For the first time in weeks, you allowed yourself to lean on someone else, to share the burden.

Over the next few days, James proved to be an invaluable ally. His expertise in business management eased your burden, allowing you to balance school and work more effectively. The more you worked together, the more you saw a different side of him—one that was caring and dependable.

James took on tasks with a surprising efficiency, his usual arrogance replaced with a dedication that impressed you. He handled meetings, reviewed contracts, and even helped streamline operations, all while providing a steady source of support and encouragement.

One evening, after a particularly long day, you both found yourselves sitting in the garden, the stars twinkling above.

"Do you remember the first time we met?" James asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

You laughed softly. "How could I forget? You spilled juice all over my dress."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "I was so nervous. I wanted to make a good impression, and I ended up making a mess."

"I thought you were a spoiled brat," you admitted, smiling at the memory.

"And now?" he asked, his gaze locking onto yours.

"Now, I see someone who cares deeply about his family and friends. Someone who hides his true self behind a facade of arrogance," you said softly.

James's expression turned serious. "And I see someone who is incredibly strong, even when faced with immense challenges. Someone who inspires me to be better."

The air between you seemed to crackle with electricity. Before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his. The kiss was gentle, tentative at first, but quickly deepened as you both poured all your unspoken feelings into it.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and dazed, you met his gaze and saw the same vulnerability mirrored in his eyes.

"I've liked you for a long time, Y/N," James admitted. "I just didn't know how to tell you."

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "I guess I like you too, James. Even if you are insufferable sometimes."

He laughed, pulling you into another kiss. The garden seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in that moment.

The days turned into weeks, and with James's help, you managed to stabilize your family's business. His presence became a constant source of support and comfort, and your feelings for him began to shift.

Returning to Maxton Hall, you and James surprised everyone with your newfound camaraderie. The playful bickering was replaced by a growing closeness that neither of you could ignore.

The fundraiser ball at Maxton Hall was an annual event where everyone dressed in Victorian-era attire. This year, you and James were assigned to fix the lights, a task that allowed for a rare moment of privacy.

"Careful with that, Y/N," James warned as you reached for a particularly tricky bulb.

"I've got it," you insisted, balancing precariously on a ladder.

James steadied the ladder, his hands brushing against yours as he helped you with the light. The proximity made your heart race, a tension building between you that neither could ignore.

As the last bulb clicked into place, you turned to thank him, only to find him closer than expected. His eyes locked onto yours, the air thick with unspoken feelings.

"James…" you began, but he silenced you with a gentle touch to your cheek.

"I admire you, Y/N. More than you'll ever know," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Before you could respond, he closed the distance, his lips capturing yours in a tender kiss. The world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in that moment.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and dazed, you met his gaze and saw the same vulnerability mirrored in his eyes.

"Can we try this?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

James smiled, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "I'd like that very much."

As the evening wore on, the lights you and James had fixed illuminated the grand hall, casting a warm glow over the attendees. You stood together, hand in hand, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

[ann1-wr1tes]

Tiring Exams

Synopsis: You are dead set on studying for your finals that you don't notice when your boyfriend calls you...(I suck at summarizing)

Warnings: None!

Word Count: 1,339

A/N: I dug up this old fic I wrote like last year. Hopefully this somewhat makes up for my lack of content and my nonexistence on this blog lmao-

----

You narrow your eyes at the paper in front of you. Your mind seems to be running so quickly but also somehow not at all? If that was even possible. You just focuses your eyes on the words that were on the paper in front of you and you swore this must've been your fifth time rereading this one sentence, but for some reason your brain just wouldn't put any of it together. None of it was sticking like it should!

You let out an exasperated sigh and rub your eyes and head tiredly. These damn final projects and exams were going to be the death of you. You also thought that if you had to reread this sentence one more time…you may just combust. Your mind just felt like it was bursting at the seams with overwhelming and frustrating thoughts. But alas, that was what exams were all about right?

You take a deep breath and look at your wall for a moment. Your eyes needed to look at something that wasn't a stark white piece of paper, covered in a jumble of words that you for some reason couldn't read or understand. You take a few moments to clear your mind and then you finally look back down at the paper and you reread over the words, this time they somewhat stick.

Your eyes continue to scan over the rest of the article and suddenly your phone is vibrating. You can feel the vibration going through the table and you are snapped out of you trance when you see the contact picture of your boyfriend on the screen of your phone.

You frown. Oh, how you wished that you could answer so badly. What you would give to hear Leon's voice right now but with a sad sigh you decline the call and toss it onto your bed. You couldn't have any distractions…..you had to finish this.

Leon felt his heart pick up just a little bit when you didn't answer his call. He knew that it was normal for people not to answer calls. Everyone had a life, you included so maybe you were just busy. Just for extra measure though, Leon made sure to leave a voice mail, telling you to call him back just so he could check in on you and say hi.

Maybe it was for the best anyways. He knew you had been busy lately studying for finals and he himself was busy with work, so no worries. That's what he tried telling himself.

Though Leon couldn't help it. After the events of Raccoon City, then Spain and so on, he didn't like to leave you alone for too long. He was always calling you, checking in on you, making sure everything was okay and that you didn't need anything. Even now, when he was always busy, he still tried his hardest to make time to just talk to you. To just hear your angelic voice that he adored so much.

But you were busy right now. No problem.

After that he busied himself with looking at files, documents, doing loads and loads of paperwork that practically bored him to death but at least he wasn't getting thrown around or hunted by B.O.W.S or zombies.

Little did Leon know, that right now you were also drowning in boredom.

Later in the day, he was about to go home and he still hadn't hear from you. As much as he tried to reassure himself that you were fine, he felt nervous. Usually you would have called him by now, or at least send him a text saying what you were doing or how you were, but he had gotten nothing from you and it was nearing dinner time.

Right when he got out of work, he immediately grabbed his phone and dialed your number as he made his way out to the parking lot to hop on his bike. He dialed your number and it just rang. You didn't pick up. To Leon, that was a big red flag and he decided that right when he got on his bike, he was gonna stop by your place to make sure you were okay.

He made sure to zoom over to your place as quickly as he could and with baited breath, he parked in your driveway and knocked on your door.

No answer.

He could feel his heart rate quicken as he knocks again and listens for any sounds on the other side. He doesn't hear any movement or talking coming from the other side and even worse, he doesn't hear the television going. It was silent and that did not sit well with him.

Leon didn't bother to knock again. Instead he bent down and lifted up your doorstep mat where he knew you kept the spare key to your house. Leon snatches it off the ground and is quick to unlock your front door and he rushes in, almost forgetting to close your door.

He calls out for you a few times, but there's still no response. That's when his eyes dart around your apartment, searching for signs of maybe a break in, or something gone wrong but everything is fine. Nothing is out of place, nothing seems to be out of the norm so that's when he rushes upstairs.

He opens your bedroom door and freezes. His heart rate is beating practically a mile a minute and he lets out a quiet breath of relief when he sees your smaller form, curled up in your bed fast asleep with numerous plushies and stuffed animals that he had gotten you.

Gosh he was just so worried. What if something happened to you? Or if you had gotten hurt? No…no…its okay, you are okay. You were just sleeping he tells himself. He takes a deep breath and quietly closes the door behind him as he glances at your table.

On your table lays all your project papers and even your laptop that is still halfway open and opened up to a tab that is full of the work that you had been doing all day. No wonder you were practically passed out. Seems like a lot of your energy was used on finishing those stupid exams and projects.

With a sigh he shuts your laptop and glances back at your sleeping form. It made his heart flutter a bit in his chest. You looked beautiful. Stunning even. It was just the raw look of peace on your face as you snoozed away, huddled up in a pile of blankets and stuffed animals. It was all quite adorable and Leon couldn't stop the smile that carved its way onto his face as he stepped a bit closer, slipping out of shoes and sitting them on the floor, next to your bed. He then shrugs off his leather jacket as well and rests against your bedpost.

As quietly as he could, he neared your bed and gently grazed your cheek with his thumb. It was just a little reminder to himself that you were okay and were in fact right there in front of him.

Now as sneakily as Leon can, he pulls away some of the blankets and slowly slips in behind you. You can feel a sudden warmth press up against your back and a big pair of sturdy, strong arms wrap around you from behind and pull you closer. Even in your sleep ridden mind, you know its Leon.

You shuffle a bit, not fully waking up but to where you are half asleep. You turn your body towards Leon and you grasp onto him, nuzzling your face into his neck with a sleepy sigh.

"You sure did tire yourself out, huh sweetheart?" Leon whispers gently. He laughs softly when you give him an airy whine as you nuzzle closer into him.

His hands trail up your back and he runs his fingers through your hair softly. It was moments like these where he just thought everything was perfect.

[minimickzy]

Oh My God || Hazel Callahan

Listen- I believe in loser hazel and I find her to be perfect- I know this isn't my best fic but I've been in serious bottoms brain rot

dialog prompts:

"Hold my hand" "Absolutely not"

Characters: Hazel Callahan x Reader, the whole club

Word count: 2359

Hazel Callahan was your mortal enemy. Did she know? Probably not. It was honestly beside the point. Because what mattered was that bitch seemed to have it out for you since the start of high school. First, it was taking your topic for a history project. Whatever- no big deal. Then all the “accidents” spilling coffee on your backpack (she had given you money for a new one but still), tripping you in the walkways, and hitting you in the face with a volleyball (multiple times). After that, she got the better parking spot for senior year, and finally, the great big plump cherry on top, she took the lunch table you had practically reserved since freshman year. 

At the end of the day, the whole ordeal may be a bit over-dramatic… but that table was perfect. In the corner, you could either hide or have a great undisturbed lunch with your friends. Hazel had sat there one day with Josie and PJ. which was weird in itself because they never had eaten in the cafeteria before and you didn't even remember them being friends. 

For how much you didn't care about Hazel Callahan- she sure took a lot of your attention.  

If anyone else had done any of those things- you probably wouldn’t have thought anything about it. But this was Hazel Callahan who despite your best efforts you could not stop crushing on. 

The stolen table was a very recent development. As in on Monday and it was now Wednesday. You sat at the next best table with Sylvie and Krystal, watching as Hazel feverishly wrote something in her notebook as PJ seemed to make a grandiose speech. 

She had no right to look that attractive while sitting in your spot. You groaned and face-planted into your crossed arms on the table. 

“Are you good dude?” You rolled your head to the side to look at Sylvie and then let out another frustrated groan. 

“Everything is awful and I hate it here.” 

Krystal patted your back while Silive sighed, “You know what you need?”

“Hmm?” 

“To hit something.” 

You laughed from inside your arm fortress, “Okay Sylvie- what should I hit? A fucking tree? Jeff? A Huntington player?” 

“No, you should join the fight club! It’s for women empowerment- I’m trying to train up to deal with my stepdad ya know?” 

You lifted your head and gave your friend a questioning look. “Fight club? For women empowerment?” 

Sylvie and Krystal both nodded excitedly. 

“When and Where?” 

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

Of fucking course. 

When you walk in behind Krystal and Sylvie to the gym, the first person you see is Hazel.

Your body immediately fills with rage. At this point, it’s starting to feel like you're more angry at yourself for crushing on someone you barely even know. But you believe in self-love so you plan to continue projecting your anger onto someone else. 

Everyone was milling about and chatting, you left your bag on the bleachers by everyone else’s and followed your friends to the middle of the gym. 

Stella-Rebecca caught your eye and waved, which you gladly returned before PJ stomped as hard as possible on the floor to get everyone's attention. 

“What time is it?!” She screamed and was answered by a chorus of “3:15”s 

“That’s right you sluts! It’s time to get down and dirty!” 

You couldn't help the look of mild disgust that passed across your features. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. After al, Sylvie made some seriously questionable choices- you thought you could trust Krystal though. 

“Alright cunts- who wants to start us of-” PJ started by being cut off by Hazel who whispered something to her and then directed PJ’s attention onto you with a point of her pen. “Well look what the cat dragged in.” PJ gave you an unimpressed look which made you roll your eyes. 

“I can leave if this is a closed cl-” You started to point behind you to the door but Josie stopped you by waving her hands

“No- no you're more than welcome. PJ just gets a little into it- you know flashbacks to juvie and all that.” Josie gives a reassuring (and awkward) smile.

You pursed your lips and nodded, “Cool.” out of the corner of your eye you could see Hazel giving Josie a thumbs up. 

“Well, Since you’re fresh blood let's see what you got,” PJ says while smiling at you. 

“Okay,” you shrug. “I really don’t know what I’m doing though so don’t expect much.” 

PJ just brushes you off, “Don’t worry. It’s mostly just instinct.”

You nod and step into the center of the circle of girls. Okay, maybe this was a stupid fucking idea. 

“Let's see…” PJ looks around the circle, trying to decide who to pair you up with. “Hazel- why don’t you hop in.” 

Hazel looks nervous, but she still nods and enters the ring, giving you a small smile and nod. 

You look at her blankly, “Now what?” you ask.

“Now you hit each other.” PJ claps her hands together, “Fucking beat each other the fuck up!” 

“What-” You can’t finish your question because Hazel deals a hard hit right to your gut. “Fuck!” you double over in shock before gathering yourself again. “What the fuck.” 

Hazel looks a little confused but motions to herself, “Hit me now- that's how this works.” 

You give her the best “what the fuck” look you can convey before settling into a fighting stance. You thought there'd be a little lead-up or something.

You swung and got in a decent hit to the side of Hazel's face. It left a stinging sensation on your knuckles but you tried to shake it off. 

The two of you exchanged a few more punches and kicks back and forth before Hazel managed to catch you completely off guard and- 

BAM 

Your ass hit the ground hard. “Fuck!” you couldn't help the curse from leaving your lips. You let yourself unfurl onto the ground and stared at the ceiling. The girls around you clapped as you tried to catch your breath. 

“Good fight,” Hazel said, reaching one of her hands out towards you on the ground. 

You just looked at her, “Yeah. Good...” Suddenly your head hurt a lot more than it did a minute ago. “Fight.” This was definitely a stupid fucking decision. Maybe this is what killed you. RIP the girl who got her lights knocked out but the girl who was both the love and hate of her life. 

You tried to sit up but the world was kinda spinning. 

“Hazel, how hard did you hit her?” Josie asked as she joined Hazel looking down at you. Hazel looked like a lost puppy. 

“I didn’t think it was that hard- are you okay.” 

You laughed not handling the embarrassment of the situation well, “I am so good actually.” You went to stand up but stumbled before your legs gave out putting you back on the floor. 

Hazel tried to grab at your hand to help you up but you retracted your hand on instinct. “Hold my hand.” 

“Absolutely not.” 

Silvie barked out a laugh- “damn rejected!”

Hazel looked at you- her big blue eyes filling with hurt. Fuck. You didn't want to have to see those sad puppy dog eyes. You took hold of her hand and let her pull you up. If you thought the world was spinning when you were sitting, now it was like you were on a tilt-a-whirl. “Shit.” you couldn't keep yourself upright and leaned into Hazel so you didn't fall back to the ground. 

“Uh- I’m gonna take her to get some water.” Hazel sounded very concerned but you giggled. This was so embarrassing. Not only were you weak in front of your enemy- but also your crush. “Oh my god, I think I broke her!” 

PJ scoffed, “You just gave her like a concussion- she’ll be fine.” You nodded to agree with PJ. 

“Oh my god oh my god oh my god…” Hazel mumbled as she walked you out of the gym.

“I’m so so sorry.” She continued to apologize to all the girl's bathrooms where she propped you against a sink. “I didn’t think I was that strong.” She gathered some paper towels and got them wet, dabbing them to your forehead. 

In all honesty, you feel fine now. The dizziness was gone and replaced with a dull ache. But you were kinda enjoying Hazel being all over you. 

“It’s fine. Don't worry about it.” 

“If you want to hit me I get it- I deserve it.”

You laughed, “Yeah you can say that again.” You needed to practice biting your damn tongue. 

“I’m so sorry- I can’t believe I did that- I always do something stupid around you. I didn’t mean to hit you that hard- I just can’t like to focus with you around and I’m sorry-” Hazel continued to ramble and you started to zone out a little before saying the only thing running through your mind. 

“You stole my table”

Hazel stopped talking and looked at you. “No, I didn’t”

“Yes, you did.”

“What are you talking about? I’ve never stolen anything let alone a table- I don’t even know where I would’ve put-”

“No Hazel, my seat. In the lunch room.” 

She just stared at you and blinked. 

“You stole my spot- where I have sat every day for the last and you spilled coffee on my backpack and hit me in the face with volleyballs and… and… and now you gave me a concussion with your fists.” 

Hazel groaned and moved away from you holding her face in her hands, “Oh my god you must think I hate you.”

“Well yeah!” 

Hazel just groaned again. “I just like you.” 

“Oh yeah sure- wait- what did you just say?”

“I just like you okay,” She kicks the floor and starts to pout, “You’re just like really cool and like always around and you make me nervous.” 

“Oh my god.” 

“I know- i’m sorry- I knew you hated me cause of all that stuff”

“Oh my god-”

Hazel made more inhuman nosies as you started to laugh.

“Hazel what the actual fuck- you like me? You like me? For how long?” 

Hazel stopped with the noises “I don’t know? Like freshman year? Why?” 

“Despite all of the mishaps, and how much they pissed me off- I could not stop crushing on you… since freshman year.” 

Hazels jaw literally dropped, “What, no way?” 

“Yes way. Why didnt you just like talk to me?” 

“Well everytime I did I would somehow manage you hurt you.” 

You shook your head and laughed lighty, “thats actually fair, I can’t blame you for that.” 

She cracked a bit of a smile, relief from the last few seconds flooding over the both of you. 

“This is crazy.” 

You laughed, “it is. And to think all it took was you punching me to the ground.” 

She groaned, “god I really am sorry-”

“It’s fine- definitely worth it.” 

She smiled, “now what?” 

You shrugged, “I don’t know- we’ve wasted almost four years it seems like so theres no point in wasting any more.” 

She gave you a dopey look and figeted with the rings on her fingers.

“Hazel come here.” She followed your instructions obditally and stood in front of you- close enough that you could feel the gentle wind of her breath. 

You placed your hands on her shoulders, not entirely sure the right way to go about this- and maybe this was moving a bit fast and the common sense had gotten knocked out of your head but at this point you were kicking yourself for not making a move over the entrieity of your highschool career. 

Her eyes were open, glued to your lips. 

“Gotta start making up for all that lost time.” you leaned forward, barley brushing your lips together, when you pulled back Hazel stood completely still with her eyes shut tight. You smiled to yourself. “Do you want to..” Hazel keep her eyes shut but nodded. 

You leaned again, this time trying to add in some movement. It was painfully obvious that neither of you really knew what you were doing. Hazel seemed to have a sudden surge in confidence after accidentally (maybe?) bitting your lower lip which drew some type of sound from you. She stepped forward, pushing you aagint the bathroom sink and putting the two of you in a much more intainte position. 

Despite the awkwardness and surprise, it felt nice- or good? Something like that. You stopped anazlying everything and instead focused on the fact that their was a very attractive girl running her hands down your back and letting your shirt cover her finger tips as she explored you. 

The second you started to thank whatever god was a above that it was after school hours so the building was essentially vacant- the door brust open, followed by two very loud “fuck”s. 

Hazel rushed back away from you, her face already blushing a bright pink. 

PJ and Josie stood in the doorway- matching faces of shock painting their features. 

“No fucking way Hazel is getting puss before us.” PJ rolled her eyes. 

“Uh- sorry we just uh- you know- wanted to make sure you were good.” Josie was doing a horrible job hiding her uncomforatbleness as she questioned you with a thumbs up. 

You bit your lip to stop from laughing and gave her a thumbs up back, “Doing great in here. Thanks- but if you wouldn’t mind leaving-”

“Oh yeah! Yeah! For sure- we’ll let you two lovebirds get back to it.” Josie did a half bow before turning and pushing PJ out the door. 

You laughed as hazel just looked mortified, “we’ll continue this later, I think we should get back to the club though- kinda wanna see you lay some bitchs out.” 

She took a deep breath and patted down her shirt, before looking in the mirror and fixing her hair. 

You gave her another thumbs up before the two of you left the bathroom to go back to the gym. 

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

Send me requests please 🙈

[desideriumwriter]

heyyyy i wanted to request a peter x fem!reader fic! where peter shows up at readers window and he’s cut or something and needs reader to stitch him up and reader is scared to but she eventually does and peters all calm and encouraging reader while she’s freaking out and screaming on the inside

i loveeeee your writing and i can’t wait for more ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

ty for the request!! i love this idea so much lmaoo

cw: talks of blood, being stabbed, stitches, nothing too graphic i think! poorly proofread, works with any spiderman version! | wc: 1.0k | navi

It’s a late Sunday night and you’re hunched over your desk, your small desk lamp and the moonlight peeking through your translucent curtains being the only light in your room.

There’s a few papers scattered across the wooden desk with your laptop in front of you, several tabs open on a topic for the project that’s due tomorrow.

Your room is mostly quiet, the only sound being your fingers clicking against the keyboard or your pencil on paper and the soft music playing from your radio.

A loud thud against your window made you jolt up from your slouched position, you turned in the direction of the noise.

You saw Peter in his suit, his hand holding down on his abdomen. His voice was muffled through the suit and the window as he asked you to open the window.

Immediately, you got up and unlocked the window, sliding the glass panel up, you couldn’t get a word in before he started crawling through, slightly stumbling once inside.

He yanked off his mask, dropping it onto your desk.

The single lamp on your desk didn’t give you the best sight of him, but you could tell his chest was heaving as he held onto your wall.

“Peter?” Your face was covered with worry at his weak posture.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you, I usually fix myself up but your place was closer than mine.”

“Peter, what the hell happened?”

“I got in the middle of a mugging and I may have gotten...” He trailed off as he removed his hand from his stomach, revealing a nasty gash, blood staining his skin and suit around the injury.

“Oh my god, we need to get you to a hospital.” You gasped at the sight.

“No, no hospitals.” He strained. “It’s just a flesh wound.” He pressed his suited hand back onto the injury.

“You've been stabbed!” You cried out, looking at him with disbelief.

“Cut.” He corrected as you helped him sit down in your desk chair, he peeled his suit off until his abdomen was bare.

“Peter, this looks bad,” You looked at him with pure worry, “We seriously need to get you-“

“Your moms a nurse, right?” His head perked up as he cut off your sentence.

“Yeah, but she's at the one place you don’t want to go!” It was true, your mom had the night shift at the hospital tonight, your mother had no idea the sweet boy from your english class was Spider Man either. You had no idea where he was going with this.

“Well she’s gotta have a first aid kit here, right?”

“Yeah, she’s got like a giant bag under the sink but-“ Your voice was starting to become more panicked than his was originally

“She’s taught you a few tricks, I remember-“ He shifted in seat and winced a bit, “ I remember you telling that to me.” Your heart fluttered for a second, he remembered, then it went straight back to panicking.

“I mean I know the basics but I’m not a nurse!”

“You know the basics.” He placed his hand gently under your chin, softly moving your head to look at him.

“Peter.” You sighed, knowing he would be stubborn no matter what.

“Go get the first aid kit, please.” His plea came a few seconds after the rest of the sentence, and it was full of desperation.

You gave him a silent answer, running to the bathroom, grabbing a hand towel and the bag of supplies your mother kept.

When you came back you dropped the bag onto the floor, before moving the hand that was over his wound and replacing it with the towel.

Peter kept the pressure on it while you zipped open and shuffled through the bag. You soon were able to find a small suture kit.

“I’ll check and fix up whatever you think you’ve gotten wrong, okay?” Peter assured you.

“Okay. Okay.” Your voice came out in a whisper, he watched as you readied all the supplies, it felt like a miracle when you were finally able to get the thread through the hole.

When everything was ready to go, you held the wound together with your non-dominant hand, the other clutching the needle.

Peter noticed how your hand hovered hesitantly, your eyes darting all around the injury.

He laid his bloodied and somehow steady hands over your shaky ones.

“Come on, you’re a smart girl, you’ve got this.” He spoke softly, hooking a finger underneath your chin and lifting it to meet your gaze.

You took a deep breath and nodded. As you worked you silently repeated the steps you were taught.

It felt like you could finally breathe once you finished covering the spot with bandages and gauze.

“All done. That should be good right?” You sat back, Peter gave you a sweet smile and nod, whispering a ‘thanks’ before giving you a kiss on the forehead.

You went off to clean the blood off your hands and get a moment to calm your racing heart.

Peter had already put his suit back on and grabbed his mask from where he dropped it by the time you’d gotten out the bathroom.

“What’re you doing?” You crossed your arms over your chest as you watched him open the window, he stopped immediately, staring at you like a deer caught in the headlights.

“I-I’m just going back out.” He said sheepishly, you sighed.

“You’re not going anywhere. You’re staying.” You scoffed, dropping your arms to your sides and walking over.

“But I have to-“

“You are in no condition to be swinging around the city.” You interrupted, moving his hands and closing the window shut.

Peter groaned out your name like an impatient child.

“What if-“ He began, you rolled your eyes and held the sides of his face gently.

“Peter, you need some rest. Stay. Please.” The way your voice whispered the last word was enough to melt away his stubbornness.

“I’ll let Aunt May know I'm staying the night.” He mumbled, dropping his mask once again, earning a smile from you.

“Good.” You gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Take off that dirty suit. I’ll grab you some pajamas.”

tell me what you thought! <3

[shadowshrike]

Interfering with Halsin's Portal

It's pretty well known that there are a few situations you can get in where Halsin is well and truly angry rather than disappointed or worried, but I don't think a lot of folks know one of those situations is if you mess with his portal to the Shadowfell. It's a heartwrenching bit of acting. It's also fundamental to the plot of my in-progress fic Girdled Roots, so I figured I might share it with the other Halsin-lovers out there who have never seen it.

EDIT: Please be aware this is datamined dialog and may not be visible in game. It appears to be intended to trigger if the player attempts to enter the portal, which I don't believe is possible in the final game, or at least I couldn't find a way in the most recent version. Sharing this is simply to enjoy the incredible acting and get some plot bunnies moving, not to make any commentary about the game's canon.

Halsin's Initial Reaction

Halsin: No! Stop! Halsin: It's gone... that was our one chance. You've doomed this place to darkness! Halsin: I warned you - told you this was my burden to carry. Why didn't you listen?

The pure rage and despair is visceral. Prior to this, Halsin mentions this portal has been a century in the making, but he's so calm and measured (even upon success) that it is easy to dismiss just how much agony has plagued him as he hoped to make things right. This chance is everything to him. It has guided his every action for a century. It is a hundred years of work, prayer, and guilt to rectify the horrific fate of both land and people that came to nothing because a stranger he trusted refused to listen to him.

The portal breaking is the only time we hear Halsin speak the truth of its importance to him without a hint of emotional regulation. He is wild with pain. This man who is always thoughtful and slow to anger in the face of horror with the wisdom of age and suffering to guide him has become too overwhelmed to show any kindness.

Player response

The player is given several different ways to respond, and Halsin's reaction varies a surprising amount depending on how understandable their reason is. In most cases, he states that he needs to be alone afterward.

Option 1: I'm sorry - I acted on instinct. Halsin: Words won't repair what's been done to this land. Nothing will... I need to be alone.

You can hear the ache in Halsin's voice, but he's somewhat understanding of this response. He projects more sadness than unchecked rage. The player has admitted to making a mistake, and Halsin isn't the type of person who hold onto vengeance when an apology has been made, but he's not naive or people-pleasing enough to say "it's okay" or offer comfort either. The safest thing for everyone is for him to step away to grieve when there is nothing more to be done.

Option 2: I did all the work here - I couldn't just let you take the glory. Halsin: Glory?! There's no glory here. Now there's nothing here - only shadows and the total absence of hope. Halsin:  There is nothing more to be said... I need to be alone.

Pure fury radiates from Halsin's response if the player focuses on the idea of being some grand hero rather than actually caring for the outcome. What the player did was an unforgiveable act, dooming everything that Halsin holds dear, and you have the audacity to complain about not getting glory from it. Again, he steps away, but this feels more like he's doing it because he believes you're worthless to reason with rather than because he needs a moment.

Option 3: I saved your grove - I figured it'd be best if I handled this as well. Halsin: We were this close to healing these lands. Now your arrogance has torn open the wounds once more. Halsin:  There is nothing more to be said... I need to be alone.

Halsin is still frustrated with this response and unmistakably angry, but it's significantly toned down from the idea of wanting to go through the portal for glory. More like he thinks you're a self-important idiot than a truly terrible person.

Specialized player responses

There are also three special responses you can give if you have a particular class or diety.

Druid: I thought my powers were equal to yours. Halsin: It wasn't just power this needed - it was wisdom, understanding. I suffered along with this place for years trying to understand the curse... and it seems I will continue to do so. Halsin:  There is nothing more to be said... I need to be alone.

Interestingly, he responds much more intensely to a druid than some of the other player choices. It might be in part because he feels like a druid should know better. He lectures the player like an Archdruid would initiates in his Grove, alternating between angry and explanatory, trying to get the player to understand why they were wrong and the sheer magnitude of their error. He ultimately ends in a much more resigned place here rather than personally resentful. Like a father-figure being forced through further life trials because of a child's foolish indiscretion. Frustrating, but inevitable.

Selunite: I trusted in Selûne to guide me through the shadows. Halsin: My friend - I wish you had trusted in me.

This is probably Halsin's most simple response with the least vitriol. He fully understands this answer, even if he's disappointed by it. The fact he calls the player 'friend' suggests a certain tired acceptance of this being a natural behavior for a Selunite trying to do good. We don't see this calm in other responses where Halsin was surprised by the player's choice.

Sharran: The Shadowfell is no place for non-believers - I couldn't allow you to soil it. Halsin: I should never have trusted an ally of the Dark Lady.

If you've ever taken Halsin along with Shadowheart in Act 2, then you know he is absolutely scathing toward her and her faith. He likely isn't as angry if a Sharran breaks the portal because it is utterly predictable. It merely confirms a truth he already knew and talked himself out of. That Sharrans cannot be fully trusted in matters of their goddess, even if one was good enough to rescue his people from the goblins.

[sister-lucifer]

Apology, With Tears 

Lucifer x Gender Neutral Reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst/Comfort

Summary: Lucifer comforts you during a hard time, and reminds you that your feelings are always welcome with him

Content/Warnings: Comfort, guilt, angst with happy ending, implied venting (the source of anguish itself isn’t specified, please project whatever issue you may be having onto this fic /srs)

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio! 

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out 

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated:)

Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors!

“I-I’m sorry….” 

Your voice was so small. Shockingly, terrifyingly so. For a moment Lucifer froze, unsure if he had really heard it. The words were as fragile as a single snowflake landing on the bare concrete, ready to break and melt into oblivion at any moment. They were as quiet as the coo of a dove in a raging thunderstorm, and yet they shook Lucifer to his very core. 

“Excuse me?” 

“I’m sorry, Lucifer…” 

There was a small part of him that thought maybe the repetition would bring clarity, but no such luck. Gently he hooked two fingers under your chin, tilting your head up towards him in a slow manner so that you’d have ample opportunity to resist him if you’d like. 

You did not. You allowed him to meet your eyes with his. 

That was the softest you’ve ever seen his gaze. 

The sharp brows that were usually taut with annoyance were furrowed just slightly in such a way that you could tell Lucifer didn’t even know he was doing it. He would never purposely let concern show so obviously, but it seems he was preoccupied with other, more pressing concerns at the moment. 

Something sorrowful in the swirling red of his eyes stabbed into your heart with a pang of guilt. To know you had caused Lucifer—the chronically overworked head of house—such worry brought a heaving sob from you. 

The last of your resilience disappeared like a flame in the wind. The tears flowed freely, and there was no stopping them. They ran fast down your cheeks and fell into your shaking palms and stained your shirt. They were shamefully, burning hot, like liquid fire on your face, but once they fell to your lap you could not feel them. You brought up an arm to cover your eyes, the tears soaking into your sleeve and soon after your skin. 

“I’m…I’m sorry, I—“ 

“Please, please stop saying that, my love….” 

The words are surprising, but even in your shock you can’t bring yourself to look up at Lucifer. 

“Why…” He begins, at a loss for words for the first time since he can remember. 

“…Why do you keep apologizing?” 

You thought you’d have an immediate answer, and yet when you open your mouth no words come. That should be an easy question. You knew why. 

Didn’t you? 

You have to search a bit more before you even think of speaking. 

“I just…I feel bad for…b-being like this—“ 

“Being like what?!” Lucifer interrupts, and now his confusion and desperation is showing through. He’s not raising his voice and yet his words hold a sense of urgency akin to that of a scream for help. He isn’t angry, but he is so overwhelmingly worried. 

“I…I-I shouldn’t…” You have to fish around in the word pool a bit more before pulling out the right ones. “I shouldn’t be…making you deal with this, i-it’s my problem, I can handle it, I…” 

The pause is heavy. Unbearably, crushingly heavy. 

“I shouldn’t be doing this to you…” 

It is in this moment that Lucifer’s black heart shatters into countless pieces. The larger fragments linger in their place, the smaller splinters go flying off in all directions. It is likely that he will never recover all of them. There is no way to when something like this happens. He knows that you have felt the same. You have lost many pieces of your heart along the way here. 

Fortunately, Lucifer has some to spare. 

“You aren’t doing anything to me, my love…” He assures you, taking your hands in his. His grip is loose, encouraging you to follow his movements instead of forcing you. 

“You talk about yourself as if you are some terrible, laborious thing that must be dealt with against all will. I’m not here because I am forced to or because I feel I must, or else. If I thought this wasn’t a serious matter I would have walked out of this room long ago.” 

He’s right. You know he’s right. Living with six unruly little brothers means Lucifer has a very high tolerance for emotional turmoil. You’ve seen him shoo his bickering brothers away or send an injured Mammon off with no more than a ‘good luck’ and a wave of his hand. He knew his brothers could deal with themselves. 

But you? You were not them, but he still knew exactly what you needed.

“You are not some heavy burden forced on my shoulders, I choose to be here. You have nothing to apologize for because I am asking you to seek me out for help.” 

A gloved thumb wipes a tear from your cheek, and for the first time you meet Lucifer’s gaze on your own. His expression is lighter somehow,  brows not pressed quite so tightly together. 

“Hardships cannot be endured alone, that is a fact. They are meant to be shared. So please, no more ‘sorry.’ Apologies are for when you do something wrong…like how a certain twin keeps eating the drywall in the common room…” 

You can’t help but laugh at that. It’s weak, hardly intelligible through your labored breathing, but Lucifer hears it. 

The smile that crosses his lips is merely a ghost, gone in a moment. 

But you see it. 

It comforts you in such a way that it destroys every defensive wall you had been fighting so hard to keep up. Suddenly you’re reaching for him, gripping onto his uniform shirt with aching fingers before pulling him to you. A loud sob echoes through you as you hide your face against his chest, hot tears leaving trails down his button up. 

If you were anyone else in any other scenario, Lucifer would probably be a bit appalled at how you were ruining his freshly ironed uniform. 

And yet, the thought never even crossed his mind.

A tender hand strokes the back of your head, and the other ushers you up into a more comfortable sitting position in his lap. 

He doesn’t shush you, or tell you it’s okay, because it isn’t. But it doesn’t have to be. He knows you will calm yourself in your own time. 

Until then, he is more than content to stay right here. 

[venusandsaturnsrings]

the way i instantly knew what fic that anon was talking about omg

https://archiveofourown.org/works/36684730/chapters/108331423

anyway stuck in a wall is such a delicious trope so i propose reader being turned and trained into incel!taru's very well behaved onahole and cumdumpster. that's it that's my contribution have a nice day

THANK U!! OUR SAVIOUR!! linking the fic anon was talking abt right here!! very delicious me likey!! stuck tropes are so cliche but i do love them just as much as the next degen internet princess… here’s your gift for your service!!

if you weren’t grossed out and embarrassed before, you sure are now. spending time with Ajax for a school project was humiliating enough, though you needed a good grade and he was smart, but to be stuck like this? god may as well strike you dead before your own internal dilemma did. his apartment is fancy and you would be impressed if it weren’t for the disaster on all surfaces. with all that money you’d think he’d hire a personal cleaner but no, he lives like this!! and due to the mess, it was only a matter of time until you found yourself stuck in a spot and unable to get out.

you had been rifling under the desk he uses for various projects, he has a separate one for his gaming set up, when you found yourself sandwiched between the wall and edge after trying to reach for the eraser you had dropped behind it. Ajax had left the room presumably for his fourth energy drink of the day so you took the opportunity to be nosy and it came back to bite you in the ass hard. how you even managed to get this stuck is beyond you but it seemed all your attempts to wiggle free only worsened the situation. you gritted your teeth and prepared to be mockingly laughed at upon hearing the footsteps approaching the room once more, followed by the slight movement of the door. then, silence. if you focused hard enough you’re sure you could hear the atoms shift around you.

“…quite the predicament you’re in.” his tone is annoyingly leisurely as you hear him approach. you swallow the urge to make some snide remark and instead pathetically ask for his help. Ajax scoffs. “help? why would i help when i’ve got all this,” he gropes at your ass, “available to me. it’s your fault for snooping around.” perhaps he was right and this is indeed a problem of your creation but that didn’t negate how gross this all felt. he hummed and flipped up your skirt with greedy hands touching all of your exposed and burning skin. grabbing at the elastic of your panties, he snaps the fabric against your hips to hear you yelp and laughs in response; he’s enjoying this obviously. “guess this is my chance, huh?” before you can even respond, he’s fully on you.

Ajax grinds his hips into yours, the hard-on he’s been sporting since you entered his house pressing firmly against the fat of your cunt. his groans are obnoxiously loud and you feel him bend his body over, rutting against you pathetically. he removes his pants while still pressed against you and you can feel the glasses fall off his face and onto your hips; he doesn’t make the effort to put them back on. with greedy hands he slides your panties to the side and rubs himself between the folds of your pussy, tip pressing hard into your clit with every roll of your hips. tears bead at the edge of your eyes from the humiliating and harsh experience but you dully note just how good this feels.

“you’ve always been such a mouthy girl… makin’ jokes ‘bout me when you think i can’t hear. i always jack off thinkin’ ‘bout how i could set you straight with my dick… c’mon, you like this don’t you, whore?” his dirty talk could use a bit of work yet the feeling of him pressing into you sent your brain spiralling. you don’t notice your own whimpers until he laughs. “like this? good, gonna make you my personal fleshlight. gonna fuck you real good whenever i need.” Ajax is breathing harshly as he finishes all over the outside of your cunt and onto the inside of your thighs and the floor. he sucks in sharply before straightening up, a finger trailing through his own mess.

“might keep you here for a bit longer…”

[steviewashere]

Perfect Timing

Rating: General CW: References to Sex Tags: Established Relationship, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Marriage Proposals, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Future Fic, Dialogue Heavy

For the @steddielovemonth prompt: "Love is having hope for the future together."

💕—————💕

Steve was sitting at the dining table, hands spread out on the surface, staring down at a piece of mail when he heard Eddie clamber through the front door. Based on the string of things being dropped and Eddie not reacting negatively, just sighing a little bit and picking things up, must mean he was having a good day.

It’s funny, Steve thinks, that he knows the way in which Eddie’s emotions express when he comes through the front door of their shared space. They began renting an apartment in Chicago just a year or so after getting together. Tail end of 1986 meant sharing a bed and house by August of 1987. And it’s theirs. Filled with miscellaneous clutter—a bookshelf brimmed with books, coffee table layered with Sports Illustrated and Heavy Metal magazines, dice and keys and Topps baseball cards, and picture frames they dust and drawings from Eddie’s sketchbooks and ‘failed’ art projects of Steve’s that Eddie thought were masterpieces. Point is, they’ve made it their home. And they started their lives with a breath of fresh air.

And now it’s 1995, depending on one another’s reactions, this all may just crumble at their feet.

See, Eddie was out playing a demo tape for a small record company based here in Chicago. A little indie place that’s been looking to expand their music catalogue from contemporary to a broader lick of alternative genres. Which, it turns out, includes thrash and heavy metal. Which, Steve adores, Eddie is amazing at performing.

But, Steve? He’s been anxiously waiting all day for the mail to arrive. Biting down on his fingernails, chewing them up so much they bleed and he has to run his fingertips under lukewarm water. Pacing the carpet of the living room. Pushing down and peering through the eggshell blinds. Biting his fingernails, again. And then it came and now he’s at their dining table and now he’s waiting for Eddie to careen around the corner and kiss his hair and ask in his greeting Steve voice, “What’s this, baby?”

“What’s this, baby?” Steve hears from above him. He jumps a little bit. Maybe he should have put on music or something, try to get himself to stay grounded in the present. “Stevie?” Eddie calls.

“Oh, uh,” Steve stutters. “It’s a letter I got in the mail, but I—I wanna hear about your demo tape.” Eddie gives him a sidelong glance. A little furrow to his eyebrows, a frown. “The letter isn’t anything bad, I read it already. But I don’t know how you’ll feel about it.”

Eddie hums, nodding in slow understanding. He slides into the dining seat across from Steve. Mirroring his position. Then, he realizes, based on whatever face Steve makes, that it’s only anxiety inducing. He sets his chin in his right palm, stretching the other onto the table for Steve to take. Waiting patiently. And says, when Steve actually grabs back, “It went really well, sweetheart. They offered me a contract.”

“That’s great news, Eds! What did—Did you sign it? Please tell me you signed it.”

Then, Eddie sighs. And Steve shrinks a little. “I did,” he tells slowly, as if testing the words for the first time. “I signed it. They’re keeping me based here. I’ll start recording next Saturday.” He squeezes at Steve’s hand.

“What’s the long face for, then?”

“I’m not making a face,” Eddie feebly argues.

“You are!” And Steve mocks him. Frowning, eyes distant to the surface of the table, bunching his eyebrows impossibly farther down his face. His shoulders slump. “That’s what you did! What happened? Were they pieces of shit to you or something? Did they like—Are they underselling your music prowess or something? Do I need to kick their—“

Eddie chuckles. His laughter like honey. “Babe, breathe for me,” he whispers. “My only issue is that—“ But he cuts himself off there. He leans in across the table. Eyes down at the letter in front of Steve. “That’s a letter from the community college, isn’t it?”

Steve pulls his hands back, laying them palm down on the paper. He swallows thickly. “It is. Why?”

“Did you get in?”

“I’m not telling you until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“You telling me determines whether or not I have a genuine problem. So…Did you get into the college that you’ve been looking at forlorn every time we drive by it? Or did you not and I need to go kick some old people ass?” His eyes are large in earnest. Grinning like the Cheshire Cat. His hair curtaining his face, making his facial features impossibly darker, shadowed by something tricky.

Steve chews on his lip. “I got in,” he mutters. “I got into their English literature program. And once I’m done with that, I transfer. And once I transfer, I start classes at a four year. I’ll be studying English literature and secondary education,” he rambles. His fingers tap over the letter. “Is that…Does that ruin your whole music dream? I don’t want to be the reason that you chase something else.”

For a moment, the room goes scary still and silent. Eddie’s facial features soften. And Steve’s heart rabbits against his ribcage. Hard enough that he slides a palm over his t-shirt, massaging at the rapid beating, hoping that he doesn’t have a heart attack on the third floor of their complex. That would suck, he thinks bitterly. And my future would be done for.

He sits back in his chair. Anxiety thrumming under his skin when Eddie still doesn’t say anything. Just keeps looking at him like he’s…Like he’s planning an entire five lifetimes with Steve. Like he’s about to sweep Steve off his feet, chuck him over the side of their mattress, give him hickeys until he’s a mottled lovesick mess, and then get down on one knee and surrender his heart to Steve’s hands. Like he’s gonna propose something wonderful like marriage. And, maybe, Steve lets himself believe something crazy like that.

“Remember when I told you that I consider marriage as a possibility?” Eddie asks abruptly.

And, goddamnit, if Eddie does something crazy and stupid like propose right now, Steve may just throw up out of excitement. How embarrassing, he thinks. And he chuckles despite that.

“I do,” he finds himself whispering. “What does this—“

“And I considered it with you. And I held you close and you cried against my lips and we made love like we were the only people in the universe? Remember all the times that you’d lay on top of me out of contentment? All the times I’d hold you close to my chest? All the times you kissed over my heart, like it was the only thing keeping us tethered to the moment?”

Nervously, Steve laughs. “Yes, Eddie. Yes, I remember all that. What is your point with—“

“Fucking margarita nights. You’re a sweet drunk, d’you know that? Like almost unbearably sweet.” Eddie scoots his chair around the table. Setting it next to Steve, on his left. And his hands come into Steve’s field of view. Gathering Steve’s palms in his, squeezing and caressing the skin. “All the times in which we thought that this apartment was all that we had.” He shakes his head, smirking, snickering like this intense reaction he’s having is something funny to Steve.

Fact of the matter, Steve is scared shitless right now. What if this is his way of breaking up, he can’t help himself from wondering. Cruel. He swallows against the lump in his throat. Words escaping him.

“I want to marry you so bad,” Eddie swears. “Wanna do the whole ceremony. And the paper signing. And the honeymoon, but in some little cabin on a mountain. Where we load the fireplace with wood and we huddle in for warmth and we sip at rich cups of Uncle Wayne’s hot chocolate. And then, in a few years time, when we’ve financially recovered from the wedding, we’ll buy a house.

“We’ll buy a house and paint it yellow,” he promises. Steve begins to cry, something silent, but can’t pinch his nose to stop himself. “It’ll be yellow because that’s your favorite color. With white shutters. And a big backyard for a dog or two. Wrap around porch so that we can sit and watch the sunrises and sunsets.” He takes a deep breath that sounds a little nasally. “I’ll make you breakfast every morning,” he continues, “serve you a fresh bowl of strawberries, ones that you grow under the big front window of our house. I’ll kiss you all over the face, like I do now, and you’ll grumble that it’s too early and then you’ll smell the bacon and you’ll give me your stupid sleepy smile that makes my heart do funny little flips and you’ll kiss me on the mouth and it’ll be disgusting because you haven’t brushed your teeth.

“And I’ll be a very happy man.” Eddie’s breath trembles in his chest. He swallows hard. Steve wonders if he can hear his own shaky breath. Or if he’s too involved in whatever this is. “I’ll be so happy,” he whispers, “And I’ll find myself thinking, how did I ever get so lucky? But it isn’t luck. And it isn’t fate. It was trauma that forced us together and I’ll laugh about it. But then I’ll sigh because who the fuck cares how we started all of this?

“You’ll be a funky middle school English teacher. With your nicely done hair and a sweater vest and some khakis. I’ll be a musician, hopefully. But, every day you’ll have a small lunch; an orange that I made you peel but I removed the pulp from, a tuna salad sandwich because you’re my fish loving dork, and a bottle of water. I’ll leave you a note everyday telling you how proud I am because I’ve never stopped being proud of you.

“I’m proud of you, Steve, d’you know that? So much.” He laughs wetly. His eyes staring down at their interlocked hands. “All this to say that I’m proud of you. That I’m happy. We’ve got a future, sweetheart. And I want to be your husband. Will you—“ He swallows once more, thick and heavy and almost painful looking. Can love hurt when it’s this sweet?

Eddie finally looks up. His eyes glistening and his cheeks wet and his skin tinted pink. His eyelashes stuck together. Nose dripping only slightly. He’s a messy crier, but Steve doesn’t fare any better. “Will you marry me, Steve? Stay by my side and we’ll accomplish our dreams together?” His voice is soft. Enamored.

Unbelievable, Steve swallows back. Because how did he get somebody like Eddie in his life? How did he manage to find love and have it promised back at him?

“Yes, Eddie,” he gasps out. “God, holy shit.” He drops his hands from Eddie’s hold, instead wrapping them around his torso. Muffled into Eddie’s shoulder, “All this just because I’m finally figuring my shit out? God.”

Eddie cackles, burying his own face in Steve’s hair. They sway a little. “I just—“ Eddie begins whispering. “I don’t know. I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while. Every time seemed right, but this one? Baby, this one was perfect.”

Steve sighs into the embrace. Content to not say anything else. Except, “I’m proud of you, too, honey. I love you so much and I’m so proud of you.”

“I love you too, love bug. God, Steve, I love you, too.”

For the first time since 1983, Steve allows himself to truly settle in for a future. A future, he knows, he’ll be especially proud of.

💕—————💕 Fun fact, I accidentally deleted this whole ficlet when I was copying and pasting. Hit the spacebar and watched it disappear in front of my eyes. But I figured out how to get it back, not before almost throwing up on myself out of anger. Love y'all <3

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Dear Raven ven venny ven, do you have any favourite ships in the twst cast? If so, why?

I don’t have any ships among the TWST cast that I’m crazy about! That doesn’t mean I “hate” all the combinations, it’s just that I feel neutral about most of them. I would say I’m pretty open to considering rare pairs and all kinds of tropes (enemies to lovers, childhood friends, etc.), but I’ve yet to find one in TWST that solidly lands with me.

Certainly there are dynamics I enjoy—the Science Club boys, for example—but do I see them being romantically engaged with one another? Eeeeeh, debatable. I could really go either way.

It’s actually easy to (temporarily) influence my takes on certain ships 😂 Sometimes I’ll listen to my friends talk ad nauseam about a ship they’re super into and their excitement is so infectious that it rubs off on me. I’ll go, “Wow, that really is a cute interaction! I can see why you ship them.” This had happened before with Malleus x Cater a few years back, though now I’ve returned to a neutral state on it since the shipper friend hasn’t been as active talking about the two. I appreciate my friends for popping off because even if I don’t have the same passion as they do for the ship, it helps me see the characters and their interactions under a new lens or from a different angle. (I actually wrote a fic where Cater takes Malleus to a maid cafe, inspired by my friend’s speeches about the duo. It’s meant to be platonic, but I think it could also be read as romantic if you choose to view it that way.)

I get easily influenced by fan art too, even if I don’t know the creator on a personal level. A few weeks back, I saw this Jade x Jamil post and it was so wholesome and tooth rottingly sweet (even though it was a ship I did not gave the time of day to before) 😭 And then I started to think about their similarities (both vice dorm leaders, both passive aggressive, both manipulators, etc.) and gradually convinced myself “Hey, it could work!” Now that I’ve had some time to be weaned off of the fan art though, I’m back to that baseline feeling of neutrality. It’s the exposure therapy wearing off/j

On the topic of Yuu (they’re technically a part of the TWST cast), I’m particularly lukewarm about any ships involving them—and Yuu ships are the only exception to my “I’m easily influenced to change my mind” rule; I’m always neutral about Yuu ships. They’re a blank slate, so the dynamics they have with other characters changes drastically depending on what “kind” of Yuu they are. I don’t have a Yuusona of my own, nor do I project onto Yuu, so I find little value in their character (or lack thereof). This extends to ships too; because I don’t see (my) Yuu as a “real” character, I also don’t see the potential in shipping them with those in the cast. I’ll support everyone’s right to their own Yuu and related ships, but I don’t necessarily get gung-ho about them unless I know the creators well. This is because the familiarity I have with them then extends to their Yuus; I can see bits of them and their own personalities and experiences in their Yuus, and that makes me feel like I have a more meaningful bond with whatever their interpretation (and romantic involvement!) is.

Of course, there are also some ships that I don’t like or that personally make me uncomfortable (for example, incest ships) 💦 I don’t want to like… yuck your yums, so I won’t go into explicit detail about which other ships I’m not a fan of or would prefer as platonic. Regardless of how I may feel about those, I don’t want to give the impression that I’m going to judge you for what you do or don’t ship. You do you—just be sure to respect boundaries and don’t push what you ship onto others, especially if they have indicated they’re not into the same things you are.

Just to make things clear, please do NOT send me asks like “Here is my ship and here is why you should consider it!” and “How do you feel about [Character A] x [Character B]?” or any variant (which includes polycules, love triangles, etc.). I will also not be responding to asks pressing me for which ships I dislike. I won’t be providing a tier list either since there are way too many possible combinations to account for. Shipping talk with strangers/the public makes me anxious and I’d rather not have that level of stress on a consistent basis.

Thank you for understanding ^^

[diiwata]

my district 4 masterpost!

to me, district 4 is a mix of se/east asian, lat-am, and even a bit of black influence. had a bit of help from @blackoutdays13, creds to her too <3

let's dive in (joke intended). more below the cut!

CULTURAL TIDBITS

i like to think dance is an important part of the d4 culture. many artists that contribute to hip-hop culture originate from california, especially dances :) not to mention cultural latam dances, the dragon dance from china, and maybe even tinikling (projecting so hard rn)! movement is how they get through the day.

their diet may consist of mostly seafood, but grains are also a staple. rice, bread, noodles, and tortillas are often paired with meats and vegetables to make meals more fulfilling. of course, they aren't the same to the grains we produce now, but it's close enough to what they are able to get their hands on.

as stereotypical it is to asian culture, i like to think education holds some importance there, too. it doesn't just involve hitting the books, but also street smarts and survival skills. even if you're working, there's some downtime saved for learning/passing on knowledge from the older to younger generation.

there is a large sense of community in the districts. it's a staple in asian culture to identify with your community. your achievements and your failures are not just yours, but is a reflection of the people you identify with. this is touched more on my asian d4/d7 analysis.

since california legalized this, they definitely had... recreational uses for certain substances. you know. mary jane, the 🍃. it's a whole thing in the district and a "hidden gem". it's more popular with the lower class, but the capitol thinks it's used by the best of the best. they don't have to know, though ;)

LOCATIONS

their marketplace is concentrated in the docks! similar to the piers of santa monica and san francisco, there's a lot of street vendors, kiosks, and street performers.

the further away you are from the shore, the more impoverished you are. the people of the "inner lands" probably process the food for safer consumption, or travel to the shore to find work (hence the kiosks and such). grains could also be grown in the inner lands, which is how they're able to supply the district with rice and such w/o having to rely on d9 imports too much.

a train or trolley system helps large capacities of people travel to and fro their work. the trolley might be a bit more for tourists, though.

lots of cliffs. lots of mountains. houses on cliffs and mountains are seen as a privilege. I imagine the victor's village is somewhere here!

the houses in the victor's village look like italianate homes in san francisco (1). houses by richer folks look like malibu/southern californian beach houses (2). inner lands houses are either the older, fenced homes or apartment units (3)!

RELIGION

(i read these in some fics!!) considering that latinos are also big in california, and that a lot of asians share a catholic faith in the state, i could see them using rosaries or crosses. not because of a belief in it, but as an equivalent of a good luck charm.

to add onto this ^ they celebrate ash wednesday, but with their own twist. the ash on their foreheads is instead a reminder of who they lost.

speaking of holidays, the festival that they celebrate during the victory tour months probably closely mimics lunar new year! of course, they don't follow the lunar calendar, but their traditions and rituals to celebrate that day look awfully similar. red envelopes could be passed around, but I highly doubt that there's much in there if you're from the inner lands.

dia de los muertos is celebrated too! possibly during the victory tour months, too. imagine a festival that's just spilling with the golds and reds of lunar new year and the vibrant colors associated with dia de los muertos!

NATURAL DISASTERS

earthquakes. wildfires. droughts. those are the holy trinity of natural disasters in d4. protocols for all three are drilled into the minds of d4 citizens since youth.

thanks to the indigenous practice of controlled fires that persisted during the building of panem, they are often able maintain these wildfires. but sometimes, the wildfires do get out of control and turn the sky orange.

their structures are relatively stable to help accommodate for the earthquakes, but of course, damage will be done especially during a huge one that occurs in california every few centuries.

in my finnick/oc fic, "the big one" occurs before the 65th games. after finnick's victory, they paid more attention to d4.

droughts are not to be taken lightly in d4, especially in the inner lands. don't shower for more than five minutes. turn off the faucet while brushing your teeth. never keep the sink running. fix leaking faucets whenever you can b/c every drop counts.

a water limit is imposed on them. most of the water goes directly to the upper class and the capitol resorts by the coast.

CLASS DIVISIONS

the inner lands' lower class, the coast's merchants, the officials, and the victors are all classes in district four. the lower class harbors some resentment towards the upper class, and it's the other way around, too.

since most of the water travels to the upper class, that's where the main resentment lies. everything is for tourism and to maintain appearances.

because of this maintenance and carefully curated appearance, I can see the capitol citizens romanticizing d4 to an extreme degree. with finnick as the "face" of the district, it only worsens. they think of d4 as beaches, tropical fruits, and a sunny paradise. but once they take the train that passes through the rural lands and the poorer urban areas with the fog limiting their view, they realize that district 4 isn't all what they shaped it up to be.

I also imagine the upper class trying to dismiss the lower class because they don't look appealing enough to the capitol. they ARE a career district, after all. this could tie into the model minority myth, which I discuss in this post using hannah's ask, as well as the d4/d7 hc I linked previously. to summarize, reputation is ingrained in asian cultures. this need for a good rep could bring d4 to try their hardest to appeal to the model minority myth and keep up with the other career districts.

all in all, d4 is my little try-hard district rich with culture, mary jane, and the impending doom of "the big one". I love it with all my heart. if you have anything to add, or things you want me to touch up on, feel free to drop an ask or say something in your rb!

stream "california love" by 2pac 🙏🏽

[honeyywoods]

IT’S HERE!!!!!!!!!!! THE FLOWER LANGUAGE FIC IS DONE AT LAST!!!!!!!!! I’m treating this as sort of a draft-but-not-draft before I upload this to Ao3 so if u have any criticism/comments PLEASE share!! I really appreciate it :)

some part of me came alive (the first time that you called me baby)

Davey loves flower language. Jack loves Davey.

(title from First Time by Hozier)

———————————

Davey loved flowers.

Well, Jack wasn’t so sure it was the flowers themselves. What he did know, however, was based on an experience he’d had a couple weeks back while selling with Davey in the flower district.

It was late May, the weather finally warming to bring the leaves onto the trees. A Saturday, when Davey was free from school and could sell the morning edition. He’d suggested that they sell in the flower district on West 28th - citing something about the nicer weather and incoming summer leading people to want to look at the blooms - and Jack had agreed without thought or complaint, because he’s pathetically easy when it comes to Davey.

So the pair embarked, discussing weekend plans and Davey’s homework and Jack’s newest painting project at Medda’s.

It was fine. It was normal. Except for the fact that Jack couldn’t force his eyes away from Davey - shining eyes, freckles beginning to show from their winter hiding, mouth moving a mile a minute as he regaled Jack with the newest book he’d been reading and hands moving everywhere from his tote strap to his hair to the air in front of him. It was incredibly endearing, albeit extremely distracting to Jack.

“-Are you even listening?” Suddenly jerked Jack out of his reverie, and he nodded a bit mechanically before he registered that he, in fact, had not heard a word Davey had said for at least the past minute. “‘Course, Dave, sounds real swell.”

Davey narrowed his eyes suspiciously, giving Jack a once-over, but then continued talking. Though it was exceptionally difficult to focus when Davey was next to him, Jack attempted to keep up with the conversation and even respond a few times.

His degrees of success were varying, and several times Jack caught his gaze drifting back to Davey’s lips, felt his brain starting to disengage in Davey’s words in favor of thinking about how gorgeous the other boy was.

This was very much not fine or normal, Jack decided. This was torture at the highest level. He found himself practically sighing with relief as they approached West 28th Street.

Davey’s idea for the morning was right, as always. The place was packed with people - vendors selling all sorts of flowers in colors and shapes Jack hadn’t even known existed, people lazily perusing the stands, commuters bustling to and fro. Jack was, in all honesty, surprised that nobody had thought to sell here before. It looked like something out of a painting, and suddenly Jack’s fingers itched for a canvas, a sketchbook, anything to capture the scene before him.

“Oh, this is amazing!” Davey exclaimed immediately, his eyes alight with an almost childlike wonder. “Look at this! They have everything!” A grin spread across Davey’s face as he took in the sights of the market. Despite his initial enchantment with the place, Jack quickly becomes more enthralled by Davey himself, his excitement leading a smile onto Jack’s face as well.

It wasn’t often that Davey allowed himself to get excited about things given his constant responsibilities, so Jack was grateful any time he got to see Davey let loose and be so authentically happy. Jack knew it was sappy, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

They continue into the market, passing several stands with blooms everywhere; erupting from the sides of carts, packed on shelves, or in pots lining the street. “All flowers have meanings, you know.” Davey mentioned, and by the way he was fidgeting with his bag strap Jack could tell he was eager to talk about it.

“Yeah?” Jack responded, his interest piqued. Davey hummed an affirmative ‘mm-hmm’, his grin widening. “Yeah! You can send ‘em to different people depending on what they mean. It’s real fascinating.”

Jack nodded along, intrigued, and a smile works onto his own face as he listens and watches. “Well, I know about roses. You give ‘em to your sweetheart.” Jack can’t help the smirk that works onto his lips, eyeing Davey carefully. The other boy chuckled, scanning over the roses they were passing thoughtfully.

“Not necessarily. Yellow roses are actually just about the worst thing to give your sweetheart,” Davey explained in that tone that Jack has learned to mean he’s very enthusiastic about something “they mean friendship. And black ones mean death, as you could probably guess. Pink or red, though, are fair game for lovers. They can mean a lot of things, but usually love and passion are among them. There are loads of other flowers you could use, though, and I think roses are sort of cliché anyways.”

Jack snorted a laugh, unbelievably fond of Davey’s rambling. “What, did the flowers tell you that themselves?” He teased, entirely joking and if anything just to get a rise out of Davey - which it did. A flush not unlike the ruddy roses around them appeared on Davey’s cheeks, starting high and sweeping down his face. “It’s flower language! It’s a little older, from the beginning of the century, and it’s..it’s like saying things without actually saying them.” He explained, bumping Jack’s shoulder in feigned frustration.

“Sounds like you know your way around these here flowers.” Jack raised his brows, impressed, and Davey had just shrugged. “I read about it a lot. There are more books than you’d think on it, and lots of artwork to go with the flowers. I think you’d like some of them.” He suggested, and Jack’s heart started doing a funny little skip. God, what was wrong with him?

“Alright,” Davey’s voice continued, “We should split up for now so that we’ll have better odds of selling. Meet back…” He trailed off, narrowing his hazel-green eyes to a squint as he scanned for a landmark, and the way they shone in the morning sun reminded Jack of sunlight dancing on water. Then, Davey seemed to get an idea, eyebrows raising and eyes widening as he pointed to a statue of a man on a horse. “By that statue at eleven.”

“Gotcha. See you then, Dave. Stay safe.” Jack responded with a nod, turning to take a few steps. “And if anythin’ happens, you come find me, okay?” He added reflexively, even though he probably didn’t need to. Davey scoffed, and Jack was reminded that he was somehow a completely different guy than when they’d met, and yet somehow still the same. “Jack, you know I can fend for myself.” He insisted, and Jack turned back to face him, a slightly pleading expression working onto his face. “Please, Dave, I just…I just wanna know you’re safe.” He implored, and though Davey sighed he was smiling softly.

“Of course you do. I’ll be fine, Jackie, but if anything happens you’ll be the first to know.” Davey agreed, looking at Jack with those goddamn green eyes, bright and kind and perfect. Jack just nodded, not trusting that his voice wouldn’t crack with Davey looking at him like that.

The two went their separate ways, Jack heading to the opposite side of the street and walking up farther so that most of the foot traffic would be coming in Davey’s direction. That being said, there were a fair number of people on both sides of the street, and Jack imagined he could finish selling quickly enough.

Jack isn’t sure how much time had passed, but by the time he spots Davey again he’d sold near half of his papes. Which is fortunate, given that he was now thoroughly distracted.

He was fully aware that he’d had a bag full of newspapers that need to be sold, aware that he was gawking like an idiot in the middle of the street, but none of that was important. Nothing was more important than the sight in front of him.

Davey seemed to have taken a break from selling, his hat in one hand as he stooped slightly to look at one of the flowers in front of him. And, oh, god save Jack’s soul because his dark curls were mussed and fluffy from his hat and he had that smile on his face, that barely-perceptible-to-anyone-else upward turn at the corners of his mouth, eyes soft and curious. His fingers lightly brushed the petals of one of the blooms, and then he jumped with a start and turned to the seller, who seemed to have started talking to him, no doubt putting on his best schoolboy manners.

Just then, Jack became aware of a man walking towards him with purpose, clearly intending to buy from him. He was neat and clean, with a trimmed mustache and beard, the kind that indicated that he had somewhere to be. Of course someone like this would be trying to buy from him when Jack was most likely to make a complete fool of himself.

Bumbling through the sale, Jack managed to intrigue the man enough to buy a pape from him by what could only be a miracle. At least twice he caught himself looking over the man’s shoulder, watching Davey who’s now engaged in an animated conversation with the clerk. Against his efforts, he’s unable to keep his expression from melting into something soft and fond.

“Dame caught your eye, there, lad?” The man asks, his voice teasing, and Jack curses himself for his blatant behavior.

“Something like that,” he mumbles back absentmindedly, just as Davey tips his head back in laughter, the smile on his face all the light Jack could ever need.

And it’s then that Jack knows, without a doubt, that he is well and truly fucked.

That night, he’d gone to Medda’s with his inspiration at a high and the sole intent of finding out anything and everything that she knew about this ‘flower language’ of Davey’s - which was, evidently, quite a bit, as Medda seemed to know at least something about everything - and he’d been given a hard-covered book filled with intricate black-and-white sketches of flowers alongside their supposed meanings.

“Why the sudden interest?” Medda asked with a curious raise of her brow, even though her mouth is turned up in a knowing half-smile. Jack tried desperately to keep himself from blushing. “Just, ah- got some inspiration for a new piece. On the side.” His hands ran over the spine of the book distractedly, and he barely registered Medda’s unconvinced ‘mm-hmm.’ “Really, ma, it’s nothin’.”

When Jack looks back at her, Medda had this look in her eyes, the kind that he knows sees right through him. “Well, whatever it is, I hope David likes it.” She said casually, and it may as well have been a smack in the face.

“That ain’t- aw, hell, d’you think he will?” Jack didn’t have the capacity to pretend to Medda, so he gave in, shrinking in on himself nervously.

“I think,” Medda started, a warm smile on her face, “That you could win anyone over like that. Not that you need to, not with him.” She’d chuckled, even as Jack dismissed the implication.

Jack had taken the book and spent the majority of his (albeit limited) free time over the next few days. Using old newspaper scraps, he’d scribbled out sketches of the flowers he wanted to use, studying their shapes and colors as he went.

He remembered Davey saying that roses were cliché, so Jack avoided them entirely. Instead, he gathered a hand-sketched bouquet of all colors - blues and purples and reds and pinks.

As he searched, Jack became amazed by the sheer array of meanings that people had come up with for some flowers. Seriously, ‘a foe is near’? If Jack had to warn someone about a foe being near, he sure as hell wouldn’t use flowers to do it.

In the end, Jack had practically a whole garden to choose from. After cleverly asking Les to ask his brother about his favorite flowers - as well as from a firsthand conversation with Davey - Jack had learned that irises were Davey’s favorite, and that a man named Oscar Wilde within the last few years had popularized green carnations as a sort of code for men who courted other men.

The last fact was a particularly heavy one. Jack, of course, knew that he was queer, but that didn’t make it easy. It seemed to be the same way for Davey, who had spilled everything one night when Jack had made some stupid joke about girls. Jack had assured him that it was alright, of course, that his secret was safe and that nearly all of the newsies didn’t have enough time to care about that sort of thing.

From there, it became one of those things that neither of them mentioned, but it wasn’t a bad thing. To Jack, at least, it seemed less like a weight and more like a comfort - to know that someone else was going through something similar alongside him.

Somehow, even though he knew it was risky and dangerous, Jack had wanted to include their experiences in the painting somehow, and Davey’s explanation about the green carnations was perfect. The artistic vision was officially complete, if only in his own head.

Canvas was all but unobtainable, so Jack opted instead to use the thick, quality paper from one of his sketchbooks to ensure that the piece would last. He’d headed back to Medda’s with his paper tote full of the flower scraps, and spent the entirety of the next Sunday painting away.

In the end, the painting was covered in an array of flowers and assorted flora: little bluebells, ferns, orchids, and more, with a couple of irises as a centerpiece.

The green carnations ended up sneaking onto the painting as well, tiny and unnoticeable to anyone who wasn’t looking for them.

Then, all that was left was to give it to him. Unfortunately, this proved to be a much harder task than Jack had initially thought. After putting in all of the work that he had, he was beginning to have second thoughts.

Well, perhaps ‘second thoughts’ wasn’t the right term. Rather, Jack started to worry that Davey wouldn’t even like the painting, or that the point would fly over his head, or a million other ways that it could go wrong.

Jack spent several days fretting and nights staring at the painting while on the rooftop before Crutchie had eloquently told him to ‘man up, get over himself, and tell Davey that he’s criminally obsessed with him before he beat him.’

The next day, Jack had caught Davey on his way to school and asked if he could come to the lodging house that evening (“not for long,” Jack had added to assuage Davey’s worries about being out late on a school night).

Which was how Jack came to be standing on the rooftop of the lodging house with one David Jacobs. Jack asks about school that day, Davey asks about selling, and it flows so naturally that Jack almost forgets what he’s here to do.

Almost.

“Hey, I gots something I wanna show you.” Jack eventually manages to say, beckoning Davey over to his bedroll and retrieving the painting tucked underneath his pillow.

“Remember a couple’a weeks ago when we were in the flower district?” Jack starts, wringing his hands together in uncharacteristic nervousness. “You, uh, you told me all about flower-speak - that’s what it’s called, right?”

Davey half-nods, half-shrugs, tilting his head inquisitively. “Flower language, yeah. And yes, I do, why do you ask?” He asks, stepping closer but stopping as Jack holds the piece of paper protectively to his chest.

“Well, I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about it, and you’d said them flowers could say anything, so I asked Medda about it. She gave me this book with all sorts’a flowers an’ what they mean. So, uh, long story short, I made ya this.” Jack rambles, his face becoming gradually warmer as he speaks. He can feel his heart pounding in his throat, his ears, everywhere through his body.

Here goes nothing.

Jack finally turns the painting around, holding it out for Davey to take. He might imagine it, but he swears he hears Davey gasp, a tiny hitch in his breathing before he reaches out to take the painting. Davey holds it gently, fingers curled delicately around the edges as if he were holding a famed masterpiece. Swallowing his nerves, Jack opts to continue.

“I figured it’s like you said. ‘Sayin’ things without actually sayin’ them.’” Jack quotes, thinking back to what Davey had said that first day. “And I, well, I thought I’d tell ya..some stuff.” Jack’s hands can’t seem to settle, moving restlessly from rubbing the back of his neck to running through his hair to picking the hem of his shirt. He can’t bring himself to look up at Davey.

Davey doesn’t say a thing. He’s alarmingly still and quiet, and Jack is about to comment on it when he finally looks up and sees tears falling from Davey’s eyes.

Jack swears he feels his heart plummet into his stomach. Had he gotten it wrong? Did those flowers mean something else, something awful? Or was Davey really just that upset by the thought of-

His spiral is cut off by the sudden press of lips against his own, by a long, elegant hand gripping his jaw. Jack can’t help but gasp into it, before closing his eyes and responding in earnest. Davey’s lips are salty and wet with tears, and he’s sniffling and gasping himself every so often, but Jack doesn’t think he’s ever had a better kiss, simply because it’s Davey.

When they separate, Davey is looking down at him, his eyes teary and red but just as gorgeous as always. He seems to find his voice after a second, though it still quivers noticeably.

“Jack,” He murmurs, soft and rough - Jack would crawl through hell itself just to hear Davey say his name like that again - “This is…the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

“Yeah, well,” Jack shrugs, looking away as he feels his face heat up. “I jus’ wanted you to see yourself…the way I do.”

Davey sits with the words for a moment. “And this is…” He trails off, pinning Jack with a soul-baring stare, his eyes vulnerable yet somehow still so piercing, “This is really what…?” Jack almost has to laugh at the thought of it: Davey, of all people, lost for words. The world may as well have been turned on its head.

“What, Mouth, cat got your tongue?” Jack can’t help but tease, preening to himself when Davey’s face goes delightfully redder.

“No,” Davey looks at him with a flustered little frown, “You do.” He swallows, appearing to steel his nerves, then, “You really…think all of this?” He asks, running a hand reverently over his painting. His tone is unsure, like he doesn’t believe him, and it baffles Jack more than anything. “‘Course I do,” He responds, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Dunno if you’ve picked it up or not, Dave, but I’m kinda head over heels for you.”

Davey blinks at him uncomprehendingly. “What?” He asks, genuinely baffled. “I mean, I..I kind of guessed from the flowers, but…what?” Jack groans quietly, tipping his head briefly towards the sky and whatever was watching down on him from up there. The flowers. Damn him to hell, and damn Jack right with him. It never failed to astound him how oblivious Davey was, despite being probably the smartest person Jack knows. “Dave,” he starts as he looks back at Davey pleadingly, his voice just that side of exasperated, “Don’t yank my chain here.” Davey just looks at him in confusion, brows furrowing as his brain works. “Jack, I don’t even- what are you talking about?” He asks, as if he really, truly doesn’t know.

As if he doesn’t know that he’s the light of Jack’s fucking life. Doesn’t know that Jack would move Heaven and earth to see him smile and hear him laugh, or that Jack would gladly listen to his voice for hours on end, talking about anything because he was instantly captured by Davey’s words.

It’s a combination of months of frustration and yearning that forces Jack to fist his hands tightly in Davey’s shirt collar, pulling him down hard enough that the other boy stumbles slightly, hands flying to Jack’s waist to steady himself as he makes a small noise of surprise.

Contrary to their first kiss, this one is harsh mostly on Jack’s part. He’s pressing up into Davey like he has something to prove, parting his lips and tilting his head eagerly. Much to his relief, Davey responds in kind, his grip moving down to Jack’s hips before his arms snake around Jack’s back.

This time, when the two separate, they remain just inches apart, caught in each other’s orbit. “I don’t know how ya don’t see it. I mean, I seem to make a fool of myself whenever you’re around. Can’t string two words together ‘cause I’m too busy lookin’ at you. Everyone who’s anyone was bettin’ on whether or not I’d die before I told ya.” Jack chuckles mirthlessly, scrubbing a hand over his face. He takes a deep breath, then looks back at Davey.

“But what I mean to say is I’m stupidly in love with you. Head over heels don’t even cut it.” Jack’s heart pounds rapidly, waiting for a response. Davey’s face is nothing short of awestruck.

“Me too. I didn’t even- I didn’t think you would ever feel the same way.“ The admission has Davey playing with the corner of the painting, his face still pink. “I meant what I said, too. Nobody has ever done something so thoughtful and sweet for me before.” He continues, leveling Jack with a half-lidded gaze. “You’re a real charmer, Jackie.” Davey murmurs, his voice low and soft.

Jack’s brain sputters and stalls - it’s criminally unfair how easily Davey can do that to him - and it takes a minute for him to recover from Davey’s whole everything. “Oh. Y-yeah?”

Davey giggles, honest-to-god giggles, and Jack thinks he might drop dead right then and there. “Well, not everybody would research flower language for the person they’re sweet on, much less paint something so stunning for them.” He points out, one hand leaving Jack’s waist to hold the painting out once more. “I’m absolutely gonna get you back for this, by the way. You aren’t the only one who gets to be sweet to his partner.” There’s a sureness in his voice, the kind that makes Jack’s heart swell with the implication that Davey wanted to be with him as much as he wanted to be with Davey.

Jack takes Davey’s other hand from his hip, lacing their fingers together. “That a promise, sweetheart?” He asks, but it’s more of a genuine question than a tease.

A squeeze of Jack’s hand, and a gentle smile from Davey. “It’s a promise, darling.”

[snek-panini]

Got a bit of a different bookbinding post today. @renegadeguild got an ask from a new binder saying they were intimidated by everyone's gorgeous binds (me too, actually, some of you guys are scary good), and so they've asked people to share their first binds. And I realized I'd never even taken photos of my first one, so here it is, warts and all:

This is E.M. Forster's The Machine Stops, a public domain scifi short story that you can read for free at the link. The first reason I chose it was that it's an interesting story, and I'd bought a print-on-demand copy a few years previously that was just terrible. Baffling cover choices, basic errors in the typeset (like quotes that face the wrong way), weird size that didn't fit on my shelf; just not a good product. I couldn't do it with more indifference than the PoD people. The second reason was that I was too intimidated by the thought of asking a fic writer if I could bind their story and then producing something with a thousand sloppy beginner mistakes, and then they'd want to see photos and I'd have to show them this and it would have been mortifying, but Forster has been dead since 1970 so I could not disappoint him. It was very freeing. I bound it in 2021 as an experiment, to see if I liked this hobby enough to stick to it. The cover is green cardstock and faux leather scrapbook paper that I bought at... probably Hobby Lobby. I added the title later, as a practice project when I first got my Cricut; for the first two years of its existence it had a blank cover.

There are more photos under the cut!

In this photo we can see:

--Too much glue when attaching the leather-print paper, so it oozed out onto the cover.

--Cricut font too thin and too much heat/too long of a press, so the letters have gaps and the glue also oozed out here. It's a continuing theme with this bind.

--I tried to use a bone folder to give it a sharper hinge crease and accidentally pressed too hard and tore a hole in the paper; you can see this in the little white vertical line near the top of the hinge

The fore edge is not square. I actually don't remember why this happened. I may have eyeballed the board position when I made the case, or the paper may have slipped while the glue was wet, or I cut it crooked and didn't notice till later. Either way it's bad enough that the book doesn't stand on its own. There was a crooked man/who walked a crooked mile/and found a crooked sixpence/against a crooked stile./He bought a crooked cat/which caught a crooked mouse/and they all loved together in a little crooked house, and I bet they read this little crooked book from their little crooked library.

Top view, you can see that the case is too big and the text block doesn't sit straight in it. It has no endbands or bookmark, and it's hard to see in this photo but there's glue on the top of it, at the spine. This still happens to me but I know how to trim books now so this bit gets cut off. You can also see that the scrapbook paper has some cracks where its white core is visible. This is why I do cloth or actual faux leather on the spines now. Endpaper shows uneven trim (did I not use a ruler for this??), too much glue causing major seepage, and it doesn't sit evenly in the case. I'm not sure if this is because of the case itself being crooked, a badly-trimmed endpaper, or if the text block is also crooked. Or it may be a combination of all these factors. Unclear.

Typeset photos! Here we see:

--Title page has a page number on it. This is a pet peeve of mine and I fixed it after this book.

--There is no half title, summary, or metadata. All my later binds have these things.

--It's typeset in Times New Roman. Unlike many I don't actually hate this font but reading it reminds me of being in high school so this is the only book I used it for. Baskerville is my beloved now. The font is also much bigger than it should be. It's not huge but it's like a large print book so it feels weird for me to read it.

--Lol what are margins

--Lol what are page headers

--Actually I think I left the headers out so it wouldn't have a header on the first page of each chapter, because I knew about page breaks but not section breaks at this time.

--It's on regular-ass lightweight printer paper. There's nothing wrong with this but I switched to heavier weight paper shortly after to help with bleed-through and the light stuff feels so flimsy now.

--I didn't understand how Word's book fold worked at this time, so when I had to set the sheets per booklet and it had an option for 4, I chose that thinking it would give me 4 sheets of paper (16 numbered pages) per sig. It did not do this. It gave me 4 numbered pages per sig. So every signature is 1 sheet of paper. Every page is its own signature. I am still mad about this but it sure drove home how the setting works and also how to make kettle stitches since you make one after every sig. A book of 48 pages has 12 signatures which is just ludicrous.

--There's no photo of this but it has a piece of printer paper on the spine because I didn't have mull. I did use PVA though. Lots and lots of PVA.

--It's stitched with regular sewing thread, which means it doesn't have much swell for a book with that many sigs, but it's less sturdy and more likely to tear the paper.

And that's that! It probably sounds a bit like I was tearing it to shreds but I actually love this book quite a lot. I learned so many things that I applied to my next binds, it was an invaluable experience. It let me fall in love with the hobby so I could make the awesome things I make now. I've got those all posted on my main blog under the tag #snek makes books, or you can see them all on my side blog @papersnakepress. For a first book it's functional and readable, and still better than the PoD copy I had before. I've been thinking of doing a rebind as a sort of progress gauge, actually. Maybe next year.