#no one else is on their level (derogatory)

[fuck-off-im-ace]

Cannot believe Disney gave us their first lesbian princess to then cancel her show after one season of the Ides of March. Peak Disney behavior. 

[cheolism-archive]

OH, AGONY

✰ — teaching assistant & boyfriend!lee jihoon x f!reader ✷ — summary: when you both find out that your boyfriend, lee jihoon, will be the ta for your classic literature class, it is agreed your relationship will take a temporary pause . no public dates, no pda; and, most tragically, no sex. nothing that can give away the truth to your relationship. only, it really is easier said than done. or: four times you and jihoon totally didn't have sex plus one time you did. ✰ — wc is approx. 14.5k ✷ — genre: TA au, secret relationship au, forbidden relationship au, smut ✰ — warnings: spanking, pussy spanking. derogatory language (f receiving), pet names (baby (f receiving), hoonie). rough sex, unprotected sex. masturbation (f&m) and sex toys. penetrative sex. extreme levels of delusion as to what "qualifies" as sex or not; jihoon and reader bully one another. talk pertaining to the greek tragedy oedipus rex (self-blinding is mentioned as it pertains to oedpius but not discussed in detail). ✷ — rating: 18+ ✰ — note: this fic represents two delusional adults. they are both consenting to what is going on. this fic is not an accurate representation of what is and not considered sex. also the word count may be scary, but i promise it is pretty much all smut. this fic is part of @camandemstudios first ever collab, back to school with seventeen. please make sure to give the other works lots of love!

“we have to set up rules,” jihoon announced a week before classes were to start. he closed the zoom tab, which he had preciously been using to talk to the classics professor he was ta-ing for this semester, kicking back from his desk. 

“rules,” you said, peeking over the top of your book. it was hotter than hell outside, the sort of heat that suffocated and made you feel as if you were being wrung like a wet towel. inside, however, you had a blanket tucked around your body and socks pulled up to your calves. 

jihoon wandered over to the thermostat. he frowned, reaching and dialing it down once again. if he was going to pay for air conditioning, he believed, he was going to be cold in the comfort of his own apartment. 

“it’s not fair to other students that you’re dating your ta,” he said. 

“if this is literally you breaking up with me –”

“don’t be dramatic,” jihoon chided, crossing the room to you. he picked up the edge of the blanket, slipping under and pressing his toes against your feet. “i didn’t say that. i just mean that we shouldn’t advertise our relationship to everyone.”

you closed your book, keeping your forefinger inside to mark your place. “just keep it a secret then. can’t be hard.”

“we can’t let anyone know,” he enunciated. “for real. the professor doesn’t even know. if he did, he’d reassign me.”

“then we just don’t say anything.”

“you shouldn’t stay the night.” jihoon laid his arm over the back of the couch, inviting you to cuddle into his side without him verbally giving invitation. you abided, shifting to rest your head on his thick bicep. “and no dates.”

you huffed. “jihoon, i don’t know if it’s really that serious.”

he scoffed back at you. black bangs hid his eyes. “they could accuse me of favoritism, accuse you of academic dishonesty. we need to treat this seriously.”

“maybe i should just request to change to a different section.”

“too much work.”

“oh,” you laughed, reaching over and pinching at his side. jihoon flinched, instinctively slapping at your hand. “and pretending we aren’t dating isn’t.”

“that’s why we need rules.” you kicked out the blanket, pulling it from jihoon; he grumbled, snatching it back. “don’t be a hog. anyways. we need rules so we can stick to a strict routine. that way we don’t lapse in judgment or anything.”

“so no sleepovers,” you recited, “no dates. what else? no walking to class? no kissing?”

jihoon leaned his head back against the couch, exposing the length of his pale neck. you let your eyes linger. “sleepovers, dates. no meeting in public unless in a group setting.” 

you let out a great sigh, pushing the blanket from you. snatching your bookmark, you stuffed it into the novel you had been reading. “so we’re strangers.”

“yes,” jihoon confirmed. “easy enough.”

you gasped, mouth dropping open. “easy!”

jihoon bit at his lip, and you could tell that he was already regretting his choice of words. but he wouldn’t back down – that wasn’t in his nature. “easy,” he said. 

“fine,” you hissed. you left the couch, retrieving your backpack. you brought out your notepad and pen pouch. “no sex, either.”

“what –”

“if it’s so easy,” you retorted sharply, walking back to the couch while ripping out an empty page of your notebook, “then no sex won’t be a problem for you, mr. lee. i mean – it needs to be believable, right? no getting caught.”

jihoon grimaced, moving to a sitting position on the couch. “yeah. believable.”

“we write it down,” you said, taking back your spot next to jihoon. you opened your pen pouch, letting the pens and markers spill out onto the coffee table. “we write it down and shake on it. it’s a contract.”

jihoon hesitated. “this is a little severe, don’t you think?”

you shook your head. “nope. can’t let anyone know, yeah? otherwise i’d be academically dishonest, wouldn’t i?”

jihoon grabbed your paper, creating a bullet point. “i really don’t think this is necessary.”

“but you do,” you shot back. “i mean. you were the one to bring it up all serious-like. no kissing, no sleepovers, no sex. the whole five yards, lee jihoon.”

“but a contract –”

“oh? so you’re wrong?”

jihoon huffed, pressing his lips into a firm line. “fine. no dates, no marks, no pda.”

“and no sex.”

“and no sex.”

W E E K  O N E

your eyes immediately catch onto jihoon as soon as you walk into the classroom, and while you really should’ve guessed that he was going to play dirty – because as hard as he tries to maintain an indifferent air, jihoon is just as weak of a many as any – you didn’t realize he would be playing this dirty. 

he’s wearing black trousers that fit to his thighs and ass, cinched tightly at his waist by a thin leather belt. his white dress shirt is loose around his neck, the first button undone. your eyes, unwillingly, smooth over the silver chain that winks out from underneath his shirt, alongside the harsh lines of the white tank-top he wears underneath the dress shirt and you feel, horribly, a strike of want hitting you. 

jihoon turns to you. “hello,” he says, voice perfectly neutral. his eyes don’t stray from your face despite the fact you’ve worn his favorite jeans, the ones that cling at your own ass and show off flashes of skin underneath rips strategically placed; rips jihoon has made worse over the months of being together, slipping his fingers underneath the loose threads to touch your skin. 

“go ahead and take a seat,” jihoon instructs, gesturing about the room. the desks are all modern despite the discussion taking place in the historic – well – history buildings. the desk shifts underneath you as you try to slide in, bottom of your water bottle clanging against the hard surface, and wheels carting across the marble floor. 

you stretch out your legs, staring at jihoon unabashedly. it isn’t a sin for you, the student, to be attracted to the teaching assistant. and so you look him over, watching as he turns this way and that way, trousers showing off the plush of his ass and shirt showing the wide line of his shoulders. 

you are jerked from your admiration of your boyfriend-turned-teaching assistant by a large man hurrying to the desk next to you. he’s jihoon’s opposite in almost every way: he’s easily a foot taller, and his skin is a gorgeous dark bronze that seems to draw emphasize to the bulge of his muscles. 

the man slides into the desk. it’s comically small for him, his knees hitting the underside of the desk. the desk moves as he situates himself, prompting his backpack to fall over from where he had propped it. 

“shit,” he mumbles, reaching down with one long arm, biceps bulging rather nicely, to righten the backpack. “stay up, please.”

rather endearingly, to top it all off, he has a lisp. 

he glances at you, eyes apologetic beneath his curly bangs. “sorry. not my day today.”

you huff a laugh. “i don’t know if it’s anyone’s day, let alone week.”

“true,” the man says, grinning. his teeth are white, his canines more pronounced than most people’s. “hey. i’m mingyu.”

you introduce yourself. “are you a classics major, then?”

mingyu wrinkles his nose. “no offense to classics, but i’m doing something interesting.”

“yeah?”

“business.”

you let out a loud laugh, startling not only yourself but the people around you. mingyu grins triumphantly, tongue flicking out to run alongside his teeth. you hide your smile behind your hand, trying to quiet your laughter. jihoon, you notice, is frowning at the two of you. 

“so interesting!” you say. “definitely a major filled with the best.”

“the very best,” mingyu agrees. 

the two of you continue chatting, conversation flowing naturally. he’s charming, you think, charisma practically radiating off of him.  you don’t miss how your boyfriend watches the two of you more often than not, not engaging in conversation with any of the entering students who greet him so he could keep an ear open on your conversation. 

jihoon starts class as soon as the electronic clock on the classroom computer switches to three on the dot, the projection cast onto the board. 

“first thing’s first,” he says. he leans a hand against the table set at the front of the room, though it, too, is on wheels and skirts a little as he puts weight against it. “my syllabus, you’ll find, is stricter than professor burns’s. if you come in after the clock hits three, you’re tardy; you’ll contribute to all discussions in this class, and if you don’t you’ll forgo any participation points; if you miss three classes in a row, which translates to nearly a month of absences, your grade will automatically fall to a fail and you will have to take not only this discussion over, but professor’s burns’s lecture as well. 

“if,” jihoon continues to say, voice a rasp, “you find any of this in contradiction with professor burns’s syllabus, you are more than welcome to email the both of us and address it.”

the class is silent as jihoon grabs a piece of white chalk. naturally, despite the gleaming projectors and furniture on wheels in the building, nearly every classroom is a remnant of the late 19th century: chalkboards; coat hooks; door and window frames made of real wood. 

“remember to use proper emailing etiquette when contacting anyone in the college,” jihoon announces. he begins to write on the board, chalk tapping against the black surface as he decorates it with his chicken scratch. “and to address me as mr. lee. there is a pdf uploaded to our discussion course detailing how to address certain faculty members within the college for you to browse and keep.”

jihoon steps back from the blackboard. there he’s written the title of the course, ancient grecian dramas. 

he runs a hand through his black hair, pushing back strands. “we’ll begin properly next week, once professor burns assigns the first drama for reading. i recommend printing out the reading and annotating, practicing close reading. that way when you come to discussion we can go over your notes as a group and analyze the text further.

“now. we’ll begin today by doing a writing exercise. i want you to tell me what you think of when you think of ancient greek dramas. this will also be how i take attendance – so make sure to do it.”

you rifle through your bag, pulling out your notebook. next is your pen pouch, though the surface area of the desk is hardly large enough to fit your notebook. pouch, and water bottle. 

“you can email it,” jihoon clarifies after a moment of silence. “make sure you label it accordingly.”

hurriedly you pull out your laptop, pushing your pen pouch aside and setting it on top of your notebook. you shift in your seat as your laptop boots back up, and you can’t help but glance up at your teacher’s assistant.

jihoon, being a classics major and your boyfriend, has introduced you to ancient greek plays before. it’s not like you’re completely foreign to the subject; he’s dragged you to more than one play in order to get some assignment credit, notebook on his thigh as he jotted down notes in the dark of the theater. 

sometimes he takes to reading to you different passages – especially those that move him or he thinks are particularly ridiculous. he pours over the text religiously, like a priest would the gospel; analyzing every line, drawing meaning from the colors of robes to what isn’t being said at all. he looks at these little black words on white pages, words written thousands of years ago, and is simply transported into another lifetime. 

it’s endearing; it’s special. 

the first time you had noticed him, jihoon had been surrounded by pages of a poem. later you’d learn it was by some jeffrey guy from the medieval period and was about a group traveling for worship. whatever it was, didn’t matter. 

what had mattered was him. 

he was disheveled. the white printed-out pages of the poem were scattered along the table in the university library, the uniform black-and-white pages interrupted by annotations written in colors of the rainbow. the highlighters and pens were scattered themselves, abandoned by post-it notes stuck to every page. 

he had three empty energy drinks in front of him. the hood of his hoodie was pulled up over his hair, the black fabric matching the dark circles under his eyes that told you he had been at this for far too long. 

you had gone and got him a water; brought it back to him. listened to his theories about color, about how he thought it meant something; how this poet had chosen every word so carefully there’s no way that color didn’t mean something. 

you, a distinctly not literary fanatic, had not understood; you still don’t. 

but his eyes always light up and his voice begins to carry this urgency that betrays his adoration for the art, and you just can’t help but let yourself get caught in his orbit. 

so you open up an email and begin to write.

Mr. Lee, 

My boyfriend is a Classics Major, so when I think of Ancient Greek Dramas I think of him. He’s shown me quite a few, and we’ve attended more than a handful plays

you shift in your seat, thinking. as you move, however, your arm knocks against your pen pouch and sends it to the floor. 

the noise as it hits the floor isn’t as thunderous as it would have been if your water bottle had struck it, but it’s still loud enough for you to wince. it breaks the still of the room, your classmates shifting in their seats and throwing glances at you. 

before you could move from your seat, mingyu is. he’s quick to grab your pouch, smiling gently at you as he offers it. his hands are so big they span the length of the pouch, a beautiful golden tan that only seems to boost his natural beauty. 

“think you dropped this,” he says in a harsh whisper. 

you bite back a laugh, teeth digging into your lower lip as you smile. grabbing the pouch from mingyu, you whisper back a quick thanks. 

you glance up towards the front of the room as you settle back into your seat. jihoon is looking right at you, frowning, arms crossed over his chest. his white shirt isn’t fitted, and it struggles against his bulging biceps as he crosses his arms. 

for a moment you just look at him, taking in your boyfriend’s form; how the shirt clings to his arms, trousers to his thighs. 

there’s a dinging noise of an email landing in an inbox, and then jihoon is moving from the front of the room and around the table to his laptop. 

you return to your email. 

Mr. Lee, 

My boyfriend is a Classics Major, so when I think of Ancient Greek Dramas I think of him. He’s shown me quite a few, and we’ve attended more than a handful plays. A lot of them are different than what I’ve expected. Some of them seem like they came right from Ancient Greece; others are more modern. I have noticed Ancient Greek plays seem to be more twisted than what a modern author may come up with. 

Sometimes I don’t understand really what a play is about. It gets all muddled, especially when they don’t change the words for a modern audience. Still, my boyfriend is super sweet and helps me along. 

you hesitate for a moment, and then you sign your name. opening a new tab, you pull up a bookmark and add one last finishing touch beside your name. 

– °˖✧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚✧˖°

you are more exhausted than usual. 

it’s as if all of the good vibes and rest you had managed to scrape together over the summer break were eradicated in one day. as soon as you managed to get to jihoon’s apartment you were discarding everything; shoes at the door; backpack next to the couch; bra onto the floor. 

his bed was perhaps the most comforting place you knew besides his arms, and so you slunk towards it. you made quick work of your pants, one knee pressing against the mattress as you shook your other leg, jeans flopping to the floor dramatically. 

you followed suit on jihoon’s bed. 

burrowing into his sheets, you couldn’t help but breathe him in. he was a hot sleeper, and so more likely to sweat during the night. his sheets smell like his sweat, though not the stinky sort he gains from his daily workout. instead, it's the natural musk of him that permeates your nose, deep and distinctly lee jihoon. 

you allow yourself to drift. nothing exists besides jihoon’s bed and you. 

then the door to his apartment is opening and closing, a voice with a slight rasp calling out to you. 

“here!” you call back, voice slightly muffled by the sheets. you press your face against them again, eyes fluttering shut. 

jihoon slowly makes his way across the apartment. he mutters something about your discarded clothes and backpack, but you pay it no mind. jihoon pauses when he enters his room, and you can practically feel his eyes on you; roaming the bare expanse of your back, the supple flesh of your thighs. 

“good day?” you kick out a leg, wiggling your toes. 

he makes a humming noise, and then he’s stepping further into the room. 

“long one,” he says. “forgot how fucking awkward everyone is on the first day.”

you shift, moving your face so you could watch him. jihoon crosses to his dresser, fingers messing with the cuffs of his white dress shirt. you can see the moment he gets the button, the fabric sagging around his wrists. 

oh. 

sitting up on the bed, you watch as he begins to work on his other cuff. he peers out the window, chatting as he does. 

“professor burns is the usual,” jihoon announces. “hasn’t changed in the – what? five years i’ve been here? i swear she rambles like no one’s business. if it wasn’t my job to babysit the students and not her, i’d say something – but fuck, you know?”

once he’s undone the buttons on the cuffs of both of his sleeves, jihoon begins to work on the buttons falling down the middle of the shirt. his fingers are deft and quick as he presses them through their holes. 

you can’t help but think of his fingers on you. how nimble and skillful they are against your skin; how he dances them up and down your flesh as he presses kisses against your skin; how they seem to know just where to go and just what to do against your body, rubbing at your nipples and pinching at the undersides of your tits to get reactions from you. 

because fuck, jihoon’s fingers –

sometimes even watching him write you can’t help but get horny. how his fingers grip his pen, how he spins it around his fingers absentmindedly. how they alleviate pressure on the pen as he writes and stops. watching him write, sometimes you can’t help but think about his fingers at your clip, a harsh presence as they rub down on you once moment and gentle the next, fingers skimming your clit as they massage the gummy area around it. 

watching his clever fingers as they make quick work of the buttons on his shirt, you can’t help but yearn. your eyes see nothing but his fingers; ears hear nothing of his conversation. it’s just you and jihoon’s hands and the way your cunt clenches, pussy leaking into your panties. 

then jihoon’s pulling off his dress shirt, and he’s wearing a tank top underneath. 

you want to scream. 

not to say jihoon doesn’t look good in a tank top. because he does. fuck, he does. you always find yourself admiring jihoon’s shoulders and arms when he’s in a tank top no matter what sort of mood you’re in. 

(one instance in particular you had been full of energy, ranting about a coworker who didn’t know what she was doing and had been kept around for far too long. and then you had looked up at jihoon and let your eyes selfishly roam over the broadness of his back, the curves of his bulging arms as he cut up meat. all sense had abandoned you in that moment, and before you knew it you were grabbing at his shirt and pulling him to you, tongue running along his skin.

not exactly your proudest moment, but.)

maybe the combination of his trousers and tank top shouldn’t be as sexy as they are, you think hysterically. his tank top his tucked into his pants, and, torturously, his fingers reach down to pull the hem free. the hem of his tank top settles around his hips, showing off just a sliver of skin. 

jihoon raises a hand, running his fingers through his black hair as he continues to talk about something-or-other. 

and his white tank top rises up his stomach. 

you can see the hairs that lead from his belly button down, down, down. you can see the pale expanse of skin that you know is soft and smooth to the touch. you can imagine your hands pressing against his skin and sliding underneath his trousers; can imagine the restrictiveness of his trousers as you tuck your hands into his underwear, fingertips skimming alongside the base of his cock. 

you’ve never pretended to innocent when it came to lee jihoon; never pretended your mind didn’t run wild with salacious thoughts. 

and you weren’t going to pretend now, because – 

because in your mind your hands were rubbing at the base of his cock, mouth at his collar and licking along his collarbones. he was moaning in you ear, soft and breathy, and you were moving down onto your knees, your own fingers unbuttoning his trousers. 

jihoon reaches down, fingers swiftly pushing off his socks. “hey, by the way, i sent you an email response to your attendance discussion for today.”

you don’t speak, eyes roaming over the expanse of his back, still covered by fabric, like a starving man before a feast. 

jihoon peeks at you. “it was sweet.”

“yeah?” 

he doesn’t say anything else. jihoon’s eyebrows raise, silently prompting you. 

you let out a loud, horrible groan that tears at your throat. the insides of your thighs are warm as you move across the bed to grab your discarded phone, the wet fabric of your panties catching against your skin, cold and shocking. 

jihoon begins to chatter once more as you swipe on the email notification. he’s quiet in public but you can’t help but treasure how talkative he becomes afterwards; how all the little snide comments he’s kept to himself are let loose. 

you look at the email. 

you furrow your brows. you look over it again. 

I am glad to see at least one of the students in our discussion section will not be a complete novice to Greek theater. I hope after this semester you will be able to engage with your boyfriend in a more informed matter when it comes to his passions. 

However, despite how sweet your email was, I do have to remind you to please stick to proper email etiquette. Your use of – °˖✧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚✧˖° is highly unprofessional, and I urge you to not include such things when emailing any staff or faculty or teaching assistants. For this misconduct, you will be deducted a point from your discussion grade for today. Please keep this in mind for the future. 

Well wishes, 

Mr. Lee

your jaw drops open. 

“you fucking deducted me for my emoticon?!” 

“we agreed to be strangers,” jihoon reminds you. he removes his pants. you can’t even find it within yourself to be horny. the warmth of your cunt is overtaken by the red-hot anger that licks through your veins. “and it’s inappropriate to send your ta heart and sparkle emoticons.”

“it’s a fucking – oh my god,” you reach towards the top of the bed, fingers grabbing the corner of his pillow. you tug it to you. “it’s not that serious.”

jihoon steps out of his pants. his thighs are thick and pale, and when he turns towards his closest you can see how snug his black underwear is against the supple curve of his ass. fleetingly, because you are angry at his audacity, you allow your eyes to follow the curve of his asschecks and how the band of his underwear rests low on his hips. 

“teaching assistants and students aren’t to have any sexual relations,” jihoon recites. “it’s contract. if something happens, your little not-that-serious emoticon is evidence.”

you grab the pillow fully, swinging it around your body and at jihoon. it hits him in the middle. he lets out a soft noise of surprise. “you’re such an ass.”

jihoon shrugs. “we signed a contract, baby.” 

he tucks his thumbs underneath the waistband of his underwear, and then he’s pulling them down his legs. you don’t even have it in you to look away. you marvel at his naked lower half. his cock, thick and flaccid, hanging between his thighs. the dusky color of it; the dark hairs that travel from underneath the hem of his tank top to the base of his cock. 

jihoon pulls on a pair of grey joggers, concealing his cock and thighs from your eyes. “listen. i don’t want to be the bad guy. but we really can’t be risking anything.”

his cock is covered and he’s talking about something entirely different, but you’re still thinking about his dick. you’re still thinking about his dick as he walks from the bedroom, bare feet softly hitting the hardwood floors. 

you trail two of your fingers along your bare thigh. his dick, flaccid and thick in your hands. it feels like it’s been forever since you’ve had your hands or mouth or fucking cunt around his dick; forever since you last pressed your thumb against the slit of his cockhead, since his raspy, gentle groans were being pressed into your skin. 

you skim your nails along the soft insides of your thighs. 

it’s not like you’re sexually depraved. you and jihoon just had sex the other day. but there’s something about this, the situation, being strangers, that makes you feel as if you’re starving. 

your fingers move to your panties. you let your nails delicately linger alongside the lips of your cunt through the fabric, little sparks – little pieces of glitter, almost – making your toes curl. 

fuck lee jihoon, you think, and then you’re sliding your forefinger down between your pussy lips. you don’t move the fabric of your panties. leaning back against his bed, you let your finger drag down and push up, your wetness soaking your panties. 

his bed envelopes you as you lean back. tilting your hips up and bracing your feet against the mattress, you add another finger to the stimulation of your pussy. you let your fingers grow rougher, let them dig in slightly to the sensitive area around your clit. 

your fingers find your hole, stretching the fabric of your panties to reach in. 

“fuck.” 

your eyes flutter open – when did they shut? jihoon is standing at the entrance to his room. his long hair is pushed back from his face by a black headband. in one hand he holds a metal water bottle. 

his eyes are wide, his sweet lips parted as he stares at that spot between your thighs. 

jihoon shuffles further into the room, placing his water bottle on top of his set of drawers. you’ve begun absentmindedly petting your pussy, once again dragging your fingers over your clit lazily. 

jihoon presses his knees against the foot of his mattress. 

you hum, twisting your wrist. you press your thumb against the side of your clit, your fingers dipping once more to your hole. this morning you had chosen to wear a pair of pink panties. you don’t regret it now. you’re so soaking wet that you know jihoon can see the shape of your cunt through the fabric. 

your fingers begin to contract. you massage your pussy through the fabric leisurely, rhythmically. you drag your thumb down from your clit to meet your fingers, press your fingers down to barely sink into your hole. 

jihoon lets out a deep noise. he braces his hands against the mattress, makes a motion to crawl towards you. 

“no,” you say, words slightly slurred. “no. one point, remember?”

jihoon’s brow furrows. 

you reach down with your other hand, legs spreading wider. with your other hand you pull at the flesh of your pussy lips, offering your fingers more space to work with. you shift your hand, making sure to keep one lip in place. your other hand – the one with soaking fingertips – strokes up and down, up and down, up and down. 

jihoon’s hand settles on your ankle. you kick out. “no sex, yeah?”

jihoon lets out a strangled noise you’ve never heard from him. 

you let your eyes fall shut. you can feel the weight of his gaze on you. letting out a soft breath, your fingers begin to glide up and down your cunt more quickly. 

you begin to focus on your clit more. your hand that was holding your cunt lips moves up, focusing on baring the area around your clit. with your other hand you begin to stimulate the direct areas on either side of your clit. you are still working through your panties, but you’re so wet that the friction is almost nonexistent; your fingers just slide, massaging into the flesh. 

you begin to set a rhythm. you rock your forefinger and middle finger against the sensitive area around your clit. you rock once; twice; then you’re dipping your fingers down the length of your cunt, down to your hole; you drag them back up, and begin your elaborate play once more. 

it’s somewhat treacherous. it would be easier if it was jihoon. you would be able to fully relax back into the bed, just have to lay there and take it. 

but: no sex. 

so you slowly build up a climax, toes curling and chest arching up. it’s not sudden, not unexpected. it’s a slow climax that has your cunt tingling, head dropping back against the pillow. 

you continue to slip your fingers against your clit, dragging out your climax, continuing through it. 

eventually you come back to yourself. 

your wrist hurts; your fingers are cramping. discomfort takes over you more than lust, and so you relax your body back into the bed, hands moving from your pussy. 

and you look at jihoon. 

your boyfriend drags his gaze up from your pussy to your face. one of his hands is wrapped around his cock. he hasn’t taken it out of his joggers, just as you hadn’t taken off your drenched panties. you can see the thick outline of it through the grey fabric. the dusky head of it rises from the waistband of his pants. 

his hand disappears into his pants. you can see his knuckles as he drags his hand down the length of his cock. you pay special attention as his hand reappears, thumb bullying the fat head of his dick. 

you hum, stretching your arms above your head. you extend one of your legs, the other leisurely arching against the mattress. 

you let your hands wander along your chest. you aren’t doing it to stimulate yourself but to draw jihoon’s attention. to help him along, you suppose. 

his eyes follow the trailing of your fingers. one of your hands cradles a tit, the thumb of your other pinching a nipple against your forefinger. 

eventually jihoon lets out a groan, dropping his head. short spurts of cum pulses from his cock, soaking his hand. jihoon continues to fuck his fist through it, hissing and letting out breath moans. 

you feel sedated; satisfied. so does he. jihoon crawls up the length of the bed to plop next to you. he doesn’t cuddle against you. he just lays his body next to you, thick muscle of his arm against yours. 

“no sex,” he breathes out. 

“no sex.”

W E E K  F I V E  

you are going to murder your teaching assistant. 

the halls of the history building are nearly vacant save for the lone straggler. lee jihoon has his office hours late enough in the day to where most classes are over. most everyone’s day is over. 

but you are far from being done. 

the ta offices are tucked back with the professor offices, closed off behind a heavy wood door that matches the old style of the rest of the building. you get to the door a few minutes before his office hours officially start, glaring down at the screenshot on your phone. 

While your writing response over Medea is sufficient, I am loath to remind you to use proper citations in the responses. Otherwise it will be considered plagiarism. As a warning, your letter grade for this assignment will fall a whole grade. 

again: you were going to murder him. 

why couldn’t he just let you off with a warning? why did he immediately jump to taking your grade for the assignment down? he was being completely unfair and you weren’t going to stand for it. 

the clock on your phone switched to a minute closer to his office hours. 

still five minutes away. 

whatever. 

you reach out for the door knob, twisting the cold metal in your hand. the door is heavy to open, but you jam your shoulder against it and swing it open. 

the teaching assistant office is a room with three desks pressed against the wall on each side. there’s hard, uncomfortable chairs; two sockets in the entire room. 

and lee jihoon, sitting in one of the chairs with his cock in his hand. 

immediately your boyfriend flinches, eyes wide as he looks towards you. once jihoon sees it is, in fact, you and not some poor student walking in to request help. 

then, like you weren’t even there, jihoon turns away and begins fucking into his hand once more. 

you hurry through the door, shoving it shut behind you and pushing in the lock. 

all the while you don’t look away from jihoon. 

his teeth sink into his lower lip, and his head tips back to reveal the long column of his pale throat. his black bangs fall around his face, not obscuring a single centimeter. 

jihoon’s hand works quickly, furiously, over his dick. precum drenches the head. when he drags his hand down he hisses, face wincing. 

you move across the room, shrugging your backpack onto the ground. 

the assignment and grade having left your mind entirely, you kneel before jihoon. he peers down at you, eyebrows raised wearily. “no sex,” he reminds you. 

“no sex,” you agree. 

you raise your hand to your face. it’s the easiest thing to spit into your palm, to replace jihoon’s hand with your own. as soon as you squeeze around his dick jihoon lets out a low, raspy noise. 

his cock is thick and perfect in your hand, the heavy weight of it tempting. you want it in your mouth; want him to be fucking his cock down your throat. 

instead you let him fuck your hand. you move your hand down. the slide is slightly rough, your spit and his precum not quite enough. jihoon likes it, though; you know he does. his breath is harsh and labored, his eyes squeezed shut. 

you twist your wrist as you move your hand towards the head of his cock. you press your thumb into the slit of his dock. 

“gonna cum,” he warns you. 

then you think back to your letter grade. 

meanly, perhaps even cruelly, you drop your hand to the base of his cock and squeeze, cutting off his orgasm. jihoon lets out a startled, irritated noise. 

“my assignment.”

“fuck,” he grumbles, one of his hands raising to push back his bangs. “are you serious?”

“let me off with a warning,” you say. you keep one hand around the base of his dick, tight and trapping. your other hand goes to his balls. you hold them, thumb gently swiping over the flesh. 

jihoon’s breath shutters in his throat. 

“a warning,” you demand. 

“fuck,” he says again. “fine. a warning.”

triumphant, you let a large smile take over your face. you begin to move your hand once again. 

W E E K  N I N E 

“now that you’ve finished properly with oedipus rex,” jihoon begins, rounding the table at the front of the classroom, “let’s get some opinions. raise your hand if you enjoyed the play.”

more hands than not raise around the room, including mingyu’s. you shoot him a betrayed look. the past nine class weeks the two of you had been close, sitting next to one another during lecture and discussion. you traded conversation and thoughts more often than not, using one another to bounce ideas and theories. 

and for him to have enjoyed the play? 

jihoon moves to lean against the desk. he crosses his arms over his chest. this time he’s wearing all black. it seems to lengthen his figure, stretch him out, as well as broaden the line of his shoulders. 

he looks good. 

“let’s get some opinions on people who didn’t like the play.” immediately his eyes are on you, calling out your name. “you didn’t enjoy the play.”

traitor. 

you shift in your seat. “uh. no, not really.”

“why?”

you were going to suffocate him in his sleep. 

“it’s rather –” you break off, searching for words. you weren’t the literary student; he was. “i don’t understand him, i guess.”

jihoon tilts his head. “him? sophocles? or oedipus?”

“oedipus,” you clarify. 

“can you explain a little further? what exactly don’t you understand?”

you bite down on your tongue for a moment, trying to gather yourself. the classroom is silent as you wait, unintentionally putting pressure on your shoulders as you realize they were all waiting for you to speak up. 

“he – oedipus – he’s sort of stupid, isn’t he?” someone chokes behind you. you ignore them, looking at jihoon. despite him putting you on the spot like an asshole, he’s still your boyfriend. his face isn’t harsh, isn’t judging as he watches you struggle for words. for a moment he isn’t your ta – he’s your boyfriend. he’s your boyfriend and you’re having a plain, casual discussion. “i mean. he knows the prophecy. but he just does whatever he wants anyways? he’s just – he’s got no common sense.”

jihoon hums, tapping his fingers along his forearms. “so his arrogance has made him entirely unlikable to you. are there any redeeming treats, do you think?”

you shake your head. “it makes him deserve his ending, i think. he thought he was above it all.”

jihoon nods. “i see. remember that argument for your paper. that’s a big question that needs answered: does oedipus deserve his ending? you could analyze that further and get a pretty solid base for your essay.”

he begins to question other students about whether they liked the story or not, leaving you alone. the remainder of class flows as such, ending with jihoon gently urging everyone to write down their thoughts to revisit for the essay. 

you gather your things and put them into your backpack. mingyu loiters next to you, hands stuffed into the pockets of his dark jeans. 

“what’re you doing after this?” he reaches down and grabs your backpack after you’ve zipped it up, slinging it onto his shoulder. “wanna hit the library? we could bounce some more ideas around.”

smiling, you begin to agree. 

jihoon calls your name, having gathered his own things and lodging his foot in the heavy wooden door, keeping it ajar. “do you mind coming with me to the office for a minute or two? i want to talk about what you’ve said during class.”

you swallow back a sigh, throwing jihoon a firm-lipped smile. mingyu swings your backpack back off his shoulder, handing it to you. “good luck.”

you make a face at him. mingyu doesn’t know the true nature of the relationship between you and jihoon, but he does know that you’ve visited jihoon during office hours more than once. not a week has gone by without you setting foot into the little ta office, setting your printed-out versions of whatever classic the class was working on. 

“print every story out,” jihoon had advised, voice carrying that air of superiority he always seemed to gain when the two of you were sat in the dark office. “mark it up. it’ll help you pay close attention to every line.”

jihoon leads you to the ta office, weaving through the throngs of students making their way through the marble halls. you sort of want to reach out and grab onto his shirt, just to ensure he stays visible. but you don’t. 

another ta is in the office, steadily working away at their own homework. she throws a smile at the two of you as you enter. “hey, jihoon.”

“hey.” he crosses into the room, setting his laptop in front of the chair that he had, only a few weeks ago, received a rather satisfactory hand-job from you in. “your office hours are over, aren’t they?”

the other ta nods. “yep. just working now. never seems to end.”

jihoon settles into the wooden chair, flipping up the screen to his laptop. he had to change it from the selfie the two of you had taken during a hike, matching dandelion flowers tucked into your ears. now a mountain range greets him. “we’re gonna be discussing oedipus rex.”

“won’t be a bother to me!”

you push over a chair close to jihoon, the feet of it scraping against the floor. 

“pull out your notes,” jihoon says. he pulls up his own version of the play on his computer; they’re scans of his own copy, scribbles and highlighted passages littering every single page. “we’ll go over what exactly prompted you to think this way about oedipus. it’ll help you get a real solid foundation for the essay.

“so,” he says once you have your notes spread out. “oedipus is a flawed character. there’s no doubt about it. the stage directions themselves reveal as much.”

as he talks, raspy voice droning on and words blending together in your mind, jihoon’s foot begins to slide across the floor. you can’t help but look at it, watch it. his black leather shoe moves from in front of him, slowly, silently, gliding across the floor to nudge against your own shoe. 

“he does whatever he wants, that’s what you said?”

you nod. 

“during discussion you mentioned that he knew the prophecy and ignored it,” jihoon says. his foot now fully rests against yours. it’s just one point of contact, and yet it seems to electrify you; warm you up. you can’t help but focus on it, like a cat watching a bird through the window. 

“but he doesn’t,” jihoon says. “he thoroughly believes his parents to be the king and queen of corinth. according to oedipus, and forgetting the context we ourselves know, he has escaped his fate.”

his words fade out. jihoon’s hands settle on his keyboard, a single finger absentmindedly tapping at a key. it’s not hard enough to do anything. it’s just a simple tap, a fumbling gesture. 

his shoe shifts. he presses his foot against yours from toe to heel. 

the other ta in the room begins to collect her things. you listen to her as she moves about, closing her laptop and shuffling papers. 

jihoon shifts in his chair. his knees spread out. his trousers strain, just slightly, against his thick thighs. the barest sliver of pale ankle slips out from beneath his trousers, his black socks hidden beneath the leather lip of his shoes. 

the ta opens the door; closes it behind her. 

“his character is one the citizens of greece would have identified with – at least the ones in athens,” jihoon says, and then he’s turning his face towards you. feeling rather caught, you meet his eyes. “so why do you think he deserves his ending?”

you furrow your brows. you’ve gone over this. “because he actively chooses it through his arrogance. he ignores the prophecy.”

jihoon sighs, lips pursing together. “you haven’t paid attention to a single word i’ve said.”

your mouth falls open a little. “i have!”

“haven’t,” he corrects. 

jihoon stands from the chair. you miss being able to see the skin of his ankle. he crosses the room, hand falling to the door knob. he locks it. “i think we need to work on your attention span, don’t you?”

your mouth goes dry. he begins to unbutton the cuffs of his black shirt as he moves back across the room. he pushes up his sleeves, shoving off his thick forearms. “jihoon?”

jihoon sits back in his wooden chair, legs automatically spreading out. one of his hands rests on the armrest of the chair, while he set his elbow on the other, using it to prop up his head. jihoon raises his brows at you. “well?”

“what?”

he sighs, as if burdened. “take off your pants and underwear.”

you snap your head towards the door. after verifying no one had magically walked through, you look back at jihoon, hissing his name. “what are you going on about?”

“we need to work on your memory,” he explains matter-of-factly, voice taking on that arrogant lilt he so often gets when in this room. jihoon likes this, you think; likes being in a position of power over you. likes being able to boss you around; able to tell you what to do. 

with one last glance at the door, you stand from your wooden chair. jihoon watches unabashedly as you work your pants down over your ass. you leave both your jeans and underwear on the hard floor of the office. 

jihoon pats his thigh wordlessly. 

you feel heat rush towards your cheeks. you’ve sat on his thighs before, have ridden them before. but it felt so fucking different to be lowering yourself onto the thick muscle in a university office, your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself, the backs of your hands lightly brushing against the wood of his chair. 

you don’t do anything for a moment other than just sit on his thigh. the fabric of his pants is like silk against your skin, and you can’t help but slowly, hesitantly, rock your hips down onto him. 

jihoon’s hands go to your hips. he tilts his head back, the curls framing his temples brushing against the corners of his eyes. 

“now,” he says, “you think oedipus ignores his prophecy.”

you look down at your boyfriend, pouting at him. “you’re punishing me because i have a different opinion than you? about some old play?”

jihoon presses his lips together. then his hand is coming down sharply on your outer thigh, the sound acutely piercing your ears and reverberating in your head. he rubs roughly at the skin after, thumb swiping against the patch of skin as it turns violent with anger from his slap. 

“because you’re ignoring the text,” jihoon says. his hand slides from your thigh around to your ass. his fingers dig into your asscheek, contemplating the weight of it. “it’d be one thing if you had actual evidence that wasn’t in conflict with what sophocles was telling us.”

“if you’re trying to get me wet,” you say, thumbs tapping against his shoulders, “i’m not sure this is the way to go.”

jihoon moves the hand that was on your ass back to your hips. he squeezes the flesh beneath his hands, and then he’s slowly leading you into a rocking motion. it’s not much, but there’s enough connection between your cunt and his thigh to have a gentle swell of lust licking at your pussy. 

“don’t be smart,” he says. 

“you act smart all the time,” you snap back. you keep rocking your hips. “why can’t i?”

he scoffs a little, nails slightly digging into your skin. instead of any pain, they send a little spark of heat through you. “i’ve got degrees in this,” he explains. “i’m literally allowed to talk about this.”

“now,” he says, “oedipus never ignores his fate. he says as much. he believes polybus and merope to be his parents. when he becomes doubtful, he confronts them: ‘. . . i went to mother and father, questioned them closely . . . so as for my parents i was satisfied . . .’”

for a moment you’re speechless. and then you let out a loud laugh despite yourself. “you little fucking nerd, reciting oedipus rex to your girlfriend while she’s rubbing herself on her thigh.”

jihoon’s jaw tightens. he moves, hands on your hips pushing you up and off of him. once you’re standing, he joins you. as soon as jihoon is on his feet he’s pushing you around, moving so your bare ass is against his front. then he pushes further, pressing your body against the table in front of you. the edge of your table reaches your upper thigh, and so it’s easy for jihoon to place his hand against the middle of your back and press you until your front is firmly against the surface of the table. 

as soon as your chin is touching the cold table, jihoon is bringing his hand down sharply against your ass. you can’t help but let out a startled shout, body jerking from underneath him. 

“be good,” he murmurs, hand now gentle as he rubs at your skin in apology. “listen to your ta. trying to help, baby.”

“you’re being mean,” you say, toes curling against the frigid office floor as his hand travels to rest against the curve of your ass. 

“wouldn’t have to be if you’d be good,” he says. jihoon moves his hand down, the tip of his forefinger gliding against the area where your ass and thigh meet. “you gonna be good for me?”

you shift, moving one of your arms so you can rest your face against it. forehead pressing against your forearm, you nod. 

“good. now oedipus believed polybus and merope to be his true parents. he was still desperate to avoid the prophecy, so he abandoned his princely title and corinth. he wanted to be free of it, baby.”

his fingers tip inwards. your entire body tenses as his fingertips press alongside your folds. he doesn’t do anything further; doesn’t insert them. instead he just keeps them there, absentmindedly shifting his hand. 

“he is arrogant,” jihoon absconds, allowing you a single point. “we see that in the beginning. ‘. . . the world knows my fame: i am oedipus.’”

jihoon waits for a moment after quoting the play. when you don’t do anything other than let out a shaky breath, he rewards you. jihoon slowly moves his fingers against your cunt. he trails his fingers up and down your length. he maps out the full expanse of your pussy. his fingers slide up over your hole, which was now leaking and clenching properly. he brushes his digits over your clit almost clinically, giving it no more attention than the rest of you. 

“but he doesn’t ignore the prophecy. he believes he’s foiled it until he forces the shepherd to tell his story. he refuses to stop; refuses to listen to reason. he’s arrogant, yes, and hurtles straight towards the horrid truth of his parentage and marriage without a second thought.”

jihoon slowly, tortuously, slips a single finger into your cunt. his finger isn’t so thick to cause any discomfort. instead your pussy welcomes it, clenching around the digit. you can’t help but bare down on his finger, hips searching for more.

later you’ll remember to be mortified by the fact your boyfriend got you wet while talking about sophocles. 

but now you press your eyes shut, fingers lightly scraping against the surface of the desk. 

jihoon pushes his finger all the way inside of your pussy. you can feel it when it’s fully in, his knuckles scraping against your flesh. 

you cart your hips back, trying to get his finger to graze that special spongey place. 

“be good,” jihoon says, and then he’s retracting his finger from your cunt entirely. 

you let out a small gasp, brow furrowing. you turn your head to peer back at him. “hoonie….”

jihoon laughs at you, and then he’s lowering himself to press his chest along the line of your back. jihoon presses a kiss to the corner of your lips, one of his hands still holding tight to your hips. “you’re so cute when i’m fucking you,” he says, mouth moving against your cheek as he speaks. “you always get so cute. what is this?”

you pout at him. jihoon presses another kiss to your cheek, and then he’s standing. 

this time jihoon slides in two fingers. you frown, insistently pressing your forehead against your forearm as the stretch of his fingers slightly burns. it’s not unpleasant, of course. just a gentle burn that signals the walls of your pussy stretching to accommodate him. 

“there,” he says, satisfied. “now. where was i?”

he’s silent. you realize he’s waiting for you to speak, to prove you were listening. 

you let out a strangled groan, trying to think back. he had a single finger inside of you and it wasn’t enough. you try to think. you try to think of a single word to say that isn’t fuck or more; try to think despite the way jihoon is slowly angling his fingers towards your front, pressing them up. 

you can’t help but press your thighs together in anticipation. 

jihoon clicks his tongue, and then he’s pulling his fingers out. you let out a whine, trying to push yourself away from the desk. 

both of his hands go to your shoulders, keeping you firmly against the surface. “stay still,” he warns you. “i know you have a listening problem but i didn’t think it was this bad.”

there’s a rustle of clothing behind you. “don’t look,” jihoon says. “keep your face against the table.”

you can’t think of a reply, can’t think of anything to do other than what he says. you wonder if you should feel ashamed of how easily you become compliant for him. 

“oedipus doesn’t ignore the prophecy,” jihoon restates, and then he’s pressing his front against your ass. he’s taken off his pants and is just in his underwear. you can feel the shape of his thick cock against your ass, can feel it’s hard length along you. “he just believes polybus and merope when they say they are his true parents. there’s no harm in that. anyone would want to believe it when the people who raise them say they are their true parents.”

jihoon rocks his hips against you. his hands are holding your hips still as he, essentially, humps against your ass. 

“so in that regard your argument has a fallacy,” jihoon announces. 

a fallacy? 

you want to say something biting about how he’s able to even think about fallacies and arguments when he’s humping your ass, but then jihoon is returning two of his fingers to your pussy and you elect to keep silent. 

“he is arrogant, though,” jihoon says. he pushes two of his fingertips into your hole. you clench hungrily around them as if your pussy was trying to suck them in. you wonder if you’ve always been so – so whorish for him, or if it was a recent development from not having been properly fucked in nine weeks. 

“his pride is something that transcends time,” jihoon carries on. he doesn’t press his fingers any deeper inside of you. he rests the tip of his ring finger just barely against your clit. he doesn’t move it either; just rests it there, taunting. 

“everyone can think of a political leader who is too arrogant for their own good,” jihoon says. “it’s a tale as old as time. sophocles set the precedent with this story. a king on top of the world who listens to no one, only to be brought down to his knees by fate.”

jihoon begins to slide his fingers in. he does it leisurely, slowly, as if he has all the time in the world. 

“the evolution of his character is a fascinating one,” jihoon says, his ring finger leaving its place to instead rest against your hole. he doesn’t slide it in. you want to buck your hips back and force it inside. “arrogance to being humbled in every sense of the word. he is only wise until he can no longer see; only sees the truth once he is blinded

“do you remember,” jihoon says, “what he says after he blinds himself?”

you shake your head against your arm. his two fingers are nearly settled entirely inside of your pussy. you want them so deep inside of you that you can feel them in your throat. 

involuntarily you clench around his digits. 

jihoon clicks his tongue. his fingers stop moving in you. “what did i say? be good. none of this shit.”

you let out a little whine, your free hand curling into a fist. “sorry,” you say, unable to keep your voice from pitching up in desperation. “i’m sorry, hoonie.”

“say you won’t move,” jihoon instructs, voice seemingly detached. “say you’ll be a good girl for me and won’t move.”

your lower lip wobbles. you feel somewhat humiliated like this: your front pressing against the surface of a ta desk, shirt rucked up along your stomach and bare toes curling against the marble floors of the university history building. your boyfriend pressing all up against you, fingers stuffed into your cunt, telling you what to do as if you were some pathetic whore, desperate for a cock inside. 

but, because you are exactly that, you repeat his words, feeling wetness trickle from your pussy. “i’ll be good,” you whimper out. “i won’t move. i’ll be a good girl.”

jihoon lets out a quiet, nearly-silent huff of laughter. he retracts his fingers from your pussy, and immediately you’re feeling panic strike you. 

“be patient,” he chides you as you begin to press back against him. three of jihoon’s press against your hole. “be a good girl.”

jihoon pushes his three fingers into your pussy. you let out a high keening noise like a wounded animal, eyes squeezing shut and cunt eagerly drinking his fingers up. they’re nothing like his dick, aren’t as thick or delicious, but they’re something. 

the stretch burns and you wiggle absentmindedly, relishing in it. the burn is acute and hot and you yearn to press into it, to take more and more and more. 

“good,” he says once all three of his fingers are stuffed inside of you. “you look pretty like this, baby. you know that?”

you whine. you don’t move. 

jihoon’s three fingers press up, and when they bump against your bundle of nerves you can’t help but wiggle back, searching. 

“do you remember?” he repeats. “what’s the first thing oedipus says after he’s blinded?”

you shake your head. you don’t know how he expects you to think about anything. you feel as if you’ve been strung along, as if he’s been tugging at a chain and you’ve been stumbling behind him. 

“‘oh,” jihoon quotes, and then he’s lowering himself to press against you. his mouth it against your ear, his fingers shifting within your pussy due to his change of position. when he speaks again you can hear his voice as clear as day despite how he murmurs, and it’s as if he’s wrapped entirely around you; as if he’s consumed you. “‘oh, the agony! i am agony.’”

jihoon presses his fingers back into you so the tips of them were pressing against your pleasure spot once more. 

“he’s felt true agony now,” jihoon explains. he keeps his fingers still now. “he’s an icarus fallen to the earth. his wings of wax have melted. he’s a king with his word left in crumbles; with his queen dead and children made of sin. he’s nothing.”

jihoon’s nose presses against the shell of your ear. “his arrogance was his destruction. can you tell me more about it?”

you open your mouth to speak. you can’t. and even if you could, it isn’t as if your brain is working. there’s nothing inside of your mind. the lust, the desire, that takes over your body is so big it swallows up everything else and renders you dumb. 

jihoon huffs out a laugh, mean. “fine. at least do this to prove you’ve listened to me: tell me the first thing oedipus says after becoming blind.”

you feel as if he’s surrounding you. you can feel jihoon’s weight along your back, can feel his fingers inside of your cunt, stretching you out. you feel so keyed up, so ready for something. not something – him. you want jihoon. you want him carnally. you want his dick stuffed inside of your pussy. you want his mouth on your neck; want his hands on your tits. you want him pressing your face into the desk and drilling into your pussy. 

you open your mouth. an embarrassing noise comes out. 

“come on,” jihoon says. “you can do it.”

“‘oh,’” you breathe out, trying to remember the exact words. “oh, agony! i’m — i’m agony!”

jihoon must judge your vague quotation as good enough. he moves off of your back, and you can’t help but whine, wanting his weight settled against you once more. 

his hand shifts inside of you. 

he slides his fingers out. you can feel your cunt resisting the slide, pussy clenching down on his fingers. 

“hoonie,” you beg. 

“be good,” he chides you. “remember. no sex.”

and then jihoon is thrusting his fingers so forcefully into your pussy that you can feel the sting as his knuckles hit your ass. the sharp noise of skin hitting skin rings out. you can barely process it before he’s withdrawing his fingers and fucking them back in just as quickly. 

jihoon finger-fucks you harshly, as if it were his dick he was shoving inside. your ass jiggles with each thrust back in. you whine and cry, and you can feel your ass begin to smarten from the sting. but you still arch back and meet each thrust of his fingers eagerly, craving the pleasure-pain. 

it’s rough and you can feel the orgasm, that string he had been messing with for what seems to be hours, begin to tighten. 

“want,” you pant out, fingernails scraping against the desk. “want you, hoonie. please, please, please.”

“beg, baby.”

you let out a cry. there’s tears at the corners of your eyes. “please, hoonie. i want you. want you, want you. i want you, hoonie.”

your voice breaks off, tight with emotion. 

jihoon lets out a curse, and then he’s dropping behind you. jihoon shoves your leg up, and you follow suit, placing your knee on the able and giving him access to your pussy. jihoon shoves a hand against your thigh, keeping it in place on the table. 

his mouth licks a stripe from where his fingers plunge into your pussy to your clit, taking that aching muscle between his lips and suckling. 

when you orgasm it’s harsh and loud, fluids gushing from your pussy and soaking jihoon’s face. he takes you into his arms, pulling you to the floor with him and pressing kisses to your face. 

“good girl,” he murmurs, voice raspy and comforting. the office is drenched in the smell of pussy – of your pussy – and his nose shines with your release. he ignores it, his clean hand pushing back stray strands of hair from your face so he can press a sweet kiss to your nose. “good girl.”

W E E K  T H I R T E E N

you think, fleetingly, that you’re not being fair. 

but then you remember that girl – girl, because she can’t be any older than eighteen, fresh out of high school and far too young to be sniffing around your boyfriend – and how she pressed close to jihoon as she showed him something on her computer, and you can’t help but think you’re not being harsh enough. 

with that in the forefront of your mind, you ease the hot pink dildo in your aching cunt. you can feel fluid gush from your pussy, a slick combination of your own desire and the generous amount of lube you had massaged onto the dildo. 

the stretch burns, stretching the walls of your pussy. it’s a stark, acute contrast to the three fingers you used to stretch yourself, and you couldn’t help but arch your back up off of jihoon’s couch, toes curling and mouth dropping open. 

you can feel the fluids leak down your pussy, sliding along the curve of your ass. 

good, you think. sink into the fabric of the couch so from now on, whenever he sits here, he has to smell your cunt. 

your hand stills once the base of the dildo is flush against your ass. you shift, hips tilting as you try to relieve some of the sting. 

you stretch out for your phone, glancing at the time. the dildo is pushed from your pussy by the movement. 

jihoon will be home any minute. your hand returns to the dildo, pushing it back into your pussy. your cunt sucks it in, eager and greedy. 

clenching down on the dildo, you can’t help the thrill of satisfaction that shoots through you. you feel so delightfully full, as if some part of you was a gaping hole that needed to be filled. 

well – 

you suppose that line of thought isn’t too wrong. 

you grab the dildo, fingernails digging slightly into the jelly-like texture. you slide the dildo from your cunt. despite how much lube you used, despite how wet your cunt is, the dildo still is slow to slide out, your pussy clamping down to try and keep it in place. 

you pull it out until just the tip of the dildo is pressed against your hole. your juices glint evilly on the dildo, a long, thick string along the side of it. 

slowly you ease it back inside. you tip your head back, foot pressing down on the cushion of the couch in an attempt to mentally steady yourself. it’s a dragging sensation that has impatience licking at your brain, trying to push its way to the forefront. 

you pump the dildo in and out, in and out, until you are satisfied that the burn from your pussy stretching to accommodate it is no more. 

you draw it out. 

and then you force it back in, sharp enough for the gelatin balls to slap against your ass in a poor mimicry of the real thing. 

your free hand goes to your tit, framing a pebbled nipple between two of your fingers. you massage it, pull it, as you harshly fuck the dildo in, soft pants escaping your mouth as your body begins to ignite with pleasure and the wanton desire for more. 

you can’t help but want. it’s as if the desire is written into your dna, lining the fabric of your entire being. you want to be fucked, want to be thrown onto your front and taken from behind; want jihoon fucking his fat cock into your pussy in one swift motion, forcing your pussy to stretch around him. 

you want jihoon. 

you could devour him, you think as you crook the dildo up towards the front of your body, searching for your g-spot. you would devour him whole. you would take and take from him until he’s entirely yours, body and soul. 

the lock to the door clicks. you hurriedly bring the fingers messing with your nipple up to your mouth, licking at them before taking the nub between them and rolling. 

the front door to jihoon’s apartment swings open, your boyfriend stepping through. his eyes immediately catch on you, naked and wanton. 

“what – fuck –” he shoves the door shut behind him, loud and firm. “what the fuck are you doing?!”

you slide the dildo from your pussy, slow and torturous, ensuring he’s watching. jihoon’s eyes, naturally, flick down to your pussy. the dildo is still slick with fluid, and you can where the more dense of your fluids stain the pink of the dick. 

“what are you doing,” he repeats, dropping his leather bag to the floor. 

“taking matters – ah,” you moan out, massaging your gummy g-spot with the head of the dick. “taking matters into my own hands, jihoon; what else?”

his hands go to his shirt. jihoon hurriedly pushes at the buttons of his white dress shirt, letting it fall to the floor after he’s done. his trousers follow suit, and he leaves them behind with his shoes and socks. 

“what are you doing?” you grin at jihoon toothily, echoing his words. “no sex, remember?”

jihoon moves towards you regardless. he had done his hair that morning, gelling it back. now a few stray strands frame his temples, giving him a perfectly disheveled look. his tank top does nothing to conceal his collar bones, the line of his shoulders proud and wide. 

his hands find your thighs. he separates your legs, baring your pussy entirely. 

you still your hand, just keeping the dildo snug inside of you, refusing to move it further. “what are you doing, jihoon?”

“looking,” he retorts, eyes dancing around your body as he takes you in. you think you look like some perverted creature, carnal desire and desperation written onto every centimeter of skin. 

“don’t touch,” you chide him, moving an leg from his grasp. jihoon tightens his hold on the other as you press your foot against his chest, lightly pressing in a piss-poor attempt to push him back. 

jihoon rolls his eyes at you, nose crinkling and mouth twisting into a sneer. 

“oh,” you breathe out, sheathing the dildo fully inside once more. his eyes meet yours. you let a grin take over, unable to help but tease him. “‘oh, the agony! i am agony!’ isn’t that right, hoonie?”

for a split second you can see shock take over jihoon’s features, catlike eyes widening. a strike of triumph hits you, feeling as if you are the cat that got the canary. 

but then jihoon is grabbing the dildo from your hand. he pulls it out, the slide making your mouth drop in a gasp and body arch up off of the couch. 

“h – hoonie –!”

“agony,” he hisses, and then jihoon is shoving his boxers down to his knees. 

his cock bounces from his underwear, slapping against the fabric of his tank-top. it’s thick and angry, and when he runs his hand along it, rubbing at the head, a thick marble of precum leaks from it. 

“no – no sex,” you say, voice hoarse as you subconsciously keep your eyes on his cock. you’ve been starving for jihoon’s dick for so long, and here it is, thick and pulsing in front of you. 

and like a starving woman in front of a table overflowing with food, you eagerly welcome jihoon’s dick when he presses the tip against your hole. you spread your legs, knees knocking against his hips as he presses against you. 

jihoon keeps his dick in hand, not entering you. he rubs his dick up between your folds, a soft curse escaping his lips at how wet you are. once he’s at your clit he stops, rubbing the head of his dick against you. 

“fuck –” your voice is taking on a whining tone, and you can’t help but fleetingly wonder what happened to you showing jihoon who’s boss, making him witness just what he’s missing. but that thought is gone from your mind as soon as it enters, and instead you’/re pleading with jihoon. “please, hoonie – please fuck me, please.”

he sighs, the tip of his cock pressing against your hole. still, he doesn’t enter you. “i thought we agreed on no sex,” he says. “no sex until the semester is over.”

you cry out, hips trying to shift upwards and force his dick inside. jihoon pulls back. “please – put it in. it won’t count – won’t count if you don’t cum in me, yeah? won’t count if i don’t cum around your dick.”

jihoon lets out a loud, shivering groan that seems to release from the depths of his soul. 

jihoon presses his dick into your cunt. the head pops past your entrance, and then he’s sliding home. 

your pussy takes jihoon eagerly, sufficiently prepared by your fingers and the dildo. his dick is just slightly thicker than the dildo, and so there is a pleasurable sting that burns at your core. it’s not horrible, and you let out a moan as you cant your hips up. 

jihoon doesn’t stop pressing into you until his balls are against your ass. his hands are on either of your legs, keeping you spread for him. jihoon uses his grip on you to push himself back, bringing his cock out of your cunt slowly. the drag of his dick is delicious, is everything you’ve been missing for months. 

you’re not sure if this is just because you haven’t been fucked appropriately since august and it’s in the middle of november, but you feel completely overwhelmed by jihoon. 

his cock feels so good inside of you. it’s thick and warm, and when he shifts his dick presses up towards your core. his blunt head presses against your g-spot, and you can’t help the little mewl of approval that escapes you. 

“feels good,” he breathes out. his eyes flutter, nails digging into your skin. “you feel so fucking good.”

jihoon pulls his hips back, leaving your pussy save for the tip of his dick. he lingers, the fat head of his dick keeping you plugged. 

when jihoon thrusts in, it’s rough and well-aimed for your g-spot. you let out a shrill noise, eyes rolling back. you don’t know if sex has ever felt like this before – if you’ve ever felt so overwhelmed just by a single thrust. 

your hands scramble, grabbing at the couch. “hoonie!”

he slides out; fucks back in. 

jihoon’s pace is rough, as if he’s making up for lost time. as if he’s determined to mold your pussy back into the shape of his dick. he uses your pussy, uses you. he uses your cunt in an almost detached way, as if you were some random fuck and not his treasured girlfriend. 

eventually jihoon is pulling from your cunt with a strangled moan. his dick is drenched with your fluids, thick strings decorating it like lewd jewelry. jihoon palms his dick, and then he’s thrusting into his hand once, twice, thrice before he cums onto your stomach. 

he lets out a moan, a gasp of your own joining. his cum is thick and hot. you want to shove it into your pussy. 

jihoon’s hands go back to your thighs, and then he’s dropping to his knees. 

“can’t wait to fuck you,” he groans, “can’t wait to fill you up. as soon as finals are over, you’re mine. got it? you’re mine.”

then his tongue is licking a stripe up from your cunt to your clit, and all other thoughts leave you. 

W E E K  S I X T E E N

the lecture hall, just like most of the rest of campus, is nearly deserted. 

you had left your apartment as soon as the email about your final grade dinged your phone, delight and want immediately turning at your stomach. you had been looking forward to this day for months: the day you and jihoon were finally free to fuck (and publicly be in a relationship, but that wasn’t the most pressing matter at the moment). 

jihoon was at the front of the large room, talking to the last stragglers of the exam he had to oversee. you rush down the steps, unable to help the broad smile on your face. 

your boyfriend looks up as you thunder down the auditorium, and you catch the moment his own face breaks out into a wide grin. 

he calls out your name as you step off of the last step. 

the student he’s talking to waves goodbye, and you take the spot where he had been standing. 

“hey,” you say, unable to keep your smile tamed. “how’s it going?”

jihoon rolls his eyes at you, folding his arms over his chest. this close to him you could smell his cologne, the sharp smells of amber and vanilla. he was wearing his white dress shirt again, though this time it was dressed up with a simple black tie. 

“glad it’s over,” jihoon murmurs. 

you glance around the room. there’s two girls at the back, talking excitedly as one of them packs up their things. 

“took you forever to grade the exams.”

jihoon scoffs. “as if. you turned it in last night at midnight.”

you shrug. the girls begin to make their way out of the room, calling out good-byes to jihoon. 

“all things considered,” he says, raising a hand in acknowledgement towards the girls, “this semester wasn’t so bad.”

you laugh at him. “it’s been agony to me,” you say, knowing how loaded the word is for the both of you. 

the heavy wooden doors shut solemnly behind the girls. it’s as if a switch flicks off in jihoon’s mind. his eyes visibly soften before you, his smile taking on a gentler shape. 

“i missed you,” he says. he doesn’t say anything else; that isn’t jihoon’s way. he’d write a thousand poems for you and keep them locked away. he’ll say three words, i missed you, and his meaning will include a hundred other things: i love you; i adore you; i want you close to me always; you bewitch me. 

“i missed you, too,” you echo, hoping he feels the weight of your simple response. 

jihoon keeps his face passive as he opens his arms, and you go easily into his embrace. you burrow your face into his neck, breathing him in. he wraps his thick arms around you, pressing you close to his body. 

for a moment the two of you just exist in this little universe. 

jihoon is the first to pull away, though he doesn’t go far. as if magnetic, you tilt your lips towards him, meeting his mouth halfway. 

the kiss begins gentle and solemn. it’s the end of a sentence, finishing the semester, which had been filled with tension and desperation, with a sweet embrace and soft lips. 

you separate your mouth from his. you skim your lips along his chin, following the edge of his jaw. you trace the edges of his face with your mouth, trying to memorize the shape of him. 

“i missed you,” you say again. 

jihoon is silent. he sinks a hand into your hair, cradling the back of your head. he guides your face back to his, his lips pressing a long kiss to yours. 

this time when jihoon kisses you it’s firm. his mouth is insistent against yours, devouring you in a way that leaves you breathless. he presses you back, his tongue sliding past your lips. 

jihoon walks you backwards until your thighs are bumping against the table. he keeps your head still, tongue licking into your mouth and exploring. 

his free hand slides beneath your shirt, grabbing at the flesh of your hip. 

“hoonie,” you say, pulling back from his mouth. jihoon hums, pressing kisses to the corner of your mouth. “want you.”

“got me,” he returns. 

despite his gentle words, jihoon’s hands move quickly against you. he tosses your shirt and bra aside, mouth attaching to your neck as soon as you are bare. his hand slides down to the waistband of your pants, fingers dipping past it. jihoon presses open-mouthed kisses to your skin, eager to reefamiliarize himself with your body entirely. his nips at the curve of your tit, and then his mouth is suckling at a pebbled nippple. 

you whine against him. you run your hands overh im. you feel the curve of his own pecs, feel the flat plane of his stomach, still hidden by his shirt. you tug at his tie, and then you’re molding your hand against his straining erection. 

jihoon groans against you. “careful,” he says. 

“we shouldn’t get too carried away,” you return. your fingers find the button of his trousers nonetheless. it’s the easiest thing to pop it through the hole, loosening his pants. “we should go home. anyone could walk in.”

“‘oh, the agony,’” jihoon says, and then he’s turning you around and pressing you against the table. 

he’s quick to pull your pants and underwear to your ankles. jihoon helps you step out of them, leaving them in a discarded mess by the leg of the table. 

he smooths his hands over your legs and thighs as he stands, his tough heavy and warm. jihoon positions you; slides his hand along your leg and pushes it up onto the table, foot dangling over the edge. 

he slides two of his fingers inside of your pussy. you clench down on the intrusion, biting down on your lip. 

“don’t –” you sigh out, turning over your shoulder to look at him. “i’m ready.”

jihoon blinks at you for a moment, and then he’s cursing. “slut,” he says, though his lips twitch up into a grin. 

he doesn’t bother undressing all the way. you can feel the fabric of his pants bunch against your ass when his cock is buried deep inside. his cock stretches you so delightfully. you feel as if you’re finally whole after an eternity of missing something. 

maybe you really are a slut. 

jihoon slides his dick out slowly, making you feel every centimeter of his cock. the glide is nearly on the side of too-dry, but your eyes roll back nonetheless, nails scraping against the wood of the table. 

“fuck,” he breathes out, and then he’s punching his dick back into your pussy. 

you rock forward on the table, the edge of it digging into you. you don’t mind it. instead you push back, meeting his thrust. 

“missed you,” jihoon says. you wonder if he’s talking about your pussy. you wouldn’t blame him if he was: you missed his cock, afterall. 

you missed out his dick feels within you, heavy and stretching you out. you missed how he fucks into you, how his hips slap against your ass. you missed the sting of him fucking you, the sting of skin against skin coupled with the electric sparks of pleasure that shoot through you when the blunt head of his cock hits your g-spot. 

jihoon fucks you as if you were reuniting. which, you suppose, you are. he fucks you as if he’s treasuring each thrust, as if he’s making sure each rock of his hips is perfect to make up for lost time. 

you can feel the fabric of his shirt when jihoon presses his front against your back. his black tie dangles beside your face. he uses his weight to keep you against the table, his hips picking up pace. 

he practically jackrabbits into your pussy, hips frantic. 

“missed you,” he says, and then he’s grabbing your face to press another open-mouthed kiss to your lips. there’s no finesse: it’s just as messy as the way he fucks you. spit slides from mouth to mouth, tongues meeting and tangling. 

he’s devouring you, you realize. he’s gobbling you up, owning you inside and out. 

jihoon reaches down, his fingers finding your clit easily. he slips his fingers against your clit, the wetness of your pussy making the glide easy. his fingers against your clit are just as frantic as his hips fucking into you, and the combined sensation brings your orgasm crashing down around you more quickly than you would like. 

he slows his hips to a stop as you cum around his cock, whining high at the back of your throat. it’s overwhelming. you haven’t cum around his dick in months. his cock stretches you still, and every minute shift of your hips back against him has his dick pressing against all the sensitive places. 

“good?” his voice is raspy against your hair. 

you nod. 

jihoon pulls back, and you hiss at the feeling of his dick leaving your pussy. 

he doesn’t stay gone for long. jihoon maneuvers you onto your back. he grabs each of your thighs, holding them up and baring you to him. you can feel the juices of your release as they slide down your cunt. 

he thrusts back in. immediately you’re tossing your head back against the table, eyes rolling back. your toes curl. 

jihoon hooks your legs over the crook of each of his arms, and then he’s setting a harsh pace once again. his grunts are loud againsts the quiet of the room, the slapping of skin against skin sending heat rushing up towards your face. you feel too high strung, feel as if your neurons and electrons are buzzing around underneath your skin. you want to move away from his cock and how it tortures you, pressing against your g-spot as sensitivity rears its ugly head; you want to fuck down onto his dick until you’re unable to walk. 

when jihoon cums, it’s copious. it’s too much. you feel his dick throb within you as he spills, filling you with hot seed. it’s so much; you want more. 

jihoon pulls his dick from your pussy only once he’s finished. he isn’t done with you, though. 

he slaps his palm against your cunt, the sensation acute and electric. 

you want to cry. you don’t want him to ever stop. 

jihoon slaps your cunt again, and then he’s hooking three of his fingers inside of your pussy. he thrusts him inside in the same fashion he did his cock: harshly, roughly. the sting of his knuckles against your flesh isn’t unlike the sting of his hips. 

when you cum, it’s with a loud sob. he presses the fingers of his free hand against your clit, rubbing it once more while his fingers keep pressing up against your g-spot, relentless in his mission of wringing you dry. 

after it’s over, you hold out your arms. 

jihoon gathers you into his embrace easily, pressing a kiss to your forehead. you know you should hurry and dress, know that it’ll be a matter of time before someone wanders into the room. 

you don’t care. 

instead you just bask in the attention of your boyfriend, forehead pressing to his shoulder. 

[another-lost-mc]

Soo like would the demon brothers including the other demon characters kill for mc? 👻

It's not a question of will they kill for you, but rather, who do they have to kill? Because of course they would.

If it's some nobody lesser demon, chances are they can do the deed and get away with it without anyone knowing (or caring) about it after. Higher-ranking demons within the nobility are more of a challenge - the social and personal consequences are much higher, assuming the original offense is a minor infraction and not something that would warrant a formal punishment of the court. If it's something serious, it's better to let Diavolo take care of it (and trust when he says that he will).

Angels are tricky to deal with. Outright killing one would probably anger Diavolo too much, let alone what Michael's reaction would be. Punishments for Celestial Realm denizens who offend or hurt you (and by extension, the demons that care for you) are non-lethal and have to be carried out with some level of care and subtlety. They can't arouse too much suspicion or anger from the other realms. Fortunately, angels aren't likely to do anything too grievous towards you anyway. (The angels that know you best have their own methods of dealing with their angelic brothers or sisters that need a little enlightenment when it comes to your happiness and well-being.)

When it comes to deadly retribution, humans are probably the easiest for your demon companions to dispose of. With their frail bodies and fondness for sin and reckless behaviour, humans die unexpectedly all the time. So long as they're careful not to leave any evidence of their involvement behind, some poor human's unexpected demise is coincidental at best. Your pet demon isn't likely to be held accountable for it either - assuming Solomon hasn't taken care of the miscreant first, that is.

Of course, killing is such a vague concept, and each of your demonic friends has their own preferences when it comes to getting their hands a little bloody for you.

(warnings: mentions of violence/murder/torture, unhinged behaviour, demons being demons, etc.)

RECKLESS AND IMPULSIVE: It might surprise you how quick they respond to aggression or insults towards you and the level of violence they're capable of. Their love for you is so strong, they can't help it. Perhaps it's better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission, because they know you're too kind for your own good. Letting some no-good demon get away with hurting you, even the tiniest bit, is unthinkable. It doesn't really matter what you say, because once the switch flips, it's too late to stop them. The demon is already dead at their feet before anyone else nearby even realizes what happened.

— Mammon, Satan, Beelzebub

CAREFUL AND CALCULATED: A bitter insult, some derogatory comments on Devilgram, obnoxious criticisms heard amongst the chatter of RAD's busy hallways - it doesn't take much to anger them when it comes to defending you. You're so precious, their uniquely imperfect little human master, and you deserve better than that. They'll take their time, they'll make their plans, they'll consider their options carefully. When the deed is done, they'll make sure every last trace of blood is gone from their hands and their teeth before they see you again. It would be a shame to tarnish you with the filth of the unworthy.

— Leviathan, Asmodeus, Belphegor, Mephistopheles

MERCILESS AND UNTOUCHABLE: There's nothing that matters more than your safety and happiness. They're the ones you can turn to when you feel like you can't turn to anyone else. You can confide in them because they're strong. Their power and influence is unmatched, and no matter what troubles you, they'll see that it's taken care of. They used to scare you before, but now there's comfort in the firm hand clasping your shoulder when they lead you to your door, or the warm cup of tea they press into your hands, or the princely smile that promises you never have to worry so long as they're close. You can rest easy at night knowing whatever threatens your well-being is taken care of, even if you don't realize it. The dungeons beneath the Demon Lord's Castle that house the wicked, and the dark deeds carried out against them in your name, are burdens they gladly bear.

— Lucifer, Diavolo, Barbatos

[oceansblvds]

I SENT THE ASK ABT TEACHER CORYO IM BEGGING YOU TO WRITE TA/PROFESSOR SNOW 😝

OKOKOK IM GONNA WRITE SOME HEADCANONS BUT I MIGHT HONESTLY EXPAND THIS INTO A FULL FIC BC im a whore!

warning(s): nsfw, obsessive behavior, lowkey an abuse of power

coriolanus, almost out of university, was selected to teach a higher level math class on the account of dr. gaul saying he needed a little bit more experience with teaching and leadership if he was to be head gamemaker. so, he was a TA, teaching under a professor but was basically given full rein with the class, as the professor seemed to focus more on research than teaching the class. the second he was in the lecture discussion, he saw you walk in. you were a junior, just a year under him in university and god were you beautiful. almost mouth wateringly so. it made him sick in the head at how pretty you were.

and gods above, you were smart, almost as smart as he was (though he wouldn't ever admit that) and it was clear that you liked him. you always smiled when he complimented your high scores on tests and quizzes, and would read the notes that he put in the margins of your essays with a glimmer in your eyes. he needed to talk to you, needed to be closer to you, and the only way that he could think of was to give you slightly lower marks on your essays and homeworks. never on a test, he would never want to drop your grade low enough for it to be concerning, but he did wait for you to stumble into his office hours. and you did. you asked him how you could do better on the material, and he told you that he'd help you.

he didn't have an office, only a classroom that he was lent during his office hours in the top floor of the math building. it was there that you would meet him, every tuesday and thursday, to go over problems. he liked the way that your lip would be bitten in between your teeth when you were looking at a particularly hard problem, or when you would look at him with your big doe eyes when you asked him for help. and whenever you asked him for help, he would lean closer, and explain it to you.

one day, he finally got the courage to make a move. you asked him for help and he placed his hand on your thigh, as if he was using it to keep himself steady as he leaned over. but instead of watching him explain on the paper, you kept your attention on his face. and then he pushed his hand further up your thigh, under your skirt, and you didn't stop him. your hand came to his and you pushed it up until it was cupping your pussy. he fingered you right then and there, hoping beyond hoping that no one else would walk into his office hours for help. the two of you made out while he fingered you, going as far as to press three fingers into you, with a squelching sound, your moans echoing through the room softly.

that became somewhat of a normal thing. you two always met during his office hours, until you decided to go to his home one day for some extra tutoring. it ended with you in his large bed with your legs spread, while he put his fingers in your mouth as he fucked you with such fervor that you were sure you were going to break.

sometimes when he was grading papers, you would slink under his desk and pull his cock out, spitting on the tip and bobbing your head up and down until he gave you the attention you wanted. he always fantasized about you doing this when he was teaching another class, with you working him with your mouth as he sat on his desk and no one else knew the wiser. he would have to try that with you one day.

lots of words like how dirty you were for sleeping with your teacher. "you're such a needy thing, aren't you?" "show me how good you've gotten" when you were riding him. "you probably fantasize about my cock in class, don't you?" it was all so derogatory. and other times he would praise you. he would tell you how smart and beautiful you were. he would let you cum when you got a problem right while he sat under the desk, eating you out. when you got a problem wrong, he would stop, and no amount of begging would get him to continue unless you continued your work.

[space-atrium]

Jiuyuan (scumcum) au where something goes wrong when the system trys to plop sy into sj body

(It arrives to early)

They end up in this mind-void space with the system; sy and sj start arguing with the system.

Somehow sj convinces the system to give him the protag Halo, but the system also has to shift around the other character halos to accommodate this.

(Something something pidw already happened as a written story there for this version of the world is different ect ect)

As a consequence, the system gives Sy a love interest halo because all others are fixed to characters or violate some rule about transmigrators, but there's plenty of li-halos to go around!

Unfortunately giving sj the protag Halo turns the story's genre into a tragedy, neither shen want this, they want a different genre.

But the system actually isn't in charge of classifying genres, it can give missions and change character classification.

So the system makes sy an oracle, his mission to aide sj if they want to change the story's genre. The system release them back into the world, sy is just tossed somewhere in a freshly new adult body, inevitably gets trapped somewhere.

Sj first mission from the system: find sy!

Meanwhile sqh gets an alert from his system for an account upgrade.

His options are; upgrade his account to vip admin* and lose all acquired b points, or Continue with current status

(*Conditions apply)

I don't see sqh willing charging his system status so something will have to happen to force him.

This stuff all happened while sy and sj where in the mind-void space.

So sj mission, he has to leave the sect to do it, the system is unhelpful in giving info on where sy is, sj has to search by himself. When he finds sy, hes been imprisonment by some rogue cultivators??(villain of the week goons??).

(Sy had barley been in this world for a week when he got captured for being an oracle, Sj finds him almost a month later) Sj discovers that sy has a first level golden core and of course gets pissed about it, sy never even worked for that while sj still doesn't have one.

Sy like 'chill I know where all the overpowered cultivation boosters are; the system gives a new mission: help sj advance to golden core level 1 with oracle powers!

(It's more complicated then that; getting the right booster depends on, time of day, faze of moon, time of season, type of cultivation- spiritual or physical, or even if you have demon ancestry)

What follows is a quest that takes much longer then it should, getting sidetracked, lost, attacked, kidnapped… Sj has been away from the sect much longer than he said he would (yes sj did get his cultivation booster eventually).

Funny thing, sy has this stat according to the system called: GODs favorite (derogatory). He's gods favorite hater.

Sqh after going through things on his updated account finds out there are other system users! And he can contact them through his system!!

(And that someone else has the protag Halo!!??)

Sj and sy randomly get a notification for "message from GOD" yelling ensures.

Yes sy is sqh's oracle

[megaderping]

Persona 5 fandom, I beg of you, please stop with the casual (and likely very unintentional) ableism. This is less about one specific person and an overall trend I see whenever people post bad takes on Akechi. Going "Akechi is a murderous psychopath" is harmful because it spreads an unfair stigma about psychopathy and mental illness in general as this "crazy" and violent thing, which has been normalized for far too long. And also, it's just not true. Anyone who thinks Akechi is this "remorseless psycho" (keeping in mind this use of the term isn't great) simply does not have more than a surface level reading of the character. His missable November texts make it abundantly clear that he is not happy with what he's doing under Shido. Which, granted, HIGHLY missable text. You have to basically delay Sae's Palace and not go in at all until mid-November. Engine room, 12/24, multiple times in third sem... his remorse is there, it's just subtle or not presented as shaking and crying and begging for forgiveness, because he's a guarded mess of a person (with deep psychological scars, make no mistake- this is not a healthy kid). But even without those texts, there are plenty of times where these feelings are conveyed. His sad reaction when Morgana explains changes of heart (if he had known sooner), his regrets in the engine room and lamentations about Joker's freedom, and I basically did a whole meta post breaking down the important visual and spoken symbolism to Akechi's character that gets boiled down to "hehehe crazy murder boy". Hate or dislike him? Cool, sure, but the normalization in fandom communities of just throwing around mental illness related terms in a derogatory fashion... really isn't good? Like even if Akechi was literally a psychopath or sociopath or had npd or other specific mental illnesses, that doesn't inherently make him evil, nor does it erase his victimhood, which is so integral to his role in the story.

He killed people, yes. That's not really up for debate, and yes he gets feral and over the top in third sem... but that's just over the top edgelord behavior directed at Shadows and focusing only on that ignores everything else he says and does in third sem, yet it happens so much (even though other Phantom Thieves, like Haru, have fun fighting Shadows too). Are we just gonna ignore all the times he's cool, collected, and reasonable in third sem to throw around this antiquated and hurtful idea of what the word "psychopath" means? ._. Just... blarg. I've made many Akechi rambles/rants, but the normalization of ableism surrounding him is not great? I think it's mostly down to ignorance and lack of media literacy, but yeah. Plus it's kinda fucked up how little weight is placed on Shido for teaching him how to do shutdowns (his own admission), the fact that the moment Akechi revealed himself to Shido, he was screwed, because this is a man who took a bump on the head as a reason to ruin Joker's life.

Idk. I think it's not just a P5 fandom trend, even, because it's so normalized the same way people think OCD is this funny quirky mental condition because of shows like Monk when it's an actual disability that can deeply affect people in horrible ways... Mental health awareness is good is all I'm saying.

[runningfrom2am]

leveling the playing field XII

summary: with nowhere else to go after getting caught cheating to help lucy gray, you both make some desperately stupid decisions.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 3.2k

tags/warnings: capitol brat!reader, maybe slightly ooc coryo, idk i tried my best. do they love each other or hate each other? who knows (we do, kind of). use of a derogatory term (pr*stitute) implications and mentions of abuse, so read with caution!! also a little bit of swearing but that's neither here nor there. oh, and manipulation (both of them lowkey)

masterlists // nav // requests

a/n: nothing much to say other than thank you guys and i hope you like it :)

series masterlist

"Coryo!" You grin, running out of the house and down the front porch steps, throwing your arms around his shoulders as soon as you can reach him. It had only been a few days since you'd seen him, but you had to do what you had to do. Truth be told, you did miss him, though.

He chuckles as he catches you, carefully letting you down after a moment. "Hey, Y/N/N, how's it going?"

"I'm good." You grin, turning back at the sound of people laughing inside the house. "You have to come in to meet Ash. He's gonna come with us today, and Lucy Gray is packing a picnic! It's gonna be so fun."

"Who?" Coriolanus asks, but you're already gone, heading back up to the house. An uneasy feeling settles in his gut as he follows you, shoving his hands into his pockets as he enters the home. The kids are trying to gather things into bags, and Lucy Gray is packing some food to bring with the group out to the meadow.

You, on the other hand, are wrapped around the arm of a boy who looks like he belongs in the Capitol Zoo. "Coryo, this is Ash. We met at the Hob the other night." You explain, looking between the two of them as Coriolanus clenches his jaw.

"Nice to meet you." He says through gritted teeth, reaching out out of habit to shake the boy's hand. He's got dark hair, and somehow darker eyes. Immediately, he doesn't trust him.

"You too, man. Love the peacekeeper getup." He chuckles, shaking his hand briefly and Coryo quickly recoils to wipe his hand on his pants.

"Oh, Coryo is a peacekeeper." You explain, smiling up at Ash as he drapes an arm around your waist.

"We're in the business of trusting those monsters now?" Ash asks, somehow maintaining a lighthearted tone. Like it was a joke, like Coriolanus was nothing more than his position.

"Only a couple." You laugh, shocking Coryo completely. Not so much as a word in his defense while this district trash said such horrible things about him. He was back to not even being able to recognize you. "Coryo is my best friend. We've known each other since we were kids. Sejanus too."

Best friend... That's it?

"That makes sense then." Ash nods, and Coryo stands up taller as Ash not so subtly sizes him up.

"You know, Sejanus has been awfully chummy with Billy Taupe and his friends. Ash is one of them." You say to Coryo quietly, taking up the rear of the Covey as all of you walk out to the meadow behind the house. "Have you noticed?"

He hums in acknowledgment, thinking it over. "It is odd." He agrees. He has noticed your mutual friend sneaking away on any nights out they could spare, and just generally being more cagey than usual. And it makes more sense that his name would mean anything to your new friend.

"Have you asked him about it?"

"No." He shakes his head. "You should, though. He trusts you more."

"That's not true." You laugh. "You are his best friend, after all."

"As are you." He raises an eyebrow at you.

"Oh, please. He throws that term around too loosely." You roll your eyes playfully.

"And you don't?" He asks, obviously referring to how you called him your best friend earlier. It's working. This was evidence that referring to him that way was driving him crazy- you had him wrapped around your finger, and you loved the feeling.

"Nope." You grin, bumping him with your shoulder. "Have I told you the haircut is really working for you? Because it is."

"Thank you. It wasn't by choice." He explains, smiling at the compliment but shrugging it off.

"I figured." You laugh, reaching up to run your hand over his shaved head. "I miss your curls, though..."

"Y/N! Come here!" Ash calls from up ahead, walking backward now as he waves for you to join him.

"Coming!" You call back, immediately ditching Coryo to catch up with him.

Coryo cringes at how his boots sink into the dirt and how you let Ash yell at you like that. Like you were a dog. You'd hardly known the guy for a few days and he's already talking down to you, Coryo is appalled at your taste. You run up to Ash, immediately reaching up and sticking your hand in his unbrushed hair. If Coryo was a brunette and didn't shower ever, that's probably what his hair would look like. It made him nauseous.

The following night, after Coriolanus complained endlessly to you about the birds he had to spend most of his days trapping, you had a stroke of absolute genius. He really, really hates those birds, just as much as you can tell he already hates Ash.

As the sun is setting over the field surrounding the hanging tree, you tell Lucy Gray you're going for a walk, and off you go into the woods with only your mind to keep you company.

They'd set so many traps it was unbelievable, and a good amount had trapped some of the songbirds inside. They were beautiful creatures, timid, too, for birds who were typically so vocal. They were products of the Capitol, so that would only make sense. You were careful not to make a sound as you opened every trap you could reach. You could just hope that by the time Coryo and his group arrived in the morning, they hadn't been trapped again.

You knew this was likely considered treason, interfering with government projects, but you didn't have a whole lot to lose, and seeing the frustration on Coryo's face when he ranted about how stubborn these birds were made the risk well worth it. It wasn't the revenge you were used to doling out to people who had wronged you, but you had been working on changing, after all.

After setting free no less than twenty birds that blew your hair back out of your face as they shot out of their cages, occasionally thanking you by singing your footsteps back to you or clawing at your arms, you made your way back to the street to head back to Lucy Gray's home.

You sucked your teeth over the stinging in your skin from the small cuts and scrapes that nnow littered your forearms. You suddenly understood why Coriolanus hated the creatures. They were beautiful singers, but clearly so inconsiderate. They'd be trapped again anyways, you were just delaying the inevitable to piss off your friend. They got scratches on you, but your people would still win the war.

You lift the excess fabric of your skirt to pat the beading and drying blood off of your arms as you walk. The town was quiet, only a few people scattered around very rarely. Either homeless or drunk, minding their business as you silently made your way down the dimly lit streets toward the seam. You recognize you're almost home when you pass the Hob, through the alley where Coriolanus graced you with his subpar apology. Squinting toward that same back exit as the door creaks open, you move across the alley to hug the opposite wall as you walk, trying to mind your business.

"Yeah, okay. I'll arrange for that. Thank you, yeah. We'll work it out. I promise." Was that... Sejanus? Your theory is confirmed when the speaker steps out into the alley. It was quiet, a weeknight. If the Hob had been open, it was deadly quiet by this hour.

"Sejanus?" You call out, speaking without thinking.

The boy jumps, slamming the door behind himself and looking toward you quickly. "Y/N? What are you doing here?" You can see the panic in his eyes as you get closer, tucking your bloody and exposed arms behind your back.

"Just out for a walk. I wanted to look at the stars." You nod up to the unpolluted and clear sky to accentuate your point. The sky didn't look like this at home. "What about you?"

"Oh! Uh, same." He lies. "It sure is beautiful out tonight."

"It is." You agree, looking up at the stars for a beat while you cross your arms over your chest in the silence. "Who were you talking to?"

As he panics you try and tuck your arms back once more, the stinging of movement reminding you of why you hid them in the first place. "Just, uh, no one. Myself."

You hum in response. Sejanus made his fake story hard to believe. "Why don't you trust me?" You ask, tilting your head at him. "I feel like after all we've been through, you should trust me more."

"I do trust you." He replies quickly. "It's less about that, more about... I don't want you to get involved. It's better for you."

"Is Coriolanus involved?"

"No. No, he doesn't know anything. Same as you."

You nod slightly, looking him up and down. "Well... If you need help or you're in a tough spot, come to us, okay? There are few people you can trust out here. We have to have each other's backs."

"No, no, it's not like that." He assures you. "But okay. If I need help, I'll ask."

You smile. "Well, you better get back. Don't want to get caught out so late."

"You too, Sage."

You chuckle, giving him a quick wave as you walk back away from him.

Even in the dim lighting, he could see the marks across your arm that you tucked away with your turn, sauntering away casually in the direction of your current home on the Seam.

Coriolanus was walking a beat alongside the market almost a week later, the one his bunkmate usually took, but today he was too hungover to crawl out of bed. Coryo didn't have the stomach to watch you drool all over that district boy today, so he decided to just take the shift for his new friend instead of bothering to see you. Maybe, this would result in Beanpole owing him a favour anyway, and that was always nice to have.

It was a Thursday, so not all that busy at the market. It was mostly just mother's gathering food and supplies, which left him incredibly bored for most of the morning. He was wallowing in his self-pity when something finally drew his attention. Your laugh. He would know it anywhere. He scans the street again, posture straight as he tries to track you down, which doesn't take long.

Of course, there you are with your new friend, his arm over your shoulder as you hold his hand against your chest. God, Coriolanus hopes you don't spot him. He looks straight ahead, chewing on the inside of his cheek and wishing he could disappear. You were torturing him, the fact that you couldn't see that, or you just didn't care, was driving him insane. It was worse than if you had just stayed in the Capitol.

Now, he can't help but focus on your voice on the mostly quiet street.

"No, I know!" You giggle, looking sideways at Coriolanus who stood at the edge of the street. You're sure by now he had seen you. You didn't know he would be here, normally he wouldn't, but it makes the task of agreeing to spend time with Ash more bearable. At least it was for a reason. "I've never touched a mandolin before, how could they expect me to pick it up in one night?"

"Well, I'd sure be surprised if you could. No one learns that fast." Ash replies, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. You hate it, you want to shove him off and hit him where it hurts, but you can't. At least Coryo was here to witness it.

"True." You nod, walking with him slowly past the stalls, browsing at some of the small trinkets and goods they had. It seemed to be all random things, which was foreign to you. Back home, every store had a purpose, even after the war the Capitol held onto this sophistication. "This is so pretty!" You smile, spinning out from under his arm to get a closer look at a dress someone had made. It was shorter than your skirt, typically one that would be worn by a child in this region, but it was oversized enough that you could wear it and it would land mid-thigh.

"How much is this?" You ask the woman sitting behind the wooden table, holding up the dress that she had clearly made.

"Forty." She answers, nodding to you. "It's steep, but I put a lot of work into it. It'll last your daughter a long time."

"Oh, no." You giggle, shaking your head. "I was thinking for me." You say, lifting part of the fabric to admire the stitches.

"For you?" Ash asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

"Yes, what do you think?" You reply, holding it up in front of you. "I like the red accents. It's beautifully made."

"You'll look like a damn prostitute," Ash replies without missing a beat. "That's what I think."

You bite your lip, face going red as you look down at it draped against your body. You're not sure if it's from anger or embarrassment. You sigh, folding it up again and turning to the woman who looks shocked. "I'll take it." You smile suddenly, placing it back down while you dig out some cash from your pocket, handing her fifty. "And don't worry about making change, I just hate carrying coins around."

"Thank you, dear. You enjoy." She smiles gratefully, taking the money and tucking it away in her pocket. You nod at her, and before you even turn around with the new dress under your arm you feel a firm grip on your skin, yanking you away from the stall and into a side street.

"Hey! Let me go!" You shout, trying to peel Ash's grip from your arm where it's digging in so tight it's already flushing the areas and opening your healed scratches from the birds, smearing the drops of blood across your skin.

"No, you listen to me." He says, dropping your arm in favour of pointing a finger right in your face as you're backed up against the wall. "If you're gonna be my girl, I'm not letting you walk around like some kind of whore. Do you understand?" He says, clearly fumingly angry by now.

You laugh, rolling your eyes. "You don't scare me, you're a district-born loser with no fucking job! How dare you try and tell me what to do with my-"

You're cut off when he smacks you. You take a shaky breath, instinctively holding the side of your face where his palm made contact. You feel your confidence faltering with the heat pulsing under your skin, and with your eyes closed in this back alley, suddenly you're back home. But you're not. You're not home, and he's not your father, and here, you're free. You're gonna kill him.

You open your eyes and stand up straighter, looking him dead on as your chest heaves with anger. You shove him back, pulling your arm back in his moment of shock to take a proper swing at him as he scrambles to push you back up against the wall. In your rage, you failed to account for the fact that he was much bigger than you.

"Hey! Back off her! Now!" Coriolanus shouts, clicking the safety off his gun before Ash can lay another hit on you, gun aimed unwaveringly at the boy as he quickly walks toward the two of you.

Ash panics, and you feel this as the forearm he had pressed up against your throat, pinning you to the wall loosened its hold and you shoved him off just in time for Coryo to push his way between the two of you, the barrel of his gun now inches from Ash's nose.

He raises his hands in surrender. "Hey, we're cool. I didn't do nothin' to her."

Coriolanus is fighting every urge to just pull the trigger on the loaded weapon in his hands. For you. For this asshole hurting you, for touching you, for the crime of even looking at you, he should do it. He breathes heavily, every muscle in his jaw constricted so tightly he's sure it'll ache for weeks.

You watch over your friend's shoulder, watching the gears turning in his head. Do it, you want to tell him, but even in your anger you can see that's irrational, so you keep your mouth shut.

Coryo sighs, lowering his weapon to use it to gesture to the street. "Get out of here." He mumbles, deciding to let him go. "And never so much as look at her again, understand?" You're almost a little disappointed as Ash spits on the ground at your feet, starting to walk away when Coryo turns the gun faster than you can process and jabs the butt end of it into Ash's face. A chilling crack echoes out against the crumbling walls surrounding you and he hits the ground, unconscious with an obviously broken nose.

Coryo is panting as he turns back to you, quickly throwing the gun back over his shoulder. "Are you okay?" He asks, reaching out and holding your shoulders, hands running down your arms quickly to look over the injuries. "Did he do this to you?" He looks over the scattered cuts and scratches. He could tell they were healing, and they were inconsistent with what could be done with a blade or a man-made weapon, so he deducts quickly that you must have fallen into the wrong bush or something. Maybe when you were gardening.

You shake your head quickly, eyes locked on the boy on the ground.

"Hey, no, look at me. Are you okay?" Coryo asks again, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him. He nods expectantly, waiting for you to answer.

"Yes. Fine." You whisper shamefully, giving a slight nod under his gentle hold.

"C'mere..." He mutters, pulling you closer to hug him. He sighs, holding the back of your head and gently smoothing down your hair. It shocks him when you start to shake, trying to muffle your crying in the fabric of his uniform. He shouldn't have waited so long. He took his eyes off you for less than a minute to maintain his own sanity, and this is what happened.

You knew you were safe with Coryo, this was your fault for straying from that over some petty anger. He had betrayed you, sure, but he told you it was because he only wanted to help. If you had listened, none of this would have happened. You should have known he was right. At least he hadn't abandoned you, he'd even saved you. You were lucky he was even around.

"He hit me." You sniff through sobs, gripping tightly onto the back of his grey uniform. "I didn't, I don't know why, I-"

"Hey, hey, hey..." Coryo shushes you, pressing his lips to the top of your head. "I've got you. You're safe now. I'm here."

"I'm sorry..." You sniff, overtaken by the foolishness of your own decisions. For denying your feelings for him in a way that only resulted in hurting the both of you.

Coryo has to fight back a smile as he takes in the familiar scent of your hair. "Don't be." He whispers, kissing your head. "I'll always protect you."

You nod against his chest, locking yourself firmly into his grasp. Even as your blood dried and stuck to his coldly grey uniform, you found it hard to let him go.

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i've closed my taglist for coryo now!! sorry to everyone who wanted to be added, but unfortunately there was significantly more demand than i expected and i sadly just can't tag everyone. BUT! if you still want notifications when i post for this fic, please turn on my post notifs!!

[igotanidea]

Bonding: Damian Wayne x sister!reader

Request: from the prompt list : 4: "Didn't know you liked being pinned to the ground this much

Warning: nothing, it;s just fun and fluff, most likely set in the WFA universe.

***

„What happened to you two?” Dick could barely hold back the terror in his voice upon watching his younger siblings. Jason however was not so considerate and  straight forward started laughing at Y/N and Damian, the former with the nose swollen and red like a Rudolf and the latter with childish patches all over his forearms.

“Have you two escaped the circus? Sure as hell with such look you would fit there!” he let out a laugh so loud it captured the attention of no one else than Bruce, who became alerted in an instant. It wasn’t usual for Jason to be this happy and chuckling and it was …. suspicious. 

Similar to Dick’s, his face dropped upon seeing his kids in such damaged state and just sighed deeply.

“What did you do?” he rubbed his forehead, looking up to the sky probably wondering what mistake did he make (well, the question should have been – what mistake didn’t he make?). Never before had he looked so fatherly, like when Y/N and Damian started their mischief.

Y/N was the middle child, younger than Dick and Jason, but older than Tim and Damian, but Bruce could swear that sometimes she acted like a literal five year old. Especially when any of her brothers started messing up with her things. Especially when Damian did. No one could ever tell what atrocities she could resort to when he grabbed something that wasn’t his.

“It was all his fault!” Y/N cried out, her voice muffled by the swollen nose and she sounded more like a wounded animal rather than a human being.

“I am beyond your level, Y/N and cannot be blamed for…..”

“SIT!” Bruce growled in desperation, but neither of his kids listened. If anything they started bantering even more.

“Not many parental successes on your account, right Bruce?” Jason mocked, but the oldest Wayne didn’t bother answering. Instead he grabbed Damian by the collar and yanked him back and in the air so his feet started dangling above the ground. Luckily Y/N was too tall to do that to her as well.

“This is derogatory” Damian crossed his arms and pouted, the funniest look of her brother making Y/N laugh loudly “put me down, father so I can kick her ass again and….”

“Again?” Bruce eyes focused on his youngest son “what do you mean, again?”

“Nothing!” Y/N chimed in, desperate to keep some kind of secret

“Oh, are you ashamed to admit you got beaten by me in the combat, dear sister?”

“Shut up you little rascal!” Y/N threw herself at him, but this time it was Dick who grabbed her and hold her back

“What did he do?” Grayson asked, knowing well enough how much of a menace Damian could be

“NOTHING!” the boy struggled against his father’s grip

“Who’s afraid to admit what now?!” Y/N smirked at him.

“Ok, that’s it” clearly it was Jason who lost patience first “talk or I’ll draw blood.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” His sister threw him a daring gaze

“Wanna try me, sis? You already got a swollen nose and I can bet that this guy you like…..”

“SHUT UP JASON!”

“wait, there’s a guy?” Bruce was confused “who is he? Why didn’t I met him? How much does he know about us?”

“Not the time, Bruce!”

“LET ME GO DICK!!”

“Sorry, sunshine can’t really do that. Unless you tell us what happened.”

“fine!” she hissed “fine! I’ll tell you!”

An hour ago

“DAMIAN WAYNE!”  her voice echoed through the whole Wayne Manor and made the glassed windows shake. Honestly, how could no one in the family of vigilante hear that was beyond her. “you little piece of shit, where the hell are you!?”

“Have you called me sister?” Damian emerged from his room, looking nothing but innocent with the play-pretend smile. But Y/N knew better. She was fairly aware that he was skillful in using that Wayne gene trying to charm people. Too bad his eyes were glistening with mischief.

“You can’t play me, you demon.”

“Did something happened?” he titled his head in curiosity, observing his sister getting more and more angry. Oh, how entertaining it was to see her face get red, her fist clench. Fascinating how girl’s hormones worked.

But clearly, he underestimated Y/N. Yes, she was an emotional young woman surrounded by no less than four brothers, but she was also an adopted Wayne. And the realization of that fact made her calm down. Damian wanted her to get mad. Which meant he had some sort of plan.

“My little, sweet, wonderful, lovely brother.” She quickly changed the method of acting

“Huh?” Damian frowned, still not used to people acting nice towards him. This was…. unexpected. Y/N was clearly cunning and he had to be prepared.

“Tell me, did you happen to see my phone somewhere around?”

“No.” the answer was clearly too fast to be convincing.

“Really?” she smiled and looked over his shoulder inside his room. The perks of being taller and seeing more. “Then what is lying there on your desk?”

“That’s mine.”

“Damian…..” her voice became serious, her posture tensing “give it back to me. Now.”

“No.” he crossed arms, mimicking her position. Oh, they were both preparing for a fight, neither even beginning to consider the option of relenting. “does father know about your little crush?”

“YOU WERE READING MY TEXTS?!!?”

“Do you even realize in how much danger you put us because of your silly little….”

“AH!!” he did not get to finish the sentence when she went at him taking him by surprise. However, not enough of a surprise that he didn’t manage to step back. Instead of pining him to the ground she tripped and dashed into his room, immediately reaching towards the bed to grab her mobile, but Damian grabbed her arm and yanked her back.

“You little rascal!” she yelled, when they started a real Batman-style fight. “It’s mine!”

“it’s a violation of the rules!” he spat back “we’re not supposed to be in a relationship with civilians!”

“what would you know about relationships?!” Y/N blocked his punch, turning around and tripping him up. “you were raised by freaking assassins!”

“How bad we don’t get to choose family, right?” he hissed, falling on his back on the ground but immediately getting up and attacking her again.

Y/N was good, skilled and intuitive, but Damian was smaller and maybe a bit faster and that’s why she did not see it coming when he glanced off the mattress and landed on her back, trying to tackle her to the ground

“GET OFF ME!” she yelled trying to untangle his arms from her neck

“Not a chance!”

They were struggling so hard that at one point this fight moved towards the corridor and with just one wrong step they started falling down the stairs, still doing their best to damage one another. Damian was pulling at Y/N hair, while she covered his eyes in an attempt to blind him. It took a few minutes of weltering, grunting and dapping before they ended up at the base of the stairs.

“Auch…..” they both moaned in unison, their bones and bones already bruised and damaged. It really did hurt.

“HAHA! I won!” Damian yelled as he realized that the position in which they landed allowed him to sit on top of her sister, his weight holding her down.

“Get off me you idiot…..” she whined trying to push him away, but not succeeding at all.

“Didn't know you liked being pinned to the ground this much, Y/N” Damian laughed at her poor, week attempt to get rid of him.

“AH!” she cried out again and started waving her hands at him, Damian instantly started the same and now they were laying on the floor, with him still on top of her, acting like toddlers and emitting battle cries.

“MASTER DAMIAN! MISS Y/N!”

Shit.

Alfred.

The butler just sighed deeply, too used to many very strange views and behaviors around the manor. Too many to care and ask questions.

“Please get up from the floor. Miss Y/N, your nose is bleeding and as for you, Master Damian you got bloody scratches all over your arms.”

“Sorry Alfred.” They followed every word Alfred said to them and stood beside him with their heads hanging low.

“Let’s patch you two up.” Alfred motioned them towards the living room, gathering medical supplied on the way.

Now.

“And he gave you a animal shaped patch!” Jason laughed so hard he had to grab his belly, almost rolling of the couch

“Didn’t you hear a word, Jace? He took her phone! She had every right to be angry and act irrational…” Dick took his sister’s site

“Hm.” Bruce grunted

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but good job on being stealthy” Jason chucked towards Damian “normally it would be Tim to try and do such thing.”

“Are you taking his side now?” Y/N’s eyes went wide “I can’t believe….. ah!” sudden outburst made her nose bleed even more and she held the nearby cloth tighter to the bruised part of her face. “mhmmmhmhm” she mumbled grumpily

“Hm” Bruce grunted again

“Aren’t you gonna say something?” Dick turned towards his father in a bit of shock. Normally Bruce would be the one to punish them  both for disobeying the rules of the Manor but now he was just sitting on the couch, his mind wondering elsewhere.

“no.”

“What?!” four pair of surprised eyes landed on him in pure disbelief of how he acted.

“Wouldn’t make any difference. Another day another fight. Just…. apologize to each other. I’m going to the batcave. Dick, Jason come with me.”

“The hell I’m going to ….” Jason started but the look in Bruce eyes made him relent. And that was how Y/N and Damian ended up alone in the living room, sitting next to each other, eyes on the floor.

“Does it hurt much?” he asked

“Not much more than yesterday. I’ll be fine. “ she shrugged like nothing happened  “Do you think they know?”

“About what? Our secret plan to make them all crazy and take over the manor?”

“Pretty much, yes.”

“Not sure. Might need some more observation on the matter.”

“So….. we do it again tomorrow?” she smirked

“Oh, absolutely” he smiled back at her, eyes sparkling. It was always fun to fight with her.

“Then can I have my phone back?”

“Sure, I’ve seen all there was to see. “

“I hate you, Damian.” Y/N grinned looking at him

“I hate you too, sis.” He replied with a smirk

And just like that, they bumped their fists. All was good between them.

****

Meanwhile, Tim was hidden in the batcave, glued to the computer, not realizing anything of the events happening upstairs. He only raised his head once he heard Bruce, Dick and Jason entering.

“Did they do it again?” he asked seeing Bruce’s harrowed face, being enough of an answer “Ha! Life never gets boring with those two troublemakers around!”

[cripplecharacters]

I have a character who is nonverbal, intellectually disabled, and uses an AAC device. I'm wondering how I would write down her inner thoughts and monologue? Would she think in full English sentences, in AAC symbols, or something else?

Hi asker,

I will start off by letting you know that there is no single definitive answer for this, but I still have thoughts and ideas.

So, as for the question of would she think in AAC symbols or English sentences, that really depends on your character. It could be either.

Some nonverbal people, but not all, don't think in words at all, but more in images or associations, so this could be the case of your character and might even be part of why they are nonverbal and need AAC. (Some people who aren't nonverbal also don't think in words either, but your character is, so that's what I'll focus on here!)

Your character could also think in words. They might think entirely in words, or partly. They might think in what you would think of as more 'standard' English sentences, or maybe more simplified sentences.

For example, it's common for people with ID to use simpler syntax and/or less abstract language. But language abilities are a wide range, and this can extend to AAC usage. Some people might use more complex sentences, while some might might only be able to use two words in a sentence. Some people might get the hang of pronouns, and some might not. Some people might get the hang of conjugating verbs, some might not. Some people speak more slowly or with more pauses. You have a lot of leeway in how to conceptualize your character's thoughts.

I want to add one thing: a lot of ways that people with ID people can speak are used to make fun of people. Slower speech, simple sentences, not conjugating some words, stuff like that. If you include this, you have to take care to make sure that the message you’re sending by including them is “some people just talk like this” and not “isn’t it so funny/weird/gross/weird that some people talk this way? Let’s make fun of it/focus on how weird and different (derogatory) it is”.

However, the limitations of a written medium is that at the end of the day you will in fact have to use words to write what is going on in her brain, even if she doesn't think in words.

So I would say: focus on figuring out how your character manages language, since there’s many different ways they can, and then once you decide that it might be easier to figure out exactly how to write them. Mod sasza has even more points below!

Hope this helps,

mod sparrow

Hey, I'd consider how your character learned language. If her first exposure was a symbol-based AAC device, there's a higher chance she'd think in AAC symbols than if she first communicated via sign language or anything else that's not a symbol-based AAC device.

I'm fully verbal and actually mostly think in associations and other non-language ways like pictures (though when I'm imagining things like an actual conversation, I do use language). That's why for me and a lot of other people with ID (verbal or not) it can take longer to think of what to say; you need to translate your thoughts to language first.

With your character having much more severe language disability than me, I'd guess that she either used very simple sentence construction or that you'd have to describe her thoughts in a less direct manner (associations or visuals), which will be more time-consuming to write and more cryptic to readers (which makes it realistic, communication with people with significant language problems takes longer, if mind reading was real it would apply to it too).

You should definitely consider the things mentioned by Sparrow; whether she understands pronouns, conjugation, can she differentiate similar words correctly (e.g., love/like, handsome/pretty), etc.

Depending on her level of ID, she might think "I'm hungry" as anything between "Damn, I wish I was eating a burger right now" (complete English sentence) through "Yes food" (in which "yes" means positive rather than agreeing with someone) or "Images of her home kitchen flashed through her head" (simply associating kitchen with the feeling of hunger), to "Two symbols from her board; one meaning 'me' with the second showing an empty plate, went through her mind over and over". There is a big difference between a person with mild ID who might be unable to speak because they can't coordinate their mouth to make actual words but don't struggle with grammar at all, and a person with a profound ID whose entire AAC board is "yes" and "no" (or not even that, but I wanted an example to show what could be someone's existing-but-very-limited language ability).

Obviously some of these are more clunky, some are less so. But the way a lot of nonverbal ID people communicate isn't perfectly clear and direct, and there is a lot of variety in the manner that it shows.

I also wrote this post about speech in intellectual disability that you might find useful. I hope this helps,

mod Sasza

[solavita]

.ೃ࿐ teacher assistant! satoru almost out of university, was selected to teach a higher level class on the account of looking good for his first job. so, he was a TA, teaching under a professor but was basically given full rein with the class, as the professor seemed to focus more on research than teaching the class. the second he was in the lecture discussion, he saw you walk in. you were a junior, just a year under him in university and god were you beautiful. almost mouth wateringly so. it made him sick in the head at how pretty you were.

.ೃ࿐ teacher assistant! satoru who practically watched your every move the minute you came into his classroom. and gods above, you were smart, almost as smart as he was (though he wouldn't ever admit that) and it was clear that you liked him. you always smiled when he complimented your high scores on tests and quizzes, and would read the notes that he put in the margins of your essays with a glimmer in your eyes. he needed to talk to you, needed to be closer to you, and the only way he could think of was to give you slightly lower marks on your essays and homeworks. never on a test, he wouldn't ever want to drop your grade enough for it to be concerning, but he did wait for you to stumble into his office hours. and you did. you asked him how you could do better on the material, and he told you that he'd help you.

.ೃ࿐ teacher assistant! satoru didn't have an office, only a classroom that he was lent during his office hours on the top floor of a rather deserted building. it was there that you would meet him, every tuesday and thursday, to go over problems. he liked the way that your lip would be bitten in between your teeth when you were looking at a particularly hard problem, or when you would look at him with your big doe eyes when you asked him for help. and whenever you asked him for help, he would lean closer, and explain it to you.

.ೃ࿐ teacher assistant! satoru finally got the courage to make a move. you asked him for help and he placed his hand on your thigh, as if he was using it to keep himself steady as he leaned over. but instead of watching him explain on the paper, you kept your attention on his face. and then he pushed his hand further up your thigh, under your skirt, and you didn't stop him. your hand came to his and you pushed it up until it was cupping your pussy. he fingered you right then and there, hoping beyond hoping that no one else would walk into his office hours for help. the two of you made out while he fingered you, going as far as to press three fingers into you, with a squelching sound, your moans echoing through the room softly.

.ೃ࿐ teacher assistant! satoru and you always met during his office hours, until you decided to go to his home one day for some extra tutoring. it ended with you in his large bed with your legs spread, while he put his fingers in your mouth as he fucked you with such fervor that you were sure you were going to break.

.ೃ࿐ teacher assistant! satoru would be grading papers, and you would slink under his desk and pull his cock out, spitting on the tip and bobbing your head up and down until he gave you the attention you wanted. he always fantasized about you doing this when he was teaching another class, with you working him with your mouth as he sat on his desk and no one else knew the wiser. he would have to try that with you one day.

.ೃ࿐ teacher assistant! satoru had lots of words like how dirty you were for sleeping with your teacher. "you're such a needy thing, aren't you?" "show me how good you've gotten" when you were riding him. "you probably fantasize about my cock in class, don't you?" it was all so derogatory. and other times he would praise you. he would tell you how smart and beautiful you were. he would let you cum when you got a problem right while he sat under the desk, eating you out. when you got a problem wrong, he would stop, and no amount of begging would get him to continue unless you continued your work.

.ೃ࿐ teacher assistant! satoru who used all his money from his job to buy you different types of leggings and panties to wear under your skirts. all just for him to rip a hole in them and have you walk with that under your skirt for the rest of the day. or he would steal them and think about what he was going to buy for you next. or how you would text him what was under your clothing, teasing him right before class so you could see how noticeably hard he got from it when you walked in.

[coffeecatcraze]

The way Adam has never once used Charlie's name, even though she's the only one who properly introduced herself (with him just dropping his name in conversation like he assumed she already knew it), is actually a fun detail about his character. He's this "alpha male" stereotype: aggressively heterosexual, has to be in charge, "respects women" when it suits him (for example, using women's rights to get out of paying the check)...the kind of guy who would look at a woman's name tag and then call her pet names in a derogatory way regardless. Oh, and let's not even get into how the Exorcists are an army of women trained to be powerful...and all those powerful women are directly under his control.

Compare this to Charlie, who, even after interacting with him a little bit and realizing he's awful, tries to be respectful to his position and treat him with dignity. She uses his name, to and about him, because that's the decent thing to do, even though he has given her literally no reason to show him that respect.

She's trying her best to maintain some degree of professionalism and respect, because he does have a position of power, and she's going to acknowledge it no matter how little he deserves it. But Adam, both when talking to Charlie and about her, never uses her actual name. He doesn't even use a variation of her name to insult her; he doesn't bother with her name at all. The disrespect there is so fucked-up, because she actually ranks higher in Hell than he does in Heaven, yet he still never once bothers to use her name. Because she's a demon? Because she's a woman who holds a position of power above his level and far outside his control? Because he's an asshole? Yes. Yes to all of these things.

All of which makes this moment just that much more satisfying:

Now this dickhead who's been demeaning Charlie with pet names and insults this whole time is being told to call her by her royal title in the same moment that she finally throws out those shreds of respect, professionalism, and dignity he never deserved from anyone, least of all her, in the first place. It's a tremendously satisfying moment.

(Side note: does anyone else always shudder with creeped-out disgust at the "Lilith's little hottie" line? Because I sure do )

[psychhound]

d&d 5e languages and gender

i know this is already a very nerdy blog but please indulge me a moment,,

for my homegame i've been fleshing out how different languages in the game deal with gender / pronouns based on their cultures (some of them are canon languages but some are for our setting) and it made the little nerd in me very happy so i wanted to make some headcanons for the rest of the dnd languages and share it for anyone who'd like to steal / take inspo

feel absolutely free to use these in homegames but if you use for anything streamed or for your own ttrpg/homebrew/fics then crediting/linking back is appreciated :o)

disclaimer: this blog is run by a genderqueer trans man and any queerphobic interaction will immediately be blocked

common

common started off with the standard he, she, & they pronouns but simply Loves a good loanword and so its not uncommon to hear people using pronouns from other languages in otherwise entirely common dialogue. there is some Fighting about whether this is appropriative based on the individuals culture or whether its unfair to people who only speak common to keep up with them all

dwarvish

not too much variety in what most people would consider pronouns, it tends to be more one singular neutral pronoun for someone you don't know / don't know well, and then variations that are more like honorifics than anything else. their pronoun might translate more readily to "skilled with a hammer" than anything regarding a gender

elvish

lots of pronoun options that explore different presentations of gender but they are also age/experience locked. a feminine male elf would use different pronouns as a child, teen, young adult, young adult with job, middle age, middle aged with children, etc. using pronouns from a different life experience bracket from you is incredibly frowned upon and people just dont do it

giant

there is one pronoun for giants & kin and one pronoun for not giants and the one for not giants is not derogatory at all, its just used to differentiate who is part of the family or not (individuals adopted by giants tend to use the giant pronoun)

gnomish

LOTS of variation in pronouns. gnomes love inventing new pronouns. there are general grammatical rules that they follow to Signify that its a pronoun but hearing three new pronouns a day is like. not uncommon. lots of gnomish teens go through a phase of making up at least four new pronouns they want to go by. uncommon to only go by one set. typically introduced along with your name

(more under the cut)

goblin

no gendered pronouns, all pronouns are instead structured around relations between individuals. so one person would use brother pronoun with one person, son pronoun with another, best friend pronoun to another. the family pronouns are not locked to actual family, just what the relationship is like. if you don't know someone well, its "cousin", "niece/nephew", "auntie/uncle", or "grandparent" depending on their age

halfling

pronouns are split between public and private use. in general in the community or with outsiders, there's a single pronoun that translates loosely to "friend". actual individual pronouns are only known to and used with close friends and family. there's a small handful of them and only some of them have gendered connotations

orc

there are only four categories of pronouns: masculine, feminine, both/mixed, and neither. but there's a decent amount of variations because there are varying levels of formality for each of them. there are ways to conjugate them so they're more formal and respectful, but also lots of diminutives to make them more affectionate and closely-bonded

abyssal

no use of pronouns. lots of very specific derogatory terms that are used in place of them. i shant elaborate.

celestial

lots of variations in pronouns. they are not very closely tied to gender, but are tied to very specific aesthetics. instead of having individual pronoun words, in celestial you just use root words. so one person might use the root word for things that are soft and gentle and natural for their pronoun, while another person might use the root word for things associated with dark and murky and mysterious things for theirs. tend to be tied to domains

draconic

no use of pronouns, only names and titles. if you happen to share a name with another individual who speaks draconic, you would need a unique title to go after it. the full name and full title is said at every reference of someone

deep speech

deep speech has pronouns probably but hearing them for any individual you dont share a close identity group with makes you violently nauseous and then the word immediately leaves your mind so it's just really hard to learn them

infernal

there are words for "you", "me", "us", "we", "this one", "that one", "those ones" etc but no classic pronouns as far as individual usage goes. if someone really needs to be specific they would use whatever pronoun that individual uses in their native language. tieflings have introduced a Lot of neopronouns into infernal but theyre all borrowed from other languages and then reworked into infernal grammar and tend to be localized to communities

primordial

individuals are referred to their elemental type (or "none") rather than pronouns tied to gender. so it would be more like "the windy one" or "the rocky one" than anything like he or she

sylvan

no standard gendered pronouns, it's entirely nounself. so basically infinite amount of pronouns that are easily understood by anyone familiar with that noun. so you would have things like pebble pronoun, teapot pronoun, sword pronoun, with some general affiliations with presentation but less so with gender

undercommon

pronouns are based on level of respect and not gender, but there are also pronouns specifically used for children. like craftsmen would typically all use the same pronoun unless one was incredibly successful and respected, or had a very bad reputation, etc. there are pronouns used only for royalty and pronouns used only for deities

speak with animals

when translated into common, tends to just be translated as the animal's bio sex, but it can go a little screwy when speaking about creatures who have biological sexes so outside the humanoid concept of sex and gender that even magic dont fuckin know how to translate it. kind of just makes a weird bubbly noise in its place

if you read this far thank you thank you and if you end up using these in your campaign lore or fics i would love to know :o)

[jeonscatalyst]

https://x.com/carame_liz_ed/status/1849808776557146599?t=9qr6BZQAayxXZlzEUHoRqg&s=19

They're some different level of breed bruhh like how desperate you have to be to do all this? Mind you TK has the most fics written on their ship name so it's not even like they don't have fics for them to be doing this but seems like even in fics they ain't satisfied that they have to change jm's name to tae's in jkk fics lol. I remember their most famous fic the "captain Jeon" that even armys love to talk about and wanted taehyung to read so they were posting it on his weverse after he posted that one specific pic on his ig that were used by the writer for this captain jeon fic. And that "Captain Jeon" fic is also a plagiarised fic, someone exposed the writer that it's stolen fic.

Months ago i remember seeing an account calling out Tkkrs for stealing their Fandom fic. So what happened is this person saw a TK fic on their tl ig(They were from different Fandom not k-pop) so they started reading all the TK fics written by that Tkkr and then they realised that this TK writer stole all of the tropes from their Fandom ship like they attached all the fic they stole from this other account. And this TK writer just changed it with TK. And at the end they exposed this TK writer for stealing someone else's work.

Idk how much more pathetic Tkkrs can get. Not even their fics are able to satisfy their desperation

This is one of the funniest things I have ever seen😂😂😂

I literally don’t know the first thing about fics but I can imagine how this must be upsetting to the original author and to the others because why don’t they just freaking write their damn fics? What did the person think would happen after they changed Jimin’s name to Tae’s?

It’s so funny how every 2-3 business days I see the cult yapping about jokers wanting what Taekook and tkkrs have but I have never seen or heard of any jokers doing this kind of unhinged nonsense.

The only way I personally really understood the word “Omega” before was in the biblical sense but I saw the cult use the word to describe Jimin so much I had to go check out what it meant. They call him “ omega” in a derogatory way but are the same ones thirsting over jikook fics? Make it make sense.

Don’t even get me started with Humanlovreheart or whatever their name is. The way tkkrs mass like her work, even though she usually draws Tae with features similar Jimin’s yet you wouldn’t believe they are the same ones always using the most derogatory terms to describe Jimin even though they like Tae being portrayed like Jimin. Make it make sense!!

Anon, just laugh and keep it moving. They are beyond help.

[bloodmoonmuses]

the weatherman's weathered heart | mark lee

genre: weatherman! mark lee x reader, enemies to lovers, slowburn

[series masterlist] [next chapter]

chapter one: coffee hit and run

This is the third time you’ve told yourself you’d stop drinking coffee, yet here you are again- preparing to do the literal opposite. Autumn has wrapped her fingers around summer’s waist, nippy morning air whistling through the crack of your bedroom window. Your cat, Luna, is napping on an armchair, making you jealous of her furnace-like warmth. You shrug on a denim jacket, a sturdy one passed down from your dad, then make your way down the block. Marnie’s, the ever beloved independent coffee shop in your hometown, is a seven minute walk from your house. 

The conveniency of such is where you place blame for your lack of a backbone. It’s also on your way to work, Jagerman Printing Co., making the practice of scooping up your double americano (with a hefty splash of half and half) a staple in your morning routine. 

A bell rings upon your entry and you shuffle into the short line. There’s three people in front of you: At the front of the line stands the town’s school bus driver. He gets a London fog, requesting half the amount of lavender syrup. Next is an artist type, struggling to hold a thick stack of photos in his hands as he orders his iced macchiato. You’ve seen him in your shop before, attempting to flirt with your coworker, Hongjoong, so he could get a discount on his prints. Finally, just in front of you, is a man in a suit. His hair is aggressively and artificially blonde, navy blue ensemble making it practically glimmer. He’s quite spiffy. Maybe he works at the bank, you think to yourself. 

The alleged banker gets an iced americano. Triple. With an extra shot of espresso. The cashier, Marnie’s eldest daughter named Minnie, jokes that he must be really tired. The blonde man scoffs, but in agreement says, “You have no idea.” He tips generously, 4 dollars and some change, then side steps to wait for his drink. 

Now it’s time to receive your poison. When she recognizes your face, Minnie says, “Your usual?” 

To which you say, “Yes, please.” You tip as well, walking over to the side counter to wait. You pull out your phone, opening it to see that Hongjoong has texted you.

HJ (derogatory): This newspaper intern is clueless. Typo on the order for this week’s batch. Need more prints.

You: omw soon. Chat her up, can’t afford any negative reviews. 

HJ (derogatory): No promises.

You rock back and forth on your feet, thinking about how many more newspapers the girl could possibly need. The most compelling news story you had read in the last year was about the town’s duck pond. This wasn’t exactly the New York Times. The error probably meant you’d be going into work a bit earlier tomorrow. Regardless, you liked your mundane job. Going into printing technology wasn’t the most glamourous, but where else does an affinity to paper and a concerning level of attention to detail lead you? 

The menial admin work, e-mails and scheduling brought you comfort. You liked managing your little team. Some projects were more fun than others: birthday invitations, wedding save-the-dates, highschool yearbooks… Disdain only arose in you when people didn’t know how to do their job. Like this intern. 

For some reason, the interns at the newspaper office across town were in and out like goldfish at a pet store. It felt like every other month you were having to explain to some poor kid how to properly put in a printing request for the coming week. Maybe you should do admin work over there. They’d probably think you were a genius. Or a magician. 

You’re snapped out of your internal dialogue by the feeling of being shoulder checked. Hard. A few seconds pass, during which you register the sensation of liquid soaking through your shirt. The scent of espresso enters your nostrils and you scoff at the situation. Did someone just… spill their coffee on you? 

You whip your head around, words caught in your throat, in an attempt to see who just ruined your morning. In a blur, you recognize the offender to be the blonde man who was in front of you in line. He’s running out of the door, half empty cup sloshing around in his frantic hand, while screaming into his phone. 

“What?! I didn’t approve that poor excuse of a fucking article!” he says. “…Already in print? I said no, that journalist, she-” 

“Hey!” You yell after him, looking at your chest in shock. “I think you spilled something!” 

The bell above the door rings, signaling the alleged banker’s exit. The man doesn’t even look back, too engrossed in his argument to care.

When the adrenaline begins to fade out, you make eye contact with Minnie, who you assume saw the entire exchange from her spot behind the counter. She places your double americano on the counter, the side of the cup with your name sprawled on it facing outward. You walk up to the counter and take the warm drink. 

While handing you some napkins, Minnie says, “At least his was an iced drink.” You look down at your cream colored top and the dark splotch that now adorns it. Fuck.

—

When you arrive at the printing shop, Hongjoong is beet red. The guy holds so much anger in that little body of his. He can be surprisingly intimidating, when the situation permits such.

“You do realize there’s a big difference between one hundred and one thousand, right?” Hongjoong says, voice laced with annoyance. 

The mousy intern shakes. “Yeah, but– I just figured, y’know… since this is a weekly order, you might’ve realized it was a typo on your own.”

Honjoong chortles. “Oh, so it’s my fault? Newspapers are an antiquated form of media to begin with, and I’m not really sure why we continue to deal with this bullsh-”

You interject, shooting the intern an apologetic smile. “Take it easy, big man. You’re not scaring anyone in that vest,” you say. The intern stifles a scoff. “We’ll just print the rest tomorrow. No biggie.”

“Um, ‘yes biggie’. I don’t wanna work overtime. Gotta finalize the design for those marathon flyers too,” Hongjoong retorts.

He gives you the up-down, taking note of your frazzled demeanor and adds, “What’s with the stain on your shirt?”

“I’ll do it then,” you sigh. “I’ve got nothing better to do. And the stain? Don’t wanna talk about it.” 

Hongjoong humphs. 

Sliding behind the front counter, you place your satchel and americano down at your desk. Then, you head to the back, grabbing the boxes of newspapers you do have printed. They’re still warm from the press, the scent of the ink calming you down- if only slightly. 

“Here’s a hundred copies. I’ll have the others by nine tomorrow morning. Just… be more careful next time,” you tell the intern.

“Got someone to help you carry these?” asks Hongjoong. The intern shakes her head. “I’ll carry them out. Which one’s your car?” The girl points and he promptly gathers the boxes. 

“Hey, by the way,” you say to the girl, “do you know why they need an extra three hundred? The order is usually seven hundred copies a week.”

“Something about an interview with a weatherman. The moms here really like him-”

The door to the shop opens again and you think it’s Hongjoong, but when you turn, it’s the man from the coffee shop. He’s still on the phone. Great. The offender of your coffee hit-and-run is here to add insult to injury. What are the odds of that?

“Speak of the devil…” the intern says under her breath. 

“I’m not exactly sure how the article got approved for print in the first place,” the man whisper-shouts into his phone. “I was told it was going to focus on my passion for meteorology or my down to earth persona. Not digging into my personal life. Whatever the intent, I want it scrapped. Entirely.”

Hongjoong now re-enters the shop, glancing at the suit-clad man, recognition flickering on his face. “Wow, we’ve got a small-town celebrity here in Jagerman’s? To what do we owe the honor?”

Finally, after hanging up the phone, the previously alleged banker says, “I’m here about the newspaper.”

“Just packed up the first batch of copies,” says Hongjoong. “Since when did you work for the newspaper?”

“I don’t work for the newspaper, I’m Mark… Mark Lee?” He says. Then, he looks at you expectantly.

Hongjoong simply laughs. 

“Is that name supposed to mean something to me?” You ask, agitation rising in your chest.

“Channel 127 News? Beloved weatherman and meteorologist?” Mark continues. 

Hongjoong laughs again. “A real big shot,” he says.

You shake your head. “Not ringing a bell.” 

At this, the bank- weather…man scoffs incredulously. “Well if you crack open one of those newspapers, you’ll see my face all over it.”

“Ah. Popular with the moms. Well, as I told this young lady here,” you gesture to the intern, “we’ll have the rest of the copies tomorrow. There was a misunderstanding with the printing order.”

“That’s what I’m here about. I don’t want them printed.” Mark crosses his arms.

“Well, they already are,” you huff. You had cut the intern some slack, but this guy? He’s a grown man pouting over some paper. And he spilled coffee on you. Honestly, you were more upset about the latter- and the fact that Mark seemingly has no recollection of this. Are you that invisible? Forgettable? 

Nevertheless, the weatherman persists. “Then I don’t want them distributed,” he says.

You cross your arms, mirroring Mark. “You have no authority over that decision.”

Mark exhales dramatically, pinching his nose bridge in frustration. “Are you always this rude to your customers?”

“Do you always spill coffee on unassuming printing technicians?” At this, Mark pauses, finally placing your face. As recognition floods his features you add, “Four shots of watered down espresso on my new shirt. It’s a shame really.” Mark’s face flushes.

“What could possibly be in this article that would make you come all the way here? The news station is on the other side of town,” you inquire.

Mark stammers. “It’s nothing-”

“An affair? Tax fraud? Oh my god, I’m the first to hear about Weatherman-Gate,” says Hongjoong.

You chuckle. “‘Small-Town Weatherman Commits Tax Fraud”. What a headline. I’d actually read that.”

“I didn’t commit tax fraud. I just… didn’t approve of the article. So that’s illegal, right?”

The intern tuts. “You undergoing the interview was the approval. No take backs.”

“‘No take backs’? Are you a toddler?” asks Mark.

“I’m 21,” she responds, chipper as ever.

“So, you are a toddler,” you and Hongjoong say in unison. 

“Jinx!” exclaims Hongjoong. “Buy me a coke after my shift?” You wave off his question, returning to the issue at hand.

“I’m sorry, but this isn’t my problem,” you say.

“Look, I’m sorry I spilled coffee on you, I am, but this is my livelihood. I’d really appreciate it if-”

“You’re gonna have to go to the newspaper office,” you contend. “Like I said, this isn’t my problem.” 

Mark goes quiet. As you turn to walk back to your desk, he whispers out a plea. The quiver in his voice makes you stop in your tracks.

“Please.” You spin back around to see that his eyes are now glassy. For a moment, you think he’s about to cry. 

You look over to Hongjoong. He’s not having any of it. Knowing him, he probably thinks this Mark guy is full of shit. However, you (unfortunately) have empathy. Whatever’s in this article, he doesn’t want it to come out. You sigh. The admin at the newspaper isn't gonna like this one bit.

“We only have a portion of them printed,” you confess. “If you can get the editor to change the article by tonight-”

Mark erupts into a gleeful cheer, effectively cutting you off. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He engulfs you into an awkward embrace, jumping up and down like a little girl. 

Hongjoong snaps a picture. “A lot of Facebook moms are gonna be jealous of you,” he says.

While in Mark’s hold, you remember the stain on your shirt. “One more thing.”

Mark immediately concedes, finally freeing you from his death grip. “Yes. Anything. I’ll do anything,” he says.

“You owe me a new shirt.”

a/n: feedback is always appreciated! thx for reading! <3

[max1461]

I have this notion of "horror", by which I mean something like "badness which is inscrutable or not quite explicable; wrongness which can be experienced but not truly articulated, even in principle". In a horror movie, what do you think happens when a character is dragged away by the ghost? I think most of us do not just feel that they are killed. If we did, movies about ghost would not be much scarier than actuarial tables. I think we feel, on some level, that something worse happens. Something worse than any particular thing we can imagine. It's not death, it's not torture, it's something else. Something inexplicable whose badness cannot even be spoken or imagined. This is "horror".

One of my very core beliefs is the non-existence of true horror. I believe that all actually existing harms can, with enough thought, be put straightforwardly and mundanely. I believe that whenever something bad really happens, we can speak it, we can imagine it, and we can denounce it in plain terms, if we really try.

I don't like horror because I think it robs us of our power and of our basic dignity in the face of struggle. If we are suffering, we must be able if absolutely nothing else to say "here is what is hurting me, and setting aside all other factors, that fact qua that fact is an injustice". The existence of true horrors would, on a metaphysical level, rob us of the ability to do that.

I imagine this discussion will seem like pure navel gazing (in the derogatory sense) to some, but to me it's quite important. People invoke horrors all the time. I think it's a pretty frequent throughline in gender/relationship discourse. People see a bit of horror in sex, romance, gender dynamics and so on.

If faced with a true horror, very few lines of recourse (practical or metaphysical) are available to you. You must run and keep running forever or you must kill it. I think large swaths of gender discourse are mediated by this principle; I think both incels and radfems (wrong as they are about many particular issues of fact) are at some level both motivated by the belief in horrors, the belief that the injustices they have genuinely been faced with are horrors and not plain things, and therefore that they have only the options to run or to kill. Why this is bad for them and bad for the rest of us is clear enough.

I say: horrors do not exist. All harms are mundane harms, even the most heinous. All harms can be spoken, named, laid bare for any sober mind to see. We may be vulnerable to physical attack, but we are invulnerable to metaphysical attack.

[silmarillaure]

Fingolfin is so much more interesting to me when people actually acknowledge his asshole side & don't victimize or baby him

He's his mom's favorite and is bitter and jealous that he's not his dad's favorite as well.

He provokes Fëanor, not the other way around.

Fëanor doesn't like him, sure, and he's made that clear, but for all his faults Fëanor minds his own business and leaves Fingolfin alone until Fingolfin starts infringing on his relationship with Finwe.

And yeah, Fëanor's reaction is totally out of line but it's definitely scummy to try alienating someone from their only support system/parent.

I honestly think it's embarrassing for Fingolfin that he's so insecure about Fëanor, more than the other way around because Fëanor's insecurities of being replaced are totally valid given Finwë's horrible actions towards him and his mother.

But Fingolfin, despite having a happy family, loving loyal siblings, a living mother, & public Noldorin support + public Valar support that Fëanor can only dream of is jealous over the ONLY thing keeping Fëanor sane?

And the things is, even though I don't think Finwë neglected Fingolfin or anything, I think he's justified for wanting to be loved equally by his dad.

Yet I also don't think Finwë was wrong exactly to have "double" the love for Fëanor since Fëanor will never be unable to experience a mother's love (thanks to him) that everyone else has, but I can't fault Fingolfin for being upset about it (it's a messy situation overall and the only one to blame is Finwë), it's only natural I think...

BUT he's still such a LOSER lmho!

His little brother is more level headed than him & isn't beefing with their permanently grieving traumatized half-brother who never recovered from loosing his mother, so Fingolfin just ends up looking ridiculous when he has everything to be grateful for but just isn't?!

I like that he's more than just an asshole obviously, but I still appreciate that side of his character. He actually has redeeming qualities unlike his detestable mother Indis thankfully, I actually admire how he still fought for Finwë even though that man didn't deserve any of his family avenging him cuz he sucks, I just think he's such a loser (half affectionate/half derogatory).