#these books were hard enough to find in print

[rocaillefox]

why does my professor make things due at 9am. help.

[capricorn-0mnikorn]

I have ~Thoughts~ on the Harry Potter Phenomenon that was

(Courtesy of memories prompted by this Tumblr Poll)

Back when I was a senior in college (back in the mid-to-late 1980s), I actually wrote a fantasy novel for kids aged ~8 - ~11 (in a self-designed course for a single credit, under the guidance of my Literature advisor), inspired by a series of dreams and recurring characters that showed up in them.

My advisor encouraged me to try and get it published. And so, I arranged with teachers from my old school to have a class of 30 or so 10 year-olds beta read it, and give me feedback for revisions. The kids also encouraged me to try and publish it.

So I did.

Now, back then, there was no "Self Publishing." The closest thing was "Vanity Publishing," where you would pay 100% of the publishing cost of your book, which would be printed in hard copy, for the benefit of having 500 -1,000 books shipped to your personal address, which you were then responsible for storing and selling out of the trunk of your car in a parking lot, somewhere. And if word got out that you were trying to claim credit for being a "published author" because of a Vanity Press book, actual publishers wouldn't touch you with a 40-foot pole.

If you wanted to get published, you had to buy that year's copy of Writer's Market: a listing of magazine and book publishers, and agents, with a brief description of what material they published, and what they wouldn't touch.

Guess what genre no agent or publisher was interested in handling?

That's right, Gentle Readers: Fantasy for children aged 8 - 11. I would have happily sent out a dozen queries for each story I wrote, if there were publishers and agents willing to look at them. But for three to four years of trying, in directories of two-columns of tiny print, and several [hundred]* pages long, I'd be lucky to find two or three outlets even willing to look at fantasy for kids.

The general consensus, across the publishing business, was that fantasy was a dead and obsolete genre. If it was for kids old enough to read chapter books and novels, it must also be firmly grounded in realism and actual history, because everyone knows the only people buying books for kids that age were teachers, who wanted stories with practical applications in the classroom.

***

After 3 - 4 years of trying, while I was in grad school, I finally got a rejection from the one agent who agreed to read my novel. A few days later, I received news that my mother had died from the breast cancer she'd been fighting, and my heart just went out of the project altogether.

A few years later, the first Harry Potter book was published. And it became a worldwide phenomenon. And it was the kids, themselves, who were driving the sales.

See, I think the real reason the books were such a success, even though they were never really very well written, was because they were in a genre the audience was hungry for -- a genre they'd been denied access to for all of their young lives.

Someone who is starving will think even moldy bread is delicious.

*Gosh, what a word to leave out via typo; the Writers Market rivaled the Manhattan Yellow Pages in length.

[rhysazriel]

Smoke & Light: Part 1 [Plug!Az]

SUMMARY: Your ex-boyfriend gives you his dealers number, but you don’t expect for him to be so fine. And you certainly don’t expect him to be so goddamn flirty. (3.4k)

WARNINGS: descriptions and dealings of recreational drugs (weed), little bit of swearing, slight sexual themes and lots of shameless flirting. THIS IS A MODERN AU!!

A/N: the first part is here and I’m so excited!! Im still unsure how many parts this is going to be, but there’s a lot I want to happen in this series so probably (I’m guessing!!) six or seven, but we’ll see!! Anyway, I hope you enjoy <3

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Your patience was wearing thin. Very fucking thin. Those three grey dots mocked you as they bubbled at the bottom of the screen—disappearing and reappearing again—until they were replaced with another less than satisfying message.

Brandon: are you taking the piss? Why didn’t you just ask when you were here earlier?

You scanned the message over, swallowing back the groan at the idea of another potential argument. You needed to nip his attitude in the bud, you weren’t entertaining his bullshit anymore. Gnawing at the inside of your cheek, your fingers quickly typed a response.

You: I didn’t realise I was out until I got home. Can you get any or not? Just lmk

The dots appeared again after a few moments of silence, and you prepared yourself for the snarky remark he was most likely to give you, and took a deep breath to compose yourself in advance.

Brandon: no. I can’t get you any. Sort it out yourself for once.

There was no way in Hell you were going to let your frustrations show. Despite the pure anger and annoyance that began to bubble even more within you.

Brandon could be a lot of things. A liar. A cheat. And a fucking asshole. In all honestly, the only thing he was truly good for was the occasional above par fuck and the fact that his dealer had the best weed you’d ever smoked.

But when they were the only two good things he had going for him, it was hard to justify the disgusting behaviour he showed throughout almost your entire relationship. You broke up every few weeks as it was, but if you’d known about the cheating before, you would’ve left for good sooner.

Instead, you found out a year and half into the relationship, coming to the deafening conclusion that he had, in fact, never been faithful for a single moment of his adult life.

Fuck him. And fuck his shit sex. The weed, you could get yourself.

You: lmao ok. What’s his number?

A heartbeat after he read the text, he was calling you. And the moment you answered the call, he was his usual, un-charming self.

“What the fuck do you mean what’s his number?”

“Hello to you, too.” You murmured, tucking yourself under the blanket on your couch.

His clipped tone didn’t startle you, didn’t worry you about any form of consequences. He wasn’t scary, even when he tried to be. He was just a douche.

“What do you mean what’s his number?” He repeated himself, that agitation growing thicker and thicker with every word he spoke.

“How else am I supposed to get any?”

“Find your own dealer.”

He was being bitter now, pathetically so. You picked at the aged edges of your book, a novel you’d read five times over but one you couldn’t get enough of. Your love for it could be seen by the fading print of the front cover and the severely broken spine—despite how careful you tried to be with your readings.

“Brandon, I’m not going to find a random dealer. Your Azriel guy has good stuff and I know it’s safe. Besides, me going to the same person as you is not going to affect you in any way.”

He was silent for a moment, mulling over your words. Despite his dreadful personality and lack of love and care and compassion, he knew how little you knew about marijuana. He was the one that taught you to roll, after all.

You’d barely smoked before you met him, and on the rare occasions you did get high, it was usually in the form of gummy edibles your friends had. And you weren’t addicted or reliant on it in any way. You just enjoyed a smoke every now and then if you’d had a long day.

Alcohol had never been your favourite, and you much preferred to feel the chilled buzz from a joint than cradle a hangover for two days after a soirée.

“Fine. I’ll text you his number. Say Marco gave it to you, it’s a code he made up—had cops on him a while ago. He can be a bit of an ass, don’t let him shit talk you. Ask for a 3.5, he usually charges 40 for it. It’ll last you a couple weeks unless you’re planning on smoking heavy.”

It was easy to be pulled back in when he was like that. When he did the bare minimum of offering advice on things he knew you weren’t too sure on. But you were better than that now, smarter. You weren’t going to fall back into your old ways again.

Not with him. Not with anyone.

“I’m not. Thank you.”

The line went dead as soon as the words left your mouth and a few moments later, he texted you Azriel’s number. You would’ve appreciated a reminder of what you were supposed to ask for but at least you got his number. Small wins. You weren’t his responsibility anymore.

It took you a few minutes to figure out what to say, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as you typed and erased, typed and erased. Until you settled on ‘Is this Azriel?’ and finally sent the message.

Ten minutes passed and you didn’t get a response. Your nose was tucked back into your romance novel as you chewed on the drawstring of your hoodie. In all honesty, you could’ve quite easily slipped into a peaceful slumber under the warm golden glow of your lamps.

That was another thing Brandon couldn’t respect. Your No Main Light rule. The vibes were always immaculate with gentle warmth from lamps. The main light was not allowed on under any circumstances. You much preferred the cosy feeling of golden hues that accentuated the deep green leaves of your plants and vines that scattered the walls and crevices of your home.

Your phone chimed from your lap, a small surge of anxiety pulsing in your chest. You unlocked the screen and read over the message.

Azriel: depends who’s asking.

Ah, Brandon did warn you. You considered fucking the whole idea off. Maybe cracking open a bottle of wine and snuggling on the couch with a book or tv show would be better than having to meet this asshole, but the bottle of White Zinfandel wouldn’t give you the mellow buzz you wanted.

Not unless you had at least four glasses which was usually paired with a hangover the next day. Something you did not want to entertain. So, you bit the bullet and typed your reply.

You: y/n, got your number from Marco. You about?

The more you let your mind wander, the more you realised how little you knew. You had no clue how this sort of thing worked. Would he come to you? Your home? Would you meet at a location of his choice? Or would he just stash the weed somewhere for you to collect and you don't cross paths at all?

But the burning fire of the what-if anxiety was quickly trampled and extinguished when another text came through and instead of him deciding for you, you were given choices.

Azriel: sure, I can meet you at old tower in 20 if that’s good for you? If not I can drop to your location.

He didn’t seem as much of an ass now. No, quite the opposite. But you supposed that offer was something he probably gave to all new, female clients. If he truly was an ass or not, you couldn’t fault him for the consideration.

Old Tower was the old old watermill tucked slightly away in the centre of the city. It had been derelict for years, but due to its location—so close to all the necessities and right opposite the police station—no one ever tried to break in or set it alight like the many other derelict listed buildings had been in the past.

Even now, at almost midnight, that part of the city would still be bustling with city-natives and tourists alike. And you appreciated the safe and public meeting spot he suggested.

You: old tower in 20 is fine.

As quickly as you sent the message, you received another reply. A text describing his blue Mustang and his licence plate. You shook the nerves off as soon as they came. Azriel was respectful and well known. He dealt to make his money and that was that.

But the facts didn’t stop you from sharing your location with Brandon just in case, nor did it stop you from double checking you still had your little pepper spray clipped to your keychain.

The walk to the Old Tower wasn’t a bad one. There were many ways you could access it, most of them leading you through the city, but here were a few that hid you behind back roads and alleyways—those were routes you never took. Not on your own and certainly not in the middle of the night.

The air was still a bit sticky from the summer heat, and while the denim shorts you wore kept your body cool, you were grateful you kept on your hoodie—just that extra layer that protected your arms and shoulders from the chill of the breeze that your legs never seemed to experience.

It didn’t take long for you to reach the Old Tower, and it took even less time to spot the electric blue 2022 Ford Mustang. Small tufts of white smoke emitted from the exhaust as it sat in its standstill, headlights facing the opposite direction of what you came in, but you could still hear the engine humming from your short distance away.

You double checked the licence plate to the number Azriel texted you, and slowly made your way closer. While you didn’t know much about drop offs, deals, and weed in general, you did know the unspoken rules of picking up. And if you were picking up from someone in a vehicle, most people got inside for a few minutes before leaving.

Azriel must’ve noticed you from the rear view mirror because just as you approached the back of the car, the passenger door opened wide, inviting you in. You sucked in a breath but accepted the invitation, keeping your eyes forward as you settled into the warmth of the leather seat and closed the door shut.

You finally let your body shift and your eyes met his. And you were fucking done for.

You’d never seen a man so strikingly fucking beautiful before. He was tall, lean and muscular and oozed pure sex and charisma. Tan, golden skin and dark, luscious hair that swept loosely down his forehead and curled gently around the tops of his ears.

His face was chiselled not too sharply, a subtle gentleness to the stark contrast of the cold, brooding aura he carried. And those eyes. Christ, those fucking eyes. Hazel iris’ that dripped with a golden hue of honey.

You swallowed down the dry lump in your throat and willed your lips to part so you could finally speak. “Thank you for meeting me so late.”

And Azriel was absolutely hooked.

When you’d texted barely thirty minutes ago, he did not expect to be meeting with someone so fucking gorgeous. Your soft hair was twisted in a loose braid that hung over your shoulder, wayward strands having fallen from the updo and framing your face mesmerizingly.

Your eyes were the most captivating thing he’d ever seen; rich in colour and wide with slight anxiety, despite the sleepiness he could slightly notice beneath them. Your voice sounded like a fever dream. It wasn’t sickly sweet like most women he knew or dealt to. Perhaps it was just the sleep, but there was a rasp—a very slight ruggedness—in your tone and Azriel was certain he’d never heard something quite so sensual in his life.

He cleared his throat, that all too cheeky grin teetering on the corners of his mouth. “I was already out,” he shrugged, nonchalantly. “How much are you after?”

His voice was a perfect blend of sweet and rough. A deep depth to his tone that skipped hand-in-hand with a sweeter note. God, he was unreal, and the sound of him had you forgetting entirely what exactly Brandon told you to ask for.

You pulled your lips between your teeth and offered a very sheepish—but mostly embarrassed—smile. “Um… I’m sorry,” you found yourself apologising for the second time tonight. “My ex used to do this part, so I have no idea how this works.”

You couldn’t help the flush that rose to your cheeks at your own admission, couldn’t handle being the subject of his firm gaze, and you absolutely could not fucking handle the soft rumble of rich laughter that chuckled through him.

“Do you smoke a lot?” Azriel finally asked, a slightly amused smile on those full lips of his. His pink tongue swiped out to wet them and your heart thundered against your ribcage at the sight.

“Not really,” you cleared your throat. “Just every now and then. Semi-regularly, I guess.” There was no such thing as semi-regularly when it came to drugs and alcohol. To someone’s own self, sure. But not the general mass that consumed whatever it was they did.

Some considered three joints a day ‘semi-regular’, while others considered it as a joint every few days. Azriel had a feeling you were the latter, but he didn’t say anything about his thoughts or what you’d said.

Instead, he hummed and chewed at the inside of his cheek in thought. He wasn’t laughing at you or your lack of knowledge or understanding. Usually, he’d have kicked a new client out of his car by now and told them to figure it out on their own—he was a dealer, not a fucking private tutor—but with you, he didn’t seem to mind explaining or breaking things down so it was easier to understand.

Neither of you quite understood why he was happy to explain, but you didn’t complain. You’d much prefer this than the alternative version of him that you’d been warned about.

“A 3.5 would probably be best for you, then.” He decided.

Yes, a 3.5… that sounded very familiar. You nodded, slowly, considering your next words carefully. You had already disclosed the most embarrassing part of not having a fucking clue how this worked, one more probably wouldn’t hurt, would it?

“This is going to sound absolutely ridiculous,” you chuckled nervously, scratching at the nape of your neck. “But can you break that down in joint terms?”

Azriel laughed again, softer this time, through a breath. It was odd, really. He wasn’t laughing to be cruel or to embarrass you further. It seemed to you that perhaps he found it endearing—your innocence on the matter—and maybe, just maybe, you reminded him of himself when he too at one point, had no idea either.

“It depends on how strong you have them. Do you smoke blunts or just joints?”

Your eyes widened animatedly. “God, no. Just joints. I think a blunt might wipe me out.”

A glint of warmth and light fluttered through his eyes for a split second. “So, a 3.5 would get you like seven joints.”

“Yeah, that would last me like a week, two weeks.” You nodded. “I’ll have a 3.5 then, thank you.”

Azriel hummed in agreement, and it was only when he reached for the centre console and flipped open a compartment that you saw his hands. His golden skin was marred beyond belief, etched in burns and an array of pigmented colours. Your stomach lurched at the sight. Not from fear or pity or disgust, no. Your stomach twisted in agony, your brain couldn’t comprehend a reason for scars like that.

You looked away as quickly as you clocked them, not wanting to stare and not wanting him to notice. You supposed he was used to lingering gazes, but you would not be a name added to that list of people.

Azriel did nothing but make you feel comfortable in the brief few minutes of meeting one another. He was kind enough to not laugh in your face and kick you out of his car after your admittance. You were not about to make him feel uncomfortable either.

He pulled out a small plastic baggie stuffed to the brim with forest green nuggets and handed it to you between two scarred, pinched fingers. You took it gratefully, a full and genuine smile on your lips now as you thanked him, reaching into the back pocket of your denim shorts for the cash.

“Did you want me to roll them for you, too?” Azriel’s teasing voice dripped with sarcasm and your eyes snapped to him with a stern look. “‘Cause that’ll cost you extra.”

“I know how to roll, thank you.” You bit back, and while your voice and tone held all the conviction, the amused glint in your eye and the corners of your mouth told him he hadn’t offended you in the slightest.

“It’s twenty-five.” Azriel chuckled from beside you.

Your brows furrowed as you pulled out two twenty’s, meeting his gaze again. “Isn’t it usually like forty?”

The air now smelt of that tangy, vile scent, something that you don’t think you’d ever get used to. Or enjoy. He shrugged, flipping down the lid of the compartment between you. “You’re a new client.”

You raised a brow now, a taunting smirk creeping at the corner of your mouth. “Do you always undercharge new clients, then?”

Azriel liked you. Very much. You didn’t shy away or hide your personality from him, even after only knowing one another for barely an hour in total. He had a feeling he was barely scraping the surface.

He matched your stare, only he wasn't teasing. “Only the pretty ones.”

There was no hiding the heat that crawled up your neck and sat heavy on your cheeks. It had been a long while since you received a genuine compliment. Let alone one so forward and from someone so unexpected. You averted your gaze from him, looking at the two twenty’s in your hand. Raising them, you pursed your lips.

“I only have two twenty’s on me. So you may as well take the full forty.”

Azriel didn’t listen. Instead, he pinched one note from your hand, his skin brushing yours but you didn’t falter, didn’t shy away. He was warm, and despite the scars and marred skin, his skin was softer than you expected.

You huffed, not ungrateful for the discount but this was his livelihood and taking away from that felt wrong to you.

“Let me know when you’re out.”

You smiled appreciatively and nodded, stuffing the bag and cash into your hoodie pocket and reaching for the door handle. “I will. Nice to meet you, Azriel.”

He watched you climbed out of the car, offering another warm smile as the cooler evening air kissed at his skin. He wanted to ask how you were getting home, if you’d be walking alone or if you needed a ride. But Azriel couldn’t cross those lines, especially not with someone he only just met.

So he bit his tongue and prayed to the Mother above to get you home safely. “You too, Y/N.”

He started up the engine again as soon as the door closed, but he didn’t drive away. He watched you through the rear view mirror until you were out of sight and when he finally looked down, he found his jeans tight around his crotch and a painful erection.

“Fuck.”

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@smalljasper289 / @sttvrdustt

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[lovebugism]

could i request “mean” eddie and reader going swimming somewhere and maybe she’s in her swimsuit and someone says something that makes him jealous? also just want to say i love you writing sm!!! <3

hi, lovely! thanks so much for your request and your kind words!! i hope you like it xoxo (1.7k)

bug's summer fic fest ♡

Eddie can’t stop staring at you.

It’s not like it’s his fault, though. You’re all sprawled out beside him in a plastic lounge chair, clad only in a bathing suit that leaves little to the imagination. It’s an all-black number with little white bats all over it, clinging to you like it was made to do it.

It’s a wonder the two of you even made it to Hawkins Community Pool, honestly. Eddie's thoughts verge on obscene at the sight of you. But then again, they tend to when you're on his mind.

You lay with your hands folded above your head, totally surrendering yourself to the golden sunlight. It gives Eddie the opportunity to gaze at you fully — even though sometimes he thinks he’s already memorized you by now.

He analyzes you like it’s the first time he’s ever seen you, like you’re the last thing he’ll ever see.

The pudge of the top of your breast spills over the hem of your bikini. The skin of your stomach bulges underneath your high-waisted bottoms. The fullness of your thighs begins to glow beneath the glittering daylight.

He commits all of this to memory and figures maybe that’s what the sun’s doing too, as it paints your skin more golden.

He doesn’t know how he got you. 

But he hopes your eyes are closed behind your thick glasses. Or, at the very least, that they block your view of him. Eddie knows he’s unabashedly staring at you, but he also knows he can’t stop. He doesn’t want his ogling to be met with your teasing — even if he is deserving of it.

The Lord of the Rings book in his hands goes quickly abandoned. It’s a feat he even made it to page fifty. He’s flipped through it enough times to memorize it, though. Sort of like you.

Like the novel, he could read you a million times and never get bored. The only real difference is he finds you much, much sexier than printed words on a page.

“I can feel you staring, you know?” 

Your voice jolts him from his stupor, light and golden like the slowly setting sun. Your words are nearly drowned out by the sounds of the bustling pool — screaming kids, splashing water, and people trying to converse over it all.

Eddie’s far too attuned to you not to hear you, though.

You’re not looking at him, but he can see the corner of your lip quirk in a slight half-smile.

“Can you?” he deadpans, turning back to his book like he hadn’t been looking at you at all.

The words are all mush, though. He’ll blame it on the stifling summer heat. He was the idiot out here in a black t-shirt and trunks, after all.

“Yeah,” you nod.

He sees your smile completely when you turn to look at him. The sun pierces through your amber lenses, making your eyes more visible beneath them. You’ve got one eye squinted to evade the blinding light. The beam you wear is somehow brighter.

“’S like spidey senses, you know? I can always tell when you’re looking at me, Munson.”

Eddie wants to be embarrassed at the thought. He knows that you’re joking — if only just the slightest bit — but it makes him think about all the other times he’s shamelessly gawked at you. He spent years doing it before you ever got together.

Many of his high school years were spent paying more attention to you than his homework. He thinks maybe that’s why he had such a hard time graduating.

“You’re saying my girlfriend’s a superhero?” the boy jokes, brows raised behind his curly bangs and chocolate eyes going wide. They look more golden in the sunlight, and they twinkle with mischief.

“Uh-huh,” you hum with a wider smile than before. “You didn’t know?”

He shakes his head. Some of his curls still stick to him, damp with the sweat beading on his milky skin. “No. I can confidently say that I didn’t.”

“Good. It was supposed to be a secret, anyway.”

Eddie doesn’t mean to laugh, but he does.

It’s a sharp exhale through his nose more than anything, paired with a crooked pink smile. He wishes he knew how much of a dork you were a year ago. He might’ve asked you out sooner.

“Brush up on your spidey senses before you go out patrolling the neighborhood, alright, Spiderwoman?” he jests in a monotone, turning the page of his book even though he hadn’t actually read it. “’Cause I totally wasn’t staring at you.”

You know he’s lying.

And it’s not just because you could feel it — even though you think his button-eyed gaze can be palpable in its attentiveness at times. But what you lacked in superhero senses, you made up for in awareness of all things Eddie Munson. 

You knew when he got quiet that he was in his own head. And being that you hadn’t heard a single page turn in several minutes, you figured his eyes must’ve been on something other than the book in his hands.

Your quip was hardly more than a lucky guess, really.

“Good,” you hum as you flip over onto your stomach. Your backside had been completely deprived of sunlight before now. You prop yourself up on your elbows and lift your sunglasses to the top of your head. Your teasing gaze is no longer amber-coated. “‘Cause that would mean you find me attractive.”

“And that would just be a travesty, wouldn’t it?” Eddie scoffs.

He looks over at you again and finds your changed position. Your back is pointed towards the sun now, the very bottom of your ass on full display. Your thighs are indented softly from the slatted chair beneath you.

He can’t pry his eyes off the combination of the two despite knowing you’re watching him right back.

“It’s okay if you have the hots for me, Eds,” you tell him, feigning sympathy. “I’d only make fun of you a little bit.”

Eddie stays silent for half a moment too long, then shakes his head to dismiss the thought. “Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. It’s just the heat.”

You scoff. “Yeah. Let’s blame the way you’re ogling at me on sunstroke.”

He still finds it a bit difficult to be your boyfriend sometimes — or just a boyfriend. And it’s not because of you. Not in the slightest. He just sort of put a wall around himself when he was younger. He’s been behind it so long he’s forgotten how to let people back in.  

And even though he hasn’t said it yet, he loves the goddamn shit outta you. But for some reason, he can’t let himself be vulnerable in that way — can’t even ask to touch you without coming up with some lame excuse that covers up all his vulnerable-ness.

“You, uh… You put sunscreen on, right?” he asks, shifting slightly in his chair. He spares a brief glance your way from the corner of his eye, halfway concealed by the fluffy brown curls framing his face.

“Yeah?” you answer with pinched brows. “Right after I forced you to put some on, remember?”

He scrunches his nose as he squints at you. It takes everything in you not to lean over and kiss the tip of it. “I don’t know,” the boy singsongs as he tilts his head to his shoulder. “I don’t remember it, actually…”

“Then maybe you’re the one that needs to get checked out, Eds.”

“I think I should just put some lotion on your back,” he summarizes with a shrug, already rising from his chair to swing his legs over the side of it. “You know, just to be safe.”

The teasing glint in his eyes makes you grin. You trap your bottom lip between your teeth to dim its brightness, lest how happy he makes you go to his head.

Your feet lift in their air and twist together with a girlish excitement. It makes your ass wiggle gently. Eddie swears you’re doing it just to tease him.

“Get my legs, too, while you’re at, yeah?” you quip.

Eddie reaches for the tote beside your chair with an effervescence that can only be described as a boy on Christmas morning — his present: the opportunity to touch you. He rises again with the blue bottle in his hand.

A low whistle sounds from behind the both of you.

“Looking good, sweetheart,” Billy compliments with a smirk as he walks by your chair. He’s in his lifeguard uniform — a pair of red swim trunks and his toned, golden torso.

He lifts his sunglasses from his face and rests them on top of his curled mullet. His crystal blue eyes gape at you, far sharper than Eddie’s chocolate syrup ones.

“Bite me, Hargrove,” you deadpan in response.

“I like the sound of that,” he laughs, chomping spearmint gum between his pearly white teeth. He spins on his flip-flops and walks backward to keep ogling at you. “Just give me the word and I’m yours, darlin’.”

He disappears in the bustling crowd after that, fading like rubbed-in sunscreen. You forget about him the second he’s gone.

He’s always been an asshole like that. It’d be a rookie mistake to give more than half a shit about him. But Eddie still feels the boy’s presence like a mean, lean, green monster full of envy. It’s like he’s still there — close enough to punch, even.

He isn’t sure if it’s the heat or if he’s actually seeing red.

“What an asshole,” you murmur under your breath.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Eddie snaps.

“Whoa,” you drawl within a laugh. “Slow your roll, tiger.”

The boy's eyes go wide as he looks over at you again. “I’m not even sure what I just said, honestly.”

“You’re a dork who plays Dungeons and Dragons, remember? You can’t start talking about fighting Billy Hargrove.”

“Yeah. You’re probably right,” he sighs, rigid body finally loosening with the heavy exhale. He squints at you after. “You don’t think I could take him?”

“I don’t thank you have to,” you lilt.

“That’s such a non-answer, babe.”

“I’m just saying,” you giggle with a shrug. “I’m asking you to feel me up, Eds. Not that creep.”

A rosy smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth, smug and full of love.

You meet it with a grin of your own. 

“C’mon, I’m burning to a crisp over here,” you urge, shifting in the chair just to make your thighs jiggle in the way you know Eddie likes.

His eyes glaze over at the sight — one he’s seen a million times now — and you know it’s done the trick.

“Let’s give Hargrove a show, yeah?”

[oddinarylani]

'i just wished you cared about me' arranged marriage skz pt. 2.

pt 2: han, felix, seungmin, jeongin.

w: blood in han's, depression in seungmin's.

a/n: thank you for being patient, the long awaited part 2 is finally here, enjoy.

𝓱𝓪𝓷. ↴

he stumbled into your home still laughing, with the voices of his friends still booming behind him. a second later the door is closed behind him and his laughter dies down into something soft. while your ears have perked at the sound, your eyes raising from the printed page of your book, you stay put in your spot on the couch if just adjusting a bit. he slides the beanie from his head, shaking his shiny brown hair out a bit before his eyes wander to your form. “oh!” he grabs his chest, jumping slightly. the reaction brings a small smile to your face, but you quickly force it down. “why are you up? it’s super late.” he wanders to the kitchen, his voice sounding particularly far away now. your eyes roll, you thumb your book to keep your place. “i know you only go out at night, so i figured i’d stay up to see if you wanted to do something. i didn’t know you were going out.” upon your glance, you see the clock reads four twenty-seven am, and you groan, rubbing your eyes. this wasn’t the exchange you were hoping for. 

when he re-emerges from the kitchen, your eyes scour his form, noticing the purplish lines that are forming in the tender skin of his under-eyes and the somewhat gaunt appearance of his pale-ish skin. you back straightens, “have you been drinking, jisung?” he’s already walking to your bedroom, but he slows his steps to a halt, turning back to lock eyes with you. “you don’t have to worry about me.”

your eyes trail on his form until he’s disappeared completely into the confines of your bedroom, only then do you sit back though still ever-worried. “of course i do, i’m your wife remember?” 

jisung had fought tooth and nail for a nontraditional vampire wedding. he simply refused. it was bad enough your marriage was arranged with little to no say from the both of you on your choice of spouse, but he put his foot down at the idea of a traditional ceremony. you both wore black, surrounded by loved ones yet absent of friends, and you were bound to each other for the rest of your days. your human family was keen on this celebration of conjoining lives, having an option wasn’t an option - so with doubts you moved forward in the marriage - trying desperately hard to make things work. 

a lot of your marriage to jisung was learning things about him through subtle cues - if the environment was relaxed enough it was easier to get him talking about his personal life or interests, though this had been an occurrence three times in the now two and a half months you’d been married. lack of communication was common, hence you not knowing he was going out earlier. you quit your job, finding one instead that could accommodate to nights so that you could actually see him on your off days and when you returned from work, this schedule you were still adjusting to - and it was killing you. you begrudgingly talked to his parents more in an attempt to understand his needs as a vampire, to which they let you in on the fact that jisung wasn’t the proudest to carry on the vampiric gene. with it came a lot of shame for him. he always ate in private, hunted in private, and stretched out his eating periods as long as possible. he could still consume human food, but nutrition for vampires was solely obtained by drinking blood. and as of late, you reminded him frequently of his need to eat, that it was important to him and his existence, and it was absolutely necessary. 

why’d you do this? you cared for him. you had love in your heart for him. which astounded you that you felt your heart pull at just the sight of him, especially when he looked so sad and was probably starving, because jisung didn’t do much in return. he was hard to talk to, hard to communicate with - you hadn’t a single idea of how he thought of you. did he care for you? did he long to mend your new marriage? it was a guessing game. granted, you absolutely had good days with him. happy times of smiling together, laughing together, going out, exchanging gifts, meeting his friends - but the bad times were killer. and they weighed on your heart something fierce. 

a few days had passed since your limited interaction with jisung - you’d seen him a few times in between then and now; before you went to work and after. maybe you hadn’t looked hard enough then, but now. now when you looked at him, you saw it written all over his face.

his cheeks were more sunken in, his eyes tired and droopy and rings of purple circled each eye. was he slimmer too? his wrists looked thinner than usual; and you found your heart breaking at the sight. he was sitting at his desktop, headphones on, eyes lost to the screen before him - every couple of seconds his mouse would click and you could hear cuts of music playing. 

“jisung,” you called. when he didn’t reply or look up from his screen, you called again - this time louder. “jisung.”

he looks up with raised brows, a hand coming to lift his headphone off his ear - you see the glint of his gold band in the light of his desk lamp. “did you eat today?” you soften your voice though you’re mostly exhausted, and with it came a bit of irritation. he chews on his cheek and looks back to his screen. “yeah.”

“are you lying.” you plant your hands on your hips, you notice his leg is bouncing and he pulls his sweatshirt, the one you gifted him, over his hands. “n-no.” 

you glare at him a moment more before walking out of the study. “i’m fixing you a bag.” his voice calls out behind you, “we’re out.”

you stop yourself just as you’ve made it into the living room, and walk back into the room, you lips tugged to the side as you chew on your cheek. there’s a few options laid out in front of you - and you were stupid to think you wouldn’t do any of them for him. you’re in thought for longer than you’d like to admit, jisung has resorted to toying with his somewhat dried lips as he turns back to his desktop for a moment, his headphones off now as he waits your scolding. 

but scolding doesn’t happen, no. instead, you grab an extra chair from across the room and sit down in front of him, shoving your jacket sleeve up your arm with conviction. he sees how tired you are, and hates that you’ve resorted to this for him - in fact it angers him a bit. 

you bear your bare wrist to him, looking down at your arm then once more at him. 

“drink.” 

he pushes himself out from his desk, “i don’t need your help. i can do this stuff on my own.” his voice isn’t overly angry, in reality he was a little soft for that, especially to you. he just seemed,,, tired. and it kind of killed you. 

“jisung- just do it.” you shake your arm once, he stands up, shoving his hands in his pockets. his thirst drives the red in his eyes to nearly glow - you know he hasn’t much more self-control before he inevitably gives in. he’s starving. he’s craving it. he’s on the brink of ravaging your arm for christ sakes, and you didn’t for a second doubt that power from him. you understood fully well what he was capable of, you just couldn’t see him like this any longer. 

“n-no! i’m not gonna do it. why do you care so much anyway? why are you doing this?” 

your eyes close, head tilted to the side as if he’s just struck a nerve - well, he has. and you haven’t the patience for it any longer. 

“why do i care? why do i care? i’m giving you my arm to drink from - i’m giving you my goddamn life source because i’m your wife and i don’t want you to fucking die.” you stand up, your presence itself has him taking a step back. 

“i’m doing this because i care. and i care because i fucking love you! i try so goddamn hard in this marriage, jisung. because i believe in-in,, in us!” your brows pull together, eyes glossy a bit - the rage in your heart sours into something sadder and you clench your jaw so tight you feel pressure in your teeth to keep from crying. 

he’s struck. totally. he watches you with wide eyes, watches the way your expression strikes anger than melts into something like hurt. the way your brow thaws together and glassiness shines in your eyes. he reaches a hand to you, the one that bears your ring and you take your arm from his grasp when he takes your hand. 

“i-i,,,” you sigh in defeat, still refusing the urge to cry. “i just w-wish you cared about me.” 

when he says your name it feels like it’s the first time he’s ever done so, you pace around yourself for a moment as you quell the urge to cry, running a hand through your hair. you turn, grounded in his voice as he reaches yet again for your hand - which this time you take. “i care about you so much, a-and i’m really sorry that i haven’t been showing that to you.” 

you let him hold your hand as tightly as he wants, “god i feel like such an asshole,” he chuckles, though the brim of his eyes are watery. “i didn’t think you’d want much to do with me to be honest.” you feel the shakiness in his fingers and you grasp onto his hand. “especially because i’m a… y’know…” 

“but i don’t care about that, jisung. you know i don’t. i don’t give a fuck less what you were if it meant we could just be happy.” he nods, swallowing through his tears. “i-i know and that… that’s why i love you.” he admits. 

you shake your head, “don’t just tell me that, jisung-” you look up to him with fierce, watery eyes. “i-i’m not! i would never-” he shakes his head and reaches for your other forearm. “it scares me… a lot i think. that you won’t judge me or hold that against me but that you support me.” in his grasp he brings you a bit closer, his hands now moving from grasping your own to resting on your upper arms and shoulders. “i’m really sorry that i’ve hurt you.. that’s the last thing i wanted to do. i just got really scared and didn’t… know what to do.” he briefly reaches up to smooth your hair with both of his palms before returning them to your upper arms. 

“you know what you can do when you’re scared?” you ask him, wiping your own face before settling your arms around his shoulders, your palms wrapping around the back of his neck. at the feeling of your hands, he sets his hands on your waist. “you come to me.” 

he nods, “you can come to me too, any time you want. i’ll listen to everything you have to say. and i’ll try to be better.” 

you smile, smoothing your hands down his shoulders. “now,” your fingers dig into the sleeve of your jacket, pulling it up and over your wrist. “please drink. i see how hungry you are, and it’s not good not to. you have to take care of yourself.” the thumb of your opposite hand smooths the soft skin beneath his eye, his brows press together and he softly frowns. 

his mouth waters at the sight of your skin, glowing and pulsating with a pulse that pumps your blood just beneath your skin. he parts his lips, and for a second you see the sight of his wet fangs just below his top lip. “it’s okay, i know you can stop - i don’t want you to be hungry.” 

he gets comfortable, sitting on the surface of your shared bed in the room just next to his study - his hands cradle your wrist, turning the soft flesh over to bare itself to his awaiting teeth. his eyes swim with frenzy, and per your comfort again, he leans forward and sinks his teeth into your skin. your face scrunches up at the feeling of your skin giving way to his fangs, but the feeling of his lips around the wound soothe the ache. soon he’s finished, wiping his mouth with his hand before smoothing his tongue over the wound. “my saliva will heal it over night, don’t worry.” 

“it’s okay. how are you feeling? any better?” he tugs you onto the surface of the bed, his gentle fingers grabbing a nearby bandage to delicately wrap around the bite wound. the sun was beginning to rise now, and you were tired beyond belief. “i do. thank you so much.” he smooths your hair from your head, planting a kiss to your forehead. 

“i really meant it when i said i was sorry and that i was going to try harder. i can’t imagine how stupid i looked to you, god,” he buries his face in your shoulder, shaking his head as you chuckled. “it’s okay. i didn’t mean to blow up that hard - i just… it all kept building up and i really wanted to talk to you but it never felt right.” your hand comes to rest on his head as he burrows further into you, you can imagine the burn of his cheeks and smile to yourself at the thought. 

“well, if we’re going to be married. these are things we have to talk about i guess.” his skin is cool to the touch, you shiver at the feeling. “we can talk about whatever you want too though. like what your favorite color is or why your favorite movie is your favorite movie.” 

“i like pink a lot.” he says, his cheek pressed into the pillow next to you. “why is that?” you wonder. 

“it looks best on you.” 

𝓯𝓮𝓵𝓲𝔁. ↴

oh he was beautiful. maybe not even that; maybe something greater. 

you admired him still but frequently lost yourself to the floaty thoughts in your brain - thinking fondly back to your wedding day. he was dressed in opalescent whites of different shades, the hems of his attire glittered in the evening sun - cuts of sunlight beaming fractals down through the trees to paint his face something magnificent. and his wings. your feet carried you along the forest floor, but your eyes were blown into a sweet expression you couldn’t fight. they were transparent if not for their shining and glittering design - fine lines of sunlight itself swirled and cut into fine designs on his wings - you were starstruck in his gaze. you cradled your bouquet, and though it was now your third time meeting felix in person, his worried and saddened expression turned into something peaceful when you looked at him. despite your arguments in efforts to call off your betrothal, now when facing him, you strangely felt as if everything would just work out. he exuded a kind of sweet energy, even just his smile would bring you happiness. you interlock your hands and despite the circumstance, you can’t help but smile soft while reciting your vows, your practiced eye contact now utterly natural and right. 

you’d been married to lee felix for two months and ten days - and in those days since accepting your marriage, you’d seen him only a handful of times. well, more than that, honestly, but it was easy to blur the days and times you saw him. it really only felt like you’d had a few conversations with him or shared any moments of true transparency or emotional value. he was dedicated to his job, he was. he protected the forest alongside a large force of fae people’s. regulations in the forest were strict - strong. and he took his job very seriously. he spent nearly every waking moment tangled in the trees, tending to her grasses, or playing with the forest creatures to keep the forest happy and healthy, and while you were more than proud of him of his job and his dedication, your marriage was beginning to weigh heavy on your heart. he was beginning to weigh heavy on your heart. 

your job was to nurse saplings and hybrids, you were gone from your home for severely shorter hours than felix was - and while you loved your job all the same as he did his own, you couldn’t help the want for a loving marriage despite the circumstances of it being arranged. you saw him frequently laughing in the trees and vines alongside his colleagues, happily caring for the creatures of the forest with careful and loving hands, and couldn’t help but hope that one day you’d be the one making him smile, making him laugh, and be the fairy behind his loving touch. your heart swells at the very thought - ugh what a lovey he was. pure goodness you assumed. not a bad bone in his body. you just wanted him for yourself, selfishly. 

how could your heart not blossom with feeling at the opportunity to be married to him? he was,,, he was so much. words couldn’t describe the ache of affection you yearned from him. the way he lived. it was profound in and of itself. 

your arms cradle the sleeping sapling of a mother willow, tender palms wrapped around the baby as they slept soundly. your mind snaps back to reality, your eyes fluttering to the small angel in your arms, and you smile at the sight. “precious.” you admire, putting them back into their warm pot of soil to sleep until the next morning. evening was approaching, it was time for you to leave for the day. you float to your bag, your wings carrying you seamlessly to your things as you gather them and say goodbye to your fellow caretakers, returning home to your high tree top bungalow. your home was comfortably secluded near the top of the tree canopy, neighbors somewhat closeby to still have the comfort of community but to also have a nice peaceful feeling of seclusion in your own home. the lights wrapping around your home had been dimmed, you frown at the sight, concluding felix must not be home. 

as you float to the door, softly landing on your feet, you push it open and find the lights are off and evening darkness begins to swallow your home. you sigh softly, pulling your leaf tote off your shoulder to hang it by the door. you pull clips from your hair and pad to your bedroom with your eyes focused comfortably at the floor, thinking no one was home. 

that is until you enter your bedroom to see felix standing in the open space just before your bed, lifting his button-down from his head to peak into your closet for night clothes. “oh-” you jump, clutching your chest, face warming at the sight of his bare skin on display. “you scared me, sorry.” his eyes widen for only a moment before he relaxes into a smile, “oh sorry for scaring you, i should’ve left a note for you. i came home early today.” you beam gently, pulling your earrings out to leave your jewelry in a box at your vanity. “it’s okay! i’m glad you’re home. how was today?” you turn to look at him as he speaks. 

he takes a sleep shirt from a hanger and begins slipping it on. “ah, the watering hole at the east side of the forest edge began growing fungus - so we had the court mages come down to get rid of it. other than that, it was surprisingly uneventful.” his face contorts into a kind of grimace as he struggles to fit his wings through the back of his shirt - trying desperately hard on his own to flutter them through the back only to get caught. you stand, moving to help him as your vision falls to his back - and you stand behind him to gently tug his wings through the back. “there you go, better?” you ponder with a soft worrisome look, rounding him to get a better look. he smiles and nods, “much, thank you.” 

you take a few steps back to sit at the edge of your shared bed, once again getting lost in your head as you stare at his wings. so pretty. moonlight begins to filter in through your bedroom windows and they almost seem to glow. “what’s wrong?” he asks, catching you off guard in your staring match. he’s left his shirt opens as he looks at you, his brow scrunched. “o-oh! nothing! sorry- your wings are just,, really pretty.” you chuckle, hoping to play off any tension or awkwardness. his face flushes a true shade of pink and his gaze falls to the floor, “thank you.” his low voice in gentle in the quiet. 

“but,,” he turns back, now stepping closer to you at a slower pace before he sits down in front of you. his gaze is so concerned, and he speaks as though what he has to say is hard. you match his expression, head tilting only a degree or so. “you always kind of have this expression like you’re thinking,, or that you’re getting lost in your head. do you want to talk about it?” 

your cheeks flush at his notice and you look down to your hands now folded over your lap. if now was ever the time to bring up issues than you’d have to do it. were you going to drag this process on forever? you hoped not. now was the chance.

“you’re… you’re so wonderful at what you do.” you smile again, because you can’t help but give in around felix, but it’s sadder - and he worries about what’s to come despite your compliment. “you’re so dedicated. and i love seeing you smile and laugh with everything you do. with your colleagues, when you’re caring for the creatures in the forest, or when you’re caring for the plants and trees,” you pause. your lips part because you know what to say, you know exactly what to say because it’s been the only thing you think about during the day. and you simply must say it now or else you’d dig yourself into a hiding hole and never bring it up again. “but i wish,, you cared for me in the way you cared for you job. in the way you care for the forest.” your thumb circles the band on your ring finger absentmindedly. it’s become second nature. when you look down to your hand, and see the band on your finger your eyes begin to water. oh not now, please, i was doing do good. 

“i’ve been meaning to talk to you about this, actually.” he starts. you lift your watery eyes and his expression melts, his hand coming up to wipe your tears but he stops himself in fear of crossing a line when really that’s all you wanted in the moment. “i..” he swallows and his eyes get lost in focusing on nowhere in particular in the room and that’s when you notice it. 

his thumb is playing with his wedding band, his nail tracing the metal and fumbling with it just as you did without noticing. 

your lips pull to the side as you try to keep them from trembling. “i wanted to talk to you about how we can become closer. how we can work better as a unit and build our relationship-” when the tears track down your cheeks and you look up at him, he disregards his fear and reaches out shamelessly - his pal meeting your cheek as his thumb swipes wetness from your eyes. you lean into his touch, appreciative of his warmth until it leaves you. his own eyes are a bit watery, but out of shame and guilt. “i feel,, so guilty. for making you feel that way. and i d-don’t ever want to make you feel like that again because i do care for you.” when he looks back up at you, you reach for his hand and rub his band with your thumb. “i care for you a lot.” he chuckles sadly. 

“i care for you too. and i want this to work out.” you reason, now holding his left hand with both of yours. he goes quiet for a second as he dips his head and wipes his face. at the sight your heart swells and you feel a smile over take your face. “y’know on our wedding day, i thought, ‘wow i must be the luckiest person ever to be marrying the prettiest fairy in the forest.’” you chuckle, wiping your face until he laughs through his tears. “don’t say that, i’ll cry more!” you chuckle with him and this time you wipe his face with your thumbs when he can’t get past the guilt. 

“i p-promise i’ll make it up to you. i’ll show you i care for you and that i can be a husband you deserve.” his gaze lifts with your hand as you thumb over his wet freckles, and he now grabs your hands sacredly. 

“let’s work together, yeah?” you look over his face with a more fond expression, watching every small move he makes to wipe his face and try desperately hard to keep the tears off his flustered freckled cheeks. he nods, fiercely. this was a change you already felt oncoming, and as you settled into resting for the night, you laid beside your husband - hands kept to yourself for now as shyness seemed to settle between both of your bodies. 

“i know i’ve been distant and consumed in work,, but i’ve been watching you at your job recently.” his nimble fingers pick at the surface of his pillow, pulling a stray thread from it’s place. your brows raise, a soft look of surprise graces your features as you listen. “oh?” he immediately cuts in, “not like that! i just.. wanted to see you at work but.. i didn’t know how to.. reach out.” his gaze is focused elsewhere. 

“you can come visit me at work anytime. i think you’d be excellent with the sapling babies - they’d love you.” your teeth show in a genuine smile and he can’t help but think how contagious. 

“i couldn’t really think much, except for how stunning you looked doing it.” 

you push your face into your pillow, “you can’t say things like that,, i’ll blush.” your hands cover your face, and much to your surprise, he grasps them to pull them from your red cheeks, looking at you solemnly. “it’s true. the sun was hitting you just right and you looked so pretty,, so happy.” 

he’s holding your hands again, the current if shyness feels as though he’s melted it away, and you reach out to brush a stray hair from his face, “i am happiest when with them, they bring me a lot of peace.” he beams, his wings flutter a bit behind him on the bed. 

“would you want to raise one, one day?” his eyes are wide with the question, as if a great amount of hope rests on his shoulders. 

“with you? absolutely.” 

𝓼𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓶𝓲𝓷. ↴

“there won’t be a wedding.” 

you looked up from your coffee, both of your hands wrapped around it’s now cooling porcelain. your heart drops to the lowest part of your stomach at the news, hands steadying for a better grip on your mug. every dream, every hope, all the excitement of the young you, hoping for a beautiful wedding shared with the person you loved, instantly came crashing down in a fury. you swallow, feeling the eternal dread creeping on - up your back and over your shoulders. 

“can i ask why?” you look up to your future husband, finding a kind of indifference on his face, that made your heart sink further. 

“my family has a last minute trip planned for the weekend we originally scheduled - we talked to your family and decided to cancel it.” 

“okay.” 

“i’ll make it up to you.”

for the sake of a legitimate marriage, you did stand before each other and repeat vows of no particular meaning to you - and held his hand as you walked back down the aisle in a white sundress. you slept in the same bed but didn’t know the man beside you, you said goodbye to him for his business trips but mostly thoughts of leaving consumed you while he was away (even though your family would have your head for it) you ate beside him but didn’t speak - your outlook on your marriage was bleak to say the least. 

your own job consumed you of course, the marriage was for business anyway. but you took severely less trips than seungmin did - and mostly worked from home in your office, conducting meetings, discussing sales goals and the like. 

and now, at your age, you came to realize something. that your life wasn’t lived for what you wanted to do or how you wanted to live, but instead was lived out by the expectation of how you were supposed to. who were you even really? and you didn’t have the best example - your parent’s marriage was arranged. and though your mom persevered in saying they were happy, you could easily read between the lines to see they were anything but. 

seungmin had his good moments. 

he was great at his job, very dedicated. he periodically checked in on you but it felt half-hearted. there were a few times he’d sent flowers to the house while he was away. a lot of empty promises on his part though, saying he would look forward to doing something fun when he returned home, only for his time to be taken again.  you’d bury yourself in your work if that was the only thing you could do - eyes filtering over the now dying roses on your desk. 

he was gone now on another business trip, he had been now for three days. in truth, you missed him. or maybe you missed the idea of him. the idea of what he could be to you, and what you could be together. it all felt very misty in your brain, a lot of thoughts you couldn’t dwell on for long periods of time as they stopped making sense. you’d try to sort through your feelings, categorize your thoughts, to better understand yourself - but most attempts remained fruitless. your marriage to seungmin was an enigma - with most of your free time spent alone, all you had to do was think of him. it was strange to admit you missed and longed for a man you feel like you don’t know, but your nights were spent planted on your couch, wondering when he’d return.

your days spent in your new home brought a wave of heaviness you haven’t looked in the eye in years. it was dreadful. every waking moment you fought to stay motivated with your job, but a large part of you hadn’t a single care. not for anything. after work, you’d crawl back into bed and sleep until waking, rotting away in your home. 

until seungmin came home. 

when he unlocked the door and came in with a few small bags by his side, you didn’t raise your head from your pillow, or dare to even wipe your cheeks of the tears cascading down your face - you didn’t care. you didn’t care if he saw, you didn’t care if he had something to say. you only felt the weight. 

he comes into the bedroom, and upon looking at you curled up in your shared bed, wetness glistening on your cheeks, his brows furrow. “what’s wrong?”

you shake your head, mumbling something that sounded like “it’s nothing.” 

he wasn’t taking that as an answer, not with the way his voice drew out and the way he came to sit on his side of the bed, his hands resting on his thighs. “what’s wrong?” he asks, this time a little softer; even just the way his voice sounded made you want to cry. 

you roll to your back, eyes focused nowhere in particular as you muster up something to say. your tears fall into your hairline now, for a moment you feel as though this might be worse than dying. “should we separate?” 

“like divorce? no, no we shouldn’t. what’s,, what’s going on?” he almost wants to reach out and touch you but he keeps his hands to himself for now. the news hits him with a kind of weight he wasn’t expecting; he stumbles over the words that first come to his brain, his composure slowly melting away. 

“you’re never here, seungmin.” your head lulls to the side to look at him. “i care about you a lot. i just wished you felt the same.” your voice trembles on the breath of a whisper, soon your eyes are focused elsewhere yet again - and your lips shake a bit. 

he grasps your hands, and pulls your weight up until you’re resting in his arms. his hold is light - as if he were afraid to touch you but he does anyway. your heart explodes - he holds you because he understands it’s what you need. and you realize, this is the first time he’s ever held you, and you hope to whatever greater source there is in the world, that it isn’t the last. 

“i’m sorry.” he pats your back with a gentle hand, and he feels your arms circle him lightly. “i do care for you.” 

you sit in his hold comfortably, listening to him as he periodically speaks. “i’m sorry i’m never home. the business has kept me really busy, and, to be honest, i didn’t know what to do.” 

you understand more now than ever that, it’s hard for him to speak his emotions. and while it might be awkward, it meant so much more that he was trying. his long sleeve shirt is soft against your palms, you flatten them more, pressing closer to him a bit - hoping it doesn’t make him uncomfortable, but rather it urges him to speak more on his feelings. 

“i assumed you’d be unhappy, and honestly, i wouldn’t blame you. i wanted to try to make things work.. i just didn’t know how.” 

that was, perhaps, the most words you’d heard from him - and you were beyond happy with his honesty. 

“i mean, it wasn’t like our marriage was ideal but i too want to make it work. i believe we can.”

when your bodies separate, and seungmin fumbles with his fingers that peak just past the sleeves of his shirt, you’re both swallowed in a kind of silence, one you wouldn’t label, but one that was loud. “what,, what do you want me to do? to be better?” he asks quietly. 

“just talk to me.”

“talk to you? what do you want to talk about?”

“anything.”

for the next few hours, as the moon hung high in the night sky, you sat in your bed and talked. like people did. like married people did. 

“when i was 14 i got a bone spur in my ankle from working at an amusement park.” you chuckled, seungmin laughs beside you as well. “how’d you do that?” 

“i jumped down onto a platform and i didn’t bend my knees when i landed so,” you mesh your fingers together, “crunch. y’know?” his expression changes to a grimace of sorts, “i broke my elbow playing baseball as a kid.” 

“you played baseball?” 

“i did.”

𝓳𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓲𝓷.↴

“before you are five people, you must choose a significant other to marry.” were the words spoken to jeongin - words he was expecting to hear, dreaded ones - evil even in prospect. he was raised for this moment, this was one of many he must complete in his family’s line of work. his choices were limited, but this one seemed impossible. his steps were counted, he rolls through his foot, keeps a sharp gaze so his intentions aren’t questioned, not in front of his father, and he looks between the wide-eyed looks that stare at him with hope. not hope of being chosen, no quite the opposite. 

there was only really one option -

you. 

you were beautiful, maybe not even that but something he couldn’t label or put a finger on. it stole breath from his lungs as he raised his hand without a second thought, pointing to your slightly hunched composure. 

“you.” 

it was the first words he ever spoke to you - and you wanted nothing more in that moment for them to be the last. but you knew hope cost very little in your new life. you were unsure of the price over your head for marriage to the son of the leader of the biggest crime ring in the area, but you hoped it hurt his pockets if anything. you were to be married to jeongin now, and that was your life’s purpose. you would part from your family, and move into a house suitable for newly weds, you’d forget everything you loved, everyone you loved, if it meant he was happy. 

you were wedded in a small ceremony, only surrounded by your parents and other members of the crime syndicate. your father handed you off your arm to the man that was soon to be your husband, and you took his hands with a grip too easy to slip. he grasps your hands, soon loosening his hold upon feeling your reluctance in your hands. but it isn’t reluctance in just your physical touch with him - but it’s the reluctance in your eyes. the way light doesn’t shine in them or sparkle, and you speak your vows with such shame it kills him. 

so he vowed to stay away. if it made you happy. 

but you weren’t happy. not really. 

was he? he didn’t know. 

but even from the start, he felt your sadness when you spoke to him, the light still hadn’t returned to your pretty face, well. there was one thing that made the sparkle gleam in your expression, 

painting. 

fuck you looked beautiful when you painted. lost in the color - the washes, forgetting your hands were smeared and wet and that your cuticles were crackling with paints to no wits end but you continued, and you would persevere. you’d surround yourself with happiness and feeling only translated and spoken through the mouthpiece of a canvas, and he could sit and watch you forever, just admiring the way you lost yourself in something for a moment that wasn’t your marriage. 

“what would make you happier?” he’d asked one day. 

you raised your gaze up from the marble of the extending bar of the kitchen counter, your cheek between your teeth. it was a question you weren’t ready for, one that you thought he’d never ask. “i’d like to paint more.” you answered, almost smiling a bit through the dark lines beneath your eyes. 

in truth, you could see the good in jeongin. the reluctance to follow in his father’s footsteps, the boyish, happy energy he so little exuded that you only wished to see more of. yes. in truth, jeongin was beautiful. yet he chose to show it so little. you wonder if it was fear, trauma even - but he seemed so far away, so distant. 

“okay.” it was simple. and a week later, he showed you to one of the spare bedrooms in your home - canvas’ covered the walls and a desk and stool stood in the middle of the room, an array of different paints grouped in boxes and a great big container of brushes sat on it’s surface. you could’ve cried at the sight, but instead thanked him, a number of times, and began on your next piece. 

and after that, he was gone again. all hidden behind stern expressions, his suits and ties and whispers of jobs and missions. you’d lost him again, and damn it all you were tired.

you’d been defeated since you said yes to him, no you’d been tired since you’d found out you were to be married to a stranger. and now, when you felt like things were going somewhere, he was just,, gone. you were sick, sick of feeling this way. feeling like your life had no other meaning than to be strangers, sick of him not talking or trying, just sick. 

so you pushed a blade into your first canvas. you cut through the paint, the flesh of it, cut through the hours, the focus, the mess ups and successes, and you kept going. you dragged the blade through the wooden circumference and threw it to the ground with your hair flying behind you. 

jeongin came in a moment later to hear the commotion - finding a few of your paintings destroyed, tears running down your cheeks, and your form huddled in the corner of the room with your knees pulled to your chest. you were hysterical - like your filter had diminished and your true thoughts were the only thing capable of leaving your lips. 

“i-i-! i-i just wished you cared-!” you yelled. 

he grabs your face, holding steady in both of his hands. 

and suddenly, the only thing you see is him. 

and he was there. there. with his brows pressed together, and his thumbs swiping over your cheeks soft. he was there. 

“i’m here- i’m here.” his voice steadies your heart, his presence centers your attention on him and him alone - and despite the pure rage you felt at him - he was the only person you had. and the only one you wanted. 

your breathing slows, as do your tears, and you lower your hands, letting them rest on his forearms. “you’re,, here.” you repeat as if he’d disappear. 

he nods, his thumbs smoothing over your cheeks. “that’s right. i’m right here. i’m not going anywhere, i promise.” he assures. 

he was numbly grounding - he pulled you out of your own head so quick you saw stars and felt whiplash. and now, in steadiness, you grasp his hands from your face and hold onto him tight. “b-but,, why aren’t you ever really here? why don’t you care-” you hiccup.

“because i don’t know how to be.” 

you look at him with an expression only capable of melting, and your face contorts sadly again and he tries. “j-just don’t leave. just try, please? i want this to work because it kills me.”

“i won’t leave. i won’t. and i do care. i really do, so much. i’m sorry.”

though you feel like strangers, and he still feels so far away, you stretch your arms outward and you grasp onto his waist - and in a way you weren’t expecting, he wraps his arms around you, and holds you like he’s known you for years. and maybe in some kind of way, he did. 

“i believe you but just.. can we talk? can we do fun things married people do? like go on dates and watch stupid movies?” your tears fall gently now, rounding the flesh of your cheeks in a way he thinks is so pretty, so unlike how he understood you before. but now, when you look at him, you feel like you see a man you know. one you can trust.

he nods, vigorously as he pulls you from his arms. “i want that, and i’ll try okay? i promise,” his hands grasp your own, “i promise i care. i really do.” 

you nod, now too consumed with teas to speak again, and instead you push your face into your hands and sit back on your legs between his own. he takes a moment to look around the room, finding art even in your destruction. 

“your paintings,” he frowns, standing. he picks one up, stretching his arms out to look at it. his expression is sad, genuinely sad, and it kind of surprises you to see that. 

“it’s okay.”

he looks to his right to see you, swallowed in a tainted sweatshirt, and he smiles, setting it against the wall in front of him. 

“let’s make new ones.” 

i have no concept on whether these are good or not, i've been working a lot and i'm actually sick rn but persevered through seungmin's and jeongin's. lmk what y'all think.

[chloessleepystories]

School Daze

Miss Schism walked into the empty lecture hall loaded down with books and papers. She scattered her desk with plans and textbooks, and sat dutifully for a long time, writing and researching, making notes, glancing at the clock frequently and increasingly fretfully. Finally, she rested her forehead on the cool desk, and whimpered.

After a few quiet minutes with her eyes closed—which didn’t help—she leaned back in her chair, wanting to cry with frustration. “There’s only a few days left before I have to give the final, and I’m not even done creating it!” she wailed to the empty room. “And there’s still so much left to do!!”

“Like what?”

She gestured to the mess before her. “I’ve got to grade the last two weeks’ worth of work, create a rubric for the final project … " She suddenly stood, and walked to the blackboard, grabbing the chalk and making frantic notes to herself. “Not to mention skimming through three months of discussion notes for questions … ”

“—planning what you’re going to wear the last day, and what debauchery you’ll get up to on vacation … ”

“—downloading and organizing and printing and planning … ”

“—dressing and undressing and squeezing and sucking … ”

“Stop!” she told the Voice, dropping the chalk in the tray, but not turning around. “I can’t—I can’t be thinking about that right now. I need to focus.”

“You certainly do need to focus,” came the Voice, which was deep, and male … and persuasive. “Focus on the tingling in your breasts, focus on how hard your nipples are getting … ”

“No … " moaned Miss Schism.

“They’re so aroused. You’re so aroused … ”

She put both hands on the chalkboard, bending over, squeezing her thighs as she felt herself getting warmer. “Please … I c-can’t … ”

“But you can. You need to. You need to focus, that’s what you said. Focus on what your body needs … Turn around.”

She whimpered an almost-protest, but pivoted to put her hands on her desk, leaning over further and scanning the empty room, the rows of bare chairs, with eyes blurred with growing lust.

“Oh my! Look at that … You weren’t very focused when you got dressed this morning, were you? I bet you haven’t even noticed what top you put on, by ‘accident.’ How sheer that blouse is. How it’s almost … invisible.”

She looked down and gasped. It was, indeed, so sheer as to show the white lace on her bra. “Oh no! I can’t be out in public like this! … At least I have a bra underneath it … ”

The unseen Voice seemed to move from one side of her to the other as it chuckled. “No you don’t.”

She looked down again as she felt her erect nipples brushing the silky fabric, swaying suddenly. “Oh no! What was I thinking!?” she gasped, covering her breasts with one arm. “This is totally, like, see-thru!”

“You weren’t thinking,” said the Voice. “You were being dumb.”

She chewed her lip, shaking her head bashfully, girlishly. The beginnings of a grin began to show. “Nuh-uh.”

“Like a dumb bimbo.”

“No I wasn’t!!” She dropped both arms to stamp a foot. “I was, like … . I mean, I am! Like, smart!”

“Much too dumb to be a teacher … ”

“Stoooop … .” she whined. “Yer mixing me up!! I gotta find something to put on before somebunny sees me!!”

She hurried to her bag beside her desk.

“It’s too late. Your whole class has seen you. Look.”

Sure enough, there they were! Every seat was filled! When did they get here??? A student in every seat, and every single one of them, boys and girls, wuz LEERING at her!!

“My goodness, what they must think of you … " said the Voice, right in her ear now. “A sheer top, and no bra … Oh and look, you forgot your skirt as well … ”

She didn’t need to look down, she FELT the scratchy tweed disappear from her thighs, and her fingertips. She watched as the boys in the front row leaned forward, their gaze growing hungrier.

“I’m having a dream, it’s a terrible, terrible dream … " she murmured.

“Nonsense!” came the Voice, but now it was coming from the doorway. Miss Schism looked, and saw an older man walking toward her, with a beaming smile, his arms out. “It’s not terrible at all … ”

“Principal Grossman!” she cried. “What a relief!”

The man was pudgy, and mostly bald, with a horseshoe of white hair. A relaxing presence, even in these circumstances. She didn’t think to cover herself, but moved toward him as if he were an oasis in the desert. “They’re all lookin at me!!” she whispered, her voice moving up the scale as if on helium.

“Poor girl,” he said tenderly. “You’re so confused. Did you think you were teaching this class? No, no, you’re the experiment.”

“I am?”

“And you’re doing very, very well,” he said, grasping her forearms reassuringly.

She beamed proudly. “Oh goody!”

He turned her, facing the students. “Such a silly girl.” He unbuttoned her blouse, stripping off the wispy material. She stood, topless, her nipples hardening, as the boys licked their lips and rubbed the crotches of their jeans. The girls uncrossed their legs, spreading their knees, revealing the lack of panties under their short skirts as they slouched in the chairs, eyes hooded with lust.

“Silly girl, you can’t be a teacher. You’re much too dumb.”

“I am?”

“Dumb and slutty,” he said into her ear, and the word “slutty” echoed through her empty head, sweeping up so many thoughts and feelings and memories. He cupped her breasts from behind, fondling them, offering them to the students. “Aren’t you, my dum-dum dolly?”

A wave of pink fluff went through her brain as he said that. And a wave of golden sparkles tingled through her body. “Uuunngghhh … .” She staggered a little. “Yes … ”

“A slutty, horny, dum-dum dolly?”

Her pussy ached with sudden need, drenching her sodden panties. He was pinching her nipples now, and tingles raced through her body, not just from his touch but from his words, his triggers … “Yes, Principal Grossman.”

“Are you sure?” he said, and his voice changed. “Look again.”

She blinked, and turned, trying to focus on the man whose hands were running over her belly, her hip, as she heard and felt the students shift hungrily in their seats.

And it wasn’t the principal at all!! He was taller, and muscular, and dark as rich chocolate!!—with shaved head and trimmed beard, but the same gentle smile …

“Coach Brickhouse!!!!”

“That’s right, little girl. And you’re my suggestible bimbo snowbunny, aren’t you?”

“Uh huh!” she grinned, and “Ohhhhhh … " She moaned as her eyelids fluttered, as the word ‘snowbunny’ stole more of her IQ points. Oh, it felt so good to let go.

The coach caressed her cheek as he hooked one dark thumb under her panties, at the hip. The other thumb slid into her slack mouth, and she sucked it eagerly, her eyes closed and her mind eclipsed. “That’s my docile, suggestible idiot,” he murmured in his rich baritone, as she sucked dutifully on his thick, black, powerful thumb. “It feels so good to drop, and obey, doesn’t it … ”

“Mmmmm … " Miss Schism, her mind delightfully fractured, leaned her blond head against his hand, mindlessly sucking, awaiting orders.

“Then why don’t you get on your knees, and show me how much you love being cockdumb.” She giggled as she dropped happily, and took his massive member in her little white hands. It filled her lips with its intoxicating meaty taste, and she stuffed it into her throat until her jaws ached with pleasure. She looked up at him with big eyes, reveling in his kind gaze as he stroked her cheek and hair with his strong hands.

“Then we’ll see how many of these nice boys and girls want to play with your body, and break your little brain with pleasure. How does that sound … Mmmmm, imagine a silly girl like you, thinking she was a teacher. You’re just a slutty bimbo airhead, aren’t you?”

She nodded happily, and kept sucking his hard, gorgeous member, her eyes rolling back and her eager cunt gushing with grateful pleasure.

***

Abigail slurped happily on her husband’s cock, humming peacefully and mindlessly to herself, two fingers stroking her sopping pussy.

Jack stroked her dark hair lovingly, and throbbed in her mouth. He glanced over at the bedside desk, strewn with term papers and textbooks.

She could finish the rubric in the morning, he knew, and still have time for everything else before finals next week. She deserved a break.

And fortunately, she’d long ago given him the tools to give it to her.

“What a good slut,” he murmured. “Look out, here comes that football player with the big dick … He’s holding your hips, getting ready to slam it into you … ”

Her eyes met his, her cheeks sunken in with sucking, and suddenly her eyes … WIDENED … and her body moved with the first thrust of the phantom cock. She squealed in pleasure, and her husband knew that meant “thank you.”

“My goodness, look at these hot co-eds who want to suck on your tits while you’re being spitroasted … ”

[spideyhexx]

mdni; tw blood, noncon

gn!reader

Coryo notices the nasty habit you have of biting at your lips, and the skin inside of your mouth too. You don’t even realize you do it sometimes until the familiar metallic taste lingers in your mouth.

It was a subconscious act that you couldn’t seem to break.

Studying with Coryo was common, sitting in the library, him across from you as he reads from a book. You’re doing the same, a book opened to a miscellaneous chapter as you try to jot down quotes for your impending final essay. Your teeth naturally find their way to your lips, biting at the skin, pulling at it.

His head lifts, mouth parting to ask a question about the text, but Coryo stops himself from uttering any words. His attention is drawn to your lips. He knows you're unaware of it, unaware of the way you're biting on the skin and unaware of how focused his gaze is.

With your nose buried in the book, then your notebook, back and forth in the monotonous cycle of taking notes, you don't catch the way Coryo cannot take his eyes off your lips. He's thought about kissing you before. Those days when you laugh so hard at something he's said and your hand end up on his arm, leaning in closer to stabilize yourself from the laughter, part of him wishes he could grab your waist and kiss you.

It's different, as he watches your teeth bite and pull. Coryo wants to do that, he tells himself while watching you. He wants to be the one biting at your lips, maybe not tugging at the skin the way you do, but enough that maybe it would satiate this little habit of yours and maybe he'd hear a pretty noise let out from your mouth.

Coryo feels a stir in his pants. He spares a glance down, but he does not need to tell he was getting aroused. He tries to focus on his work, but the words on the page mush together. He rereads the same sentence four times before he looks back at you, still focused as ever.

When you bite at your lips still, it irritates a spot, and the slight redness of blood starts to gather there. So, your teeth retreat to biting the inside of your mouth, the little spot of red on your lips remaining.

Coryo isn't sure why the sight of your blood on your lips makes his dick twitch. He presses his palm against himself for some relief, to adjust himself more comfortably but it's to no avail.

He catches the moment your tongue darts out to lick over the spot of blood and he wishes so deeply he was alone in his room so he could let out a groan. His eyes find the book in front of him again, his palm pressing more against himself as he moves it slowly. Circling his palm over his clothed dick, his jaw tightens to control the noises that he wants to emit, but he won't.

Coryo is already cursing at himself. This is risky. This is awful and horrible. You're his friend. And he's rubbing his cock through his pants over your lips. There's gotta be something wrong with him, he wonders, but despite any bad thoughts he has over himself, Coryo cannot stop touching. He tries to act like he's writing something, but it's nonsense. He's writing his own name over and over on the page. Some in cursive, some in print, some completely intelligible as he tries to find the right friction with his palm.

When he looks at you, you're still looking at your work. Damn you, he thinks. Hell, Coriolanus wants you to look at him. Want you to see him and wonder why his cheeks have flushed, why his eyes are wider, and why his hand is gripping his pen so tight. He wants to palm his dick while your eyes look at his, not knowing what sinful thing he's doing.

Coryo is staring at you like he's waiting for the biting to return to your lips and it does as if you were mentally connected to his thoughts. He watches as you suck in your bottom lip, biting at it more and licking over the sensitive spot of skin that bled before.

He can't take it. Palming himself isn't enough. So he unbuttons his pants and slides his hand down beneath his boxers as well. Loosely holding his cock as he rubs it, letting his thumb brush the tip and press against it, circling it to tease himself.

Teasing himself doesn't last long when you wince all of a sudden and he sees you've made your lip bleed again. Your finger touches your lip, and then you lick the blood from your bottom lip. Coryo is anticipating your next move. He knows what it's gonna be and it has him trying to move his hand on himself faster, but he knows he needs to be discreet. It's killing him.

You lick the blood from your fingertip, your eyes flitting up to Coryo across the table. He stilled his movements but kept his thumb rubbing his tip, the only thing he could do that wouldn't make it obvious to you what he was doing.

Chuckling, you sigh, "Should have warned me I was biting my lip, Coryo." He lets out a laugh, but it fades quick as he feels his orgasm threatening to spill over the edge and he prays you look away from him, completely abandoning how badly he wanted your gaze earlier. It's cowardice and the weakness that spreads through him is uncanny. He isn't sure if he can keep a straight face.

"I'll l-let you know next time," he says, the only words he could mutter out and you give him a nod, smiling your cute grin before turning back to your notes.

As soon as your head dips down and he's not in your direct view, Coryo lets his eyes flutter shut, his cum spurting out of him on his hand, messing his underwear. His thighs clench and he bites down on the inside of his cheek to not let out a noise. He wants to pat himself on the back for how well he's kept quiet. Wiping his hands on his underwear, he feels a calmness take over him, enough to actually focus on his work.

Coryo could even taste the metallic of his own blood from how hard he bit down and he finds himself wishing it was your blood he was tasting. For now, this will do.

let's chat about coryo, here :)

[nikkento-writes]

Bad Romance

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!reader

Rating: Explicit - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~2.7k

cw: Wild West au, no curses au, violence, implied sex work, explicit language, explicit sexual content, smut - PIV sex, blow job, cunnilingus, dirty talk, pet names, creampie

Summary: You’re the Vixen Viper, an outlaw on the run with an outstanding bounty. You find a temporary safe-haven at the Star Saloon, protecting the women who work there while they protect you from the authorities. One night, a bounty hunter by the name of Toji Fushiguro shows up, threatening to cause some trouble. Somehow, you find the perfect way to subdue him.

Author's Note: This is a repost from my old blog! I originally wrote this as a request for a milestone event I was doing and it's still one of my fave fics that I've written, so I wanted to share it on here. I'm thinking of writing a Part 2 to this, we'll see! I just love the idea of Toji in the Wild West, idk, I think it fits him very well. Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are never expected, but always appreciated. Thanks for reading! Divider credit to @/fic-dumpster.

Midnight at the Star Saloon is always lively with rambunctious activity. It’s the perfect time for stragglers moseying through town or the miscreant locals to stop by for a break, meaning booze, gambling, or sex. Usually all three in one night. You’ve been a regular here for almost three months now, befriending the women and men who work hard to keep the patrons satisfied. Whether it’s serving alcohol until they fall out of their seats, enabling poker addictions, or riding their cocks in one of the private rooms upstairs at a special rate, they do it all to make an honest living. Though on occasion, customers will cross the line.

And that’s where you come in.

It started two months ago, after you had frequented the saloon enough times to be considered a regular. It was around three in the morning when one of the barmaids approached you, asking you to follow her upstairs. She led you into the private room all the way down the hall, and inside was another worker, sitting at the foot of the bed, cheek swollen and a black eye all on the left side of her face. That’s all you needed to see to set you off. The perp had already left, but you knew who he was as soon as she described him. And, of course, like all assholes do, thinking they got away with it, he came back. When he did, it was you this time who took him upstairs to that same bedroom, dressed in one of the barmaid’s outfits. You, who flirted with him and stripped him naked on the bed, promising to give him exactly what he deserved. And finally, it was you who robbed him and held a sharp blade to his pathetic penis, threatening to slice it right off if he ever showed his ugly fucking face in this town again. You haven’t seen him since.

At that time, your friends at the Star Saloon already knew you were someone who could handle things. Maybe it was the way you dressed at first, often showing up in cowboy attire, ready to book it if the situation called for it. Or maybe it was because they recognized you from the wanted posters plastered in the next town over, your silly nickname the Vixen Viper in big bold print below an unflattering photo of you from the last time you landed in jail, right before you escaped. They never mentioned it; never reported you to the authorities. Instead, they welcomed you in with open arms. There’s a bounty on your head for the crimes you committed against sleazy men like that, but you hold no guilt for your actions. To you, and to all the women in the saloons you’ve frequented, it’s justice. They need someone like you to protect people like them. Because lord knows that no one else in this godforsaken world will.

You’ve lasted three months in this town without the authorities catching on to you yet. You look quite different from your poster when you’re done up in makeup and a frilly dress, dagger concealed in the garter wrapped around your thigh. And with the help of your friends, you’ve managed to hide in plain sight, posing as one of the barmaids while you patrol the late-night crowd for any possible threats. Violence against these women has significantly lessened since you’ve been around. The rumor amongst the patrons is that men who misbehave get their money taken and their dicks chopped off, which is pretty spot-on to the actual truth. So fortunately, for both the workers and the customers, there isn’t any trouble. 

Tonight is a little different.

You lean against the bar doing your usual inspection, checking for people who are causing a ruckus or getting rough with any of the ladies. You’re dressed similarly to them, though you never get requested to entertain in one of the private rooms above, considering you don’t go out of your way to flirt with any of the men. You lack the illustrious charm the others do; you’re only here for when things get ugly. It surprises you when a mysterious stranger on the other side of the room points to you directly, wiggling his finger to beckon you over. He smirks, the prominent scar on his lips curving with it. You grab your drink and walk over to him, curious to see what this is about, sensing that it can’t be anything good.

When you reach his table, you give him your most cordial smile. “Good evening, sir. Is there something I can help you with?”

He grins, waving to the seat across from him. “I was hoping you can join me for a little chat.” His tone is even, though there’s a hint of something sinister in there. Maybe it’s your imagination or better yet, your intuition. You’ll soon find out.

You drag the chair out, plopping into it, laying your hands flat on your lap, palm pressed to the knife hidden beneath your skirt. He scans you up and down before asking, “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes at him, you answer, giving him a fake one, of course. He nods, accepting it. “Toji Fushiguro. Pleasure to meet you.” He holds his hand out, which you take reluctantly, shaking it. His grip is firm, callouses rough against your own. “I saw you and knew I had to meet you.”

Your raise a brow at him. “Oh? What about me caught your eye?"

“Thought I recognized you from somewhere.” His gaze lingers on yours, expression unwavering.

Your heart stops momentarily, a rock settling in the pit of your stomach. Not here, not now. You swallow thickly, feigning ignorance. “Really? From where?”

He slides you a rolled-up paper, nodding his head for you to open it. “Take a look.”

Trembling now, you obey, unraveling it slowly until you see the words WANTED: ALIVE and your face staring back at you. There’s no need to go any further. You fold it up immediately, heart racing, glancing at your surroundings hoping no one else is listening in on your conversation. As calmly as you can, you lean forward towards him, muttering, “So what, are you going to arrest me? Hog-tie me in front of all these people?”

He inches even closer, noses nearly touching now, his breath tickling you. “Now, I’m a gentleman. I like to know a woman first before I tie her up.”

You scoff. “So what, am I supposed to come quietly then?”

He glances at your mouth, then back to your eyes. “I’m willing to negotiate if you have something to offer.”

You clear your throat, intrigued by his response. “Let’s discuss this somewhere more private,” you say, grabbing his wrist and dragging him up the stairs with you.

“Lead the way, Vixen.”

You lead him to the very end of the hallway, the furthest room away from the bar downstairs. There’s a fire escape just outside the window, your best chance to evade arrest. First, you’ll have to subdue him.

Inside, you lock the door shut, turning to face him. “Are you a police officer?”

He shakes his head. “Guess again,” he answers, opening his coat to display the gun and knife hanging on his belt.

“Bounty hunter,” you state, glaring at him.

“Yup. And you, my dear, have a very hefty bounty on your pretty little head.” He steps towards you, caging you between his arms, your back flat against the door. Although you remain untouched, his presence is suffocating.

“What do want?” you ask him, breathing in deeply through your nose.

“All the loot you robbed from those scumbags. Enough to exceed the bounty I’d get if I brought you back with me.”

You smirk. “Is that it?”

“And a deal,” he adds. “A partnership.”

You stare at him, confused. “What?”

He laughs, amused by your reaction. “I’ll admit, I’m a fan of your work. Drifting through town-to-town, robbing sleazy assholes. And you haven’t been caught until now. It’s impressive.”

You’re caught off guard by the praise, relaxing just the slightest bit. “So, what do you propose?”

He lets his arms down, placing his hands in his pockets while he explains himself. “There are several bounties for men exactly like the ones you hate. If you promise to help me get them, I won’t take you in tonight. I’ll even give you some of the money. If you’re good.”

“And why can’t you do this yourself?”

“It’s easier to get a guy when his guard’s down. If there’s a pretty little thing like you seducing him, catching him will be easy as pie.”

You stare at him, contemplating his proposition. It’s an easy decision for you to make. It’s either this, or jail. “Fine. You have a deal.”

He offers his hand to you. “Put it there, partner.” His tone is soft, almost sincere. You can’t help thinking that if this were any other scenario, you’d find him attractive. Hell, even in this one, you’re drawn to him. You take his hand, shaking it. He tugs you in closer, voice low and seductive. “I think we should celebrate this new friendship. What do you say?”

You smile at him, what feels like the first genuine one of the night. Maybe this isn’t as bad as you initially thought. When you close the distance, his mouth is on yours quickly, lips smacking, wet and sloppy. He slides out of his jacket, letting it thud loudly on the hardwood with his weapons weighing it down. The shirt he wears is tight on his body, clinging to him, emphasizing his muscular physique. You can’t remember the last time you were intimate with a man without the intention to backstab him. In fact, it’s been a while since you were intimate at all. With him guiding you, however, you match his movements naturally, sliding your hands up his torso, pawing at his chest as his hands squeeze your hips, pulling you towards the bed.

He moans, slipping his wide tongue past your lips, deepening the kiss and exerting his dominance. “Can’t wait to see what the Vixen Viper can really do,” he huffs, hoisting the hem of your dress, bunching it in his fist. His fingers trail the inside of your thighs, stopping at the garter, feeling the handle of the knife strapped to you. He clicks his tongue, mouth hovering your ear, hooking his finger to snap the elastic against your skin. “You really are dangerous.”

You let out a whimper, your pussy throbbing with arousal. He grabs the blade by the handle, whipping it out from its holster, tossing it to the other side of the room away from you. You chuckle, lifting your arms up so he can strip you properly. “Are you scared of me?”

He removes your corset swiftly, squeezing your bare breasts in his hands, thumbs flicking at your nipples. “I don’t want to get stabbed in case you change your mind.”

You shove him onto the bed, where he lies flat on his back, watching you straddle his lap, naked. “If I do that, then I wouldn’t get to fuck you.”

He laughs loudly, biting his lip. “Oh? You’re the one who’s gonna fuck me?”

“Yeah, I reckon,” you reply, unbuckling his belt and undoing his zipper. He continues to watch you intently, groaning when you shimmy his pants off to release his cock. It flops against his abdomen, even bigger than you imagined, all veiny and girthy. You salivate at the sight of it, opening your mouth for a taste.

“Fuck,” he curses, head relaxing into mattress, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling as you sink down on him, swallowing him up until the tip hits the back of your throat. You bob up and down on his shaft, gripping the base of his cock, swirling your tongue around the head. “You suck cock like a fucking whore. Did your friends out there teach you that?”

You grasp his balls in your hand, squeezing them tight, causing him to shudder. Shaking your head, you say, “I learned this from experience.”

He smirks. “Yeah? Come here. Put this pussy on my face. Bet I can teach you something you haven’t learned yet.”

You release him, crawling up his body until your wet cunt is pressed to his lips. His tongue laps at your arousal, swirling around your aching clit. You grip the top of the headboard, grinding on him. “Oh fuck!”

His hands surround your ass, squeezing at your soft cheeks, fingers digging into your flesh. He hums into your skin, the vibrations adding to the sensation. He nods beneath you, encouraging you. “That’s it, sweetheart. Take it. Take it like a good slut.”

He takes you into his mouth, slurping at your clit until your gushing all over his face, your orgasm shiny on his lips and chin. His eyes are wild with excitement, peering up at you between your legs. Kissing the plush of your thighs, he says, “Well, go on then, Vixen. Fuck me.”

Soon, you’re sinking down onto his fat cock, pussy already soaking wet with slick and spit. He fills you up to the brim, taking a few seconds to adjust to size comfortable. When you’re ready, you start to bounce on his lap, his cock thrusting in and out of you smoothly. He hits your sweet spot over and over, stimulating you into another messy orgasm after just a few solid strokes. Your tongue hangs out of your mouth, drool leaking down your chin, throat dry from the incessant moaning.

“Look at you. So fucked out for me,” he growls, planting his feet on the bed, taking control. He grabs onto your hips firmly, pounding up into you, watching your entire body convulse with each delicious thrust. “You talk a big game, but you like being manhandled like this. You’re just a slutty little hole waiting to be ruined. Waiting for the right man to use you.” He presses his thumb to your clit, massaging it with deep strokes. “Seems like you finally met the perfect partner.”

“Fuck, Toji!” you cry out, unraveling once again.

He increases his pace, the bed creaking noisily below you. “That’s it, baby. Come with me. Gonna breed this perfect pussy. Gonna fill you up so fucking good.” He pulls you down towards him, wrapping you in his arms, kissing you fiercely as he pumps his load inside you.

You both lay still for a moment, catching your breaths, Toji peppering delicate smooches along your neck. You’re surprised at how gentle he’s being, considering his brutish behavior from earlier. When enough silence passes, you look at him, grinning. “What a way to celebrate, am I right? Partner?”

He laces his fingers with yours. “The beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

After you clean yourselves up as best as possible, you snuggle together under the covers, him spooning you from behind. “’Night, Toji Fushiguro.”

He nuzzles his nose to the nape of your neck, whispering, “What’s your real name?”

You smile, grazing your lips on his knuckles, actually giving it to him.

~~~

Toji Fushiguro, the most sought-after bounty hunter in all the west, wakes up the morning feeling fantastic.

He glances to his side, hoping to see his lovely new partner still peacefully asleep beside him. To his surprise, no one is there. He inspects the room, searching for clues on where she ran off to and notices nothing.

And that’s when it hits him. There’s nothing in the room.

All his clothes are gone, his weapons, the wallet full of cash buried in his pockets, even the very blanket they fell asleep under. He’s as naked as the day he was born, confused and beguiled until he finally realizes it. He’s been robbed. And it was the Vixen Viper who robbed him.

The only thing he finds is her wanted poster, folded up on the bedside table, a small note scribbled to the back of it:

Toji - Thanks for the fun night, but I don’t do partners. Maybe the next time you catch me, I’ll reconsider.  

He laughs, unable to contain his smile as he reads her real name signed at the end of it.

[amongemeraldclouds]

written in the stars

You never meant to fall for your best friend, Lorenzo Berkshire. Everything had to happen according to plan, and this was not part of the plan. Yet each sweet gesture of his was leading you down the path of no return.

Lorenzo Berkshire x f!Reader | Based on this request

Warnings: fluff, no use of y/n, semi-violent depiction of falling in love lol

✿ Masterlist | Event Masterlist | Tea Party | 1.7k words

The words swam across the page and you sighed in frustration. It had been the fifteenth time you tried to read the same sentence, but fatigue had made its home in your bones. You finally surrendered, slumping your shoulders and landing face first onto your textbook with a thud.

“There are better places to sleep, you know. For instance, the couch or literally behind you, your bed,” Lorenzo Berkshire suggested helpfully as he closed the door to your dorm room. You didn’t even hear him enter.

You shifted your head, placing your cheek onto the printed words. You could hardly care if any of the ink transferred onto your face. Would it somehow seep into your brain too and help you study faster? “Let me perish in peace,” you whined.

He shook his head and grabbed your open planner beside you, scanning through the scrawled handwriting that dictated your life. “You’re supposed to be preparing for bed now,” he said, shoving the list into your face. 

“Too. Many. Words.” You emphasized each word as if it was a struggle to even speak.

“You can’t do this to yourself,” he said, his words tinged with concern. His worry shot an arrow straight to your heart. It was bad enough you couldn’t concentrate on your studies anymore. You didn’t need to fall deeper in love with your best friend. A feeling that you tried hard to suppress. It wasn’t part of the plan.

That warm, cozy feeling you tried not to think about was enough to restore some of your strength as you closed your textbook and packed up for the night. You updated your planner and placed the stationery away for tomorrow. “I didn’t mean to worry you,” you said, rubbing the back of your head. 

Enzo just smiled and exhaled as if you were being ridiculous. “Well you can’t stop me from caring, you’re my best friend. Besides, what would you do without me?” He said, holding out a paper bag to you.

You stared at his smiling face just a beat longer, trying to save it for later, and turned your attention to the paper bag. You opened it and peered inside, it drove the arrow further through your heart. “You didn’t have to get me my favorite candle,” you began.

“But I had to, yours is nearly over,” he said pointedly looking at your burning candle, whose flames flirted dangerously with the bottom of the glass jar. “It’s a freshly scented fire hazard at this point.”

You frowned and took out the second item from the bag. It was exactly the book you wanted to read. You gasped excitedly. It was sold out everywhere but he managed to get a copy for you. You couldn’t find the words so your excitement sent you leaping into his arms instead. The impact surprised him but he caught you, holding on tightly as he lifted you off the floor.

You inhaled the scent of his soap and cologne, your heart fluttering at the familiar scent. “Thank you,” you said, burrowing your head into his neck. He exhaled sharply as if your gesture took the breath out from him, but you dismissed it as a delusion. As far as you knew, he only ever saw you as a friend and you were not going to take advantage of his kindness. He’s a good friend, that’s all.

You removed your arms around him in disappointment, placing your feet back firmly on the ground and back to reality. “You’re welcome,” he replied, “now why were you studying when your planner clearly said you should be sleeping?”

You blushed, not wanting to admit that it had been hard to concentrate since he took over your mind. “Just, you know me, I want to do well in the subject,” you gulped, you were a bad liar. You were so exhausted, you even forgot which subject you were reading about. But Enzo didn’t push further, trusting that you’d share with him when you were ready.

“Just take care of yourself, okay? Good night,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. It sent electric jolts from your head all the way down to the prickling sensation in your toes. A warmth settled in your stomach.

You waved after him weakly as he left your dorm, gently closing the door. You didn’t trust your lips to speak or you might just find yourself asking him to stay.

Of course guys and girls could be friends together, unless the boy was Lorenzo Berkshire. You huffed in annoyance. You had managed ten perfectly wholesome years laughing at each other’s silly jokes, sharing lunch, exploring new places together during the summer holidays. 

He was Lorenzo, the snotty little kid who scraped his knees climbing trees and chasing after spiders. He was your best friend. How dare your heart and brain join forces against you, feeding you things that were anything but wholesome.

He looked at you from beside the Astronomy Tower and you took in his features closely. Time had carved away his rounded cheeks and sharpened his jaw line. His frame filled in the uniform as if the rest of his body was sculpted by the gods themselves. It was clear that he was no longer that little boy you knew.

“Something wrong with my face?” A playful smirk adorned his already charming face. And oh he knew the effect he had on people.

“Ugh,” you rolled your eyes as heat crept up your cheeks because you had been staring at him a beat longer than was appropriate.

“If you were actually doing your Astronomy homework, you might have a chance at getting top marks,” he gestured at the abandoned instruments beside you.

“And if I told you that the way your eyes twinkle could rival the stars? My mind would still be on Astronomy, no?”

It was his turn to blush at your words. It wasn’t new, flirting with each other. You were both quick to throw in compliments and jabs at each other. It was always meant to be playful, and yet your words jumpstarted his heart and unleashed an entire zoo in his stomach.

“You must be a black hole,” he quipped, turning the tables, “because I can’t help but get lost in your eyes.”

You hid your smirk behind the thermos he had brought you and took a sip. It was your new favorite tea. It shouldn’t have surprised you that you that he knew how you liked your tea despite your affinity for trying new flavors.

After all, he remembered you’d be here tonight to do your Astronomy homework and he wanted to keep you company. Just like he remembered to save you your favorite breakfast croissant when you arrived late at the Great Hall. Then there was the time he brought you flowers just because.

It was one sweet deed after another, a small act that nudged you off the ledge and then some. You groaned inwardly as the warm bittersweet taste of tea settled into your senses. This was the final straw. Some people fell gracefully into love then there was you. You had  tripped into love and landed face first on the ground. You never planned to fall for your best friend.

Gripping your fingers through the soil, you fought tooth and nail to remain firmly on the ground. But when you moved to stand, you somehow tumbled further down the hill with each thoughtful gesture, collecting scrapes from rocks and twigs on your way down. Dirt caked your clothes. Your hair was a metaphorical mess, so much so that a bird could make its nest there. Needless to say, falling for Lorenzo Berkshire was anything but graceful.

As you took another sip of your favorite tea, you could no longer deny your feelings. You chuckled, sure you were going crazy as you shared your feelings. “Well I feel more like a comet just hurtling in space because I never planned for this.”

He stood up straighter at the sudden fire in your tone and seriousness at your expression. He looked at you patiently, waiting for you to continue.

“Do you know how hard you’ve made it for me these past few weeks?” You huffed, pointing at him. “I tried so hard not to fall for you because you’re my best friend. It wasn’t part of the plan! But you bring me this,” you gestured at the tea, “my favorite tea and you expect me not to fall for you? Then there’s the flowers, the scented candle and books! You knew the way to my heart and you just waltzed right in. How dare you!”

He chuckled and nodded, “How dare I? So that’s why you’ve been acting strange the past couple weeks. No,” he shook his head. “How dare you make me think about you all the time? Did you think I wanted to fall for you too? I just wanted to see you smile, wanted to hear you laugh, especially when it was because of something I did. I don’t know when I started to fancy you but I do and I just wanted to have these little reasons to see you.”

You both huffed as your confessions set in. “You love me too?”

“I think my actions have spoken louder for me, no?” He asked rhetorically.

“But it’s not part of the plan,” you argued, pointing at your planner that had your life planned out in neat rows and columns, down to your daily to do list.

“Maybe it was written in the stars,” he quipped, returning to your conversation on Astronomy.

“You did not just say that,” you said, a chuckle escaping your lips.

“Stop being stubborn and come here,” he sighed, picking up your planner and grabbing a marker. “Here, add me to the plan, it’s that simple. You know you’re in charge of these, not the other way around.”

You looked over his shoulder, watching his handwriting form on the page as he moved your schedule around and he inserted his name. Dates you’d spend together. 

“I—” you opened your lips to protest but he caught you in a kiss. The words died on your lips as everything else inside you came to life. You knew then that there was no going back and for the first time, you allowed yourself to want it. To want him.

You sighed inwardly, he was right. It could be that simple. Perhaps it was even written in the stars. 

✿ Masterlist | Event Masterlist | Tea Party

[thedarks1de]

Professor

!professor Nanami x !student reader

Ignore the mistakes!

Part 2 is here

1 part

С тех пор, как в колледже сменился профессор физики, у вас возникли серьезные проблемы с этим предметом. На самом деле у тебя всегда были проблемы — ты никогда не понимал физику, но старый профессор, пожилой человек, ставил тебе хорошие оценки за хорошие деньги. Все, что вам нужно было сделать, это подсунуть ему несколько долларов, и высшая оценка была у вас в кармане. Ты был счастлив, профессор был счастлив, все были счастливы... но рано или поздно все меняется. Этот профессор уволился, и его место занял новый.

Professor Nanami Kento. A stern, serious, nerdy man. He looked to be in his early thirties. He always went in strict suits, wore print ties and dark green glasses. And worst of all, he didn't take bribes.

You failed several important tests that affect your final grade. You had no idea what to do. You could, of course, just start studying his subject and fix your grade, but you never understood physics, it's unlikely you'd be able to do that… But you'll find a way to crack Professor Nanami. Maybe if you try hard enough, he'll take the money and give you a top grade in physics. Yeah, you should definitely try to bribe him again.

You found him in the physics room, which was no surprise. Taking a deep breath, you stepped inside. When Kento saw you, he put his notebooks aside.

— «Ms. y/n, did you want something?» — He asked, looking at you through dark green glasses.

You started to fidget for some reason, the words wouldn't come out of your throat, and you just stared at him in silence, biting your lower lip.

— "Ms. y/n?" - he snapped his fingers, bringing you back down to earth.

— "Ah… uh… Yes." - You muttered. "I mean my grades…"

— "Oh, you've finally come to fix them?"

— "How much do you want?"

— "What…?"

— "I'll pay you as much as you ask, just…"

— "I don't take bribes, Ms. y/n. We've already discussed this, haven't we?"

— "But…"

— "No "buts". Learn the material and correct your grades."

You walked out of the professor's office, slamming the door loudly. You felt a great sense of disappointment and despair. All of your hopes that you would be able to get good grades without difficulty have been dashed. You have to face the harsh reality: you will have to learn to understand physics on your own, to absorb the material, to spend a lot of time and effort to assimilate new knowledge. No, you would find another way. You didn't want to spend your days and nights sitting behind books.

— "That Nanami pisses me off!" — you complained to your friend about your teacher. Every class, he bombarded you with questions, gave you bad grades, and generally pissed you off with his existence.

— "Why don't you just start studying?" — A friend asked, sipping her coffee.

— "No. No way! I'll find a way to crack it." — You said.

— "Maybe… and though no, you won't." — sighed her friend, shaking her head.

— "What are you talking about? What won't I do?" — You asked interestedly.

— "Well… Have sex with him."

— "…What?"

— "Almost all the professors in our college fuck female students and give them good grades."

— "What do you mean almost all of them?!"

— "Well, Professor Gojo, Professor Geto, Professor Sukuna, and Fushiguro. You'd know how many they've already fucked. The students themselves come to them and ask for it. I think Professor Nanami's the same way. Just seduce him, get him in bed, and he'll give you the highest grade of the year."

You pondered, listening to your friend. The idea of sleeping with a professor for a grade sounded absurd and unacceptable. But the thought began to slowly creep into your thoughts. But you couldn't believe that something like this was happening at your college.

You didn't want to stoop to that, but on the other hand, you found it more… more attractive than sitting at a textbook. But Professor Nanami wasn't someone who could be seduced that easily.

A week had passed and you were determined to sleep with your processor. You were struggling with mixed feelings of fear and excitement. You even began to watch Nanami more closely, trying to figure out what might have attracted him. While Nanami was still that strict, serious, and nerdy teacher, he was also quite an attractive man. And even very sexy.

After class was over, you went to his office again. Once inside, you closed the door behind you.

Nanami looked up at you. You bit your lip and silently stepped closer to him.

— "What is it, Miss y/n? If you've come to offer me a bribe again, then…"

— "No, Professor… That's not what I came for."

— "Oh? Well, I'm listening to you." He took off his glasses and put them on the table. Nanami looked straight into your eyes and you felt uneasy, but you don't intend to give up.

— "I came to offer you my body..."

— "I beg your pardon?" Kento arched an eyebrow.

— "You can have me… well… to sleep with me… in general, I offer you my body in exchange for a high assessment…"

Nanami was silent. His face expressed obvious bewilderment and indignation, and this indicated that he would not accept your offer in any case.

— "Miss y/n… As a student, you should strive for knowledge, not use your body… for the sake of personal gain, to offer such a thing to a professor."

You have experienced a sharp sense of shame and chagrin. Your hopes for an easy way out of a difficult situation have collapsed again. You could feel your hands shaking and your heart beating so loudly and strongly that it seemed Nanami could hear it. You looked at this man, barely holding back tears.

— "I can pretend that you didn't offer me anything like that. Now go and study the topics you're lagging behind on." — Nanami remained serious as he said this.

— "I'm sorry…" — You ran out of his office with tears in your eyes. You were ashamed, very, very ashamed. How could you offer yourself to a professor? Why didn't you think that he would refuse? Damn it, now he definitely thinks that you're not only dumb, but also a slut offering to fuck yourself for a high score.

For the next few days, you stopped going to Nanami's classes because you were ashamed to even look at him. You've disgraced yourself and you don't know what to do next.

With a sigh, you closed your eyes and promised yourself that now you will study seriously and really immerse yourself in the material. You need to find a tutor who will teach you physics.

And you went back to Nanami's office. You were very nervous and afraid to look at him.

— "Miss y/n?"

You stood in front of Kento, feeling confused and confused.

— "Hello, Professor…"

— "What is it this time? And why did you skip classes?"

— "Ah, I'm sorry… I… Professor Nanami, I wanted to ask you to study with me additionally. If it's not a problem for you…"

— "So you've decided to start studying after all? This is encouraging."

Nanami looked at his wristwatch. He frowned, and you started to get even more nervous, afraid of rejection.

Kento looked at you again.

— "I don't stay here after the lesson is over," he said.

You lowered your head. So he's not going to teach you?

— "If you want additional classes, you can come to my house. We'll work out there," Kento said.

— "At your place?" — You specified.

Nanami nodded. You've been thinking a little bit. So he's inviting you to his house?

— "Good!" you nodded enthusiastically.

— "In that case, shall we go right now or will you make up some kind of schedule?" asked Kento, leaving the college with you.

— "Maybe if you're free, we can start today?"

— "All right. My car is in the parking lot, let's go."

You and Nanami walked to the parking lot where his car was parked. Kento opened the backseat door for you to get in. You're blushing a little. What a gentleman he is.

You drove for 30 minutes in complete silence until you finally reached the professor's huge house.

[vivwritesfics]

Young witch oscar discovering his older sisters first spell book and experimenting. Casting spells left and right not understanding its not a game.

Young oscar discovering karting and climbing to succes when he just wanted to have fun.

Oscar obssesing over lando and McLaren until he got onto the team and met his soul mate

Yes oscar worked hard but young oscar accidently made sure older oscar would be set for life.

Current oscar finding the spell book when he travels home to officialy introduce his bf to his family

Accidently doing a love spell and a success spell lol

hehe so we actually talked about this and threw a reader in there since i don't do just driver x driver - also i'm sorry love but i couldn't work the meeting the family bit in there, but i've... you'll see what i've done.

Warnings: Blood mentioned (human and animal), rituals

"I'm not using your blood for a ritual," Oscar said with a roll of his eyes as Lando laid in the middle of the chalk pentagram. Oscar hadn't yet lit the candles, and the chalk making up the pentagram was now printed on the back of Lando's jumper.

"C'mon, Osc," he said as he allowed the younger man to pull him to his feet. "I thought you needed blood."

He grinned at his boyfriend. God, he was cute. "Animal blood, Lan," he said and moved him away from the ritual set up. He sat him down on the sofa, beside their girlfriend, and she wrapped her arms around him, keeping him there.

The two of them loved watching Oscar do magic. They watched as he lit the candles and redrew the pentagram. It was a protection spell, the two of them knew. They'd seen him do it enough times now that they knew the ritual off by heart.

When the protection ritual was finished, Oscar looked across the room at his loves. How had he gotten so lucky?

He knew how. Little Oscar had spent months searching through his sisters spell books. Spells for luck, wealth, good fortune, good future. Oscar had cast them all.

Luck with is karting career, since skill simply wasn't enough in this world. Good fortune and good future led to him starting his Formula One career and meeting the worlds best teammate.

Wealth. It wasn't a spell for money. It could have been for money, if that wasn't already in Oscar's future. No, he was wealthy in love.

Lando was his soulmate, he knew that from the moment they met. His funny, charismatic teammate. Everybody loved Lando, he knew, but the feelings Oscar had were... indescribable.

He wasn't the only one of them that could feel this draw, but he was the only one that could explain it. He knew Lando couldn't explain why he was kissing his teammate, but he knew he he didn't want to stop.

But then he found out that Lando had a girlfriend. Of course, he did, why wouldn't he? He was brilliantly funny and charming. And Oscar knew there was nothing he could do about that.

As hard as it was, Oscar tried to let Lando go. But then he met said girlfriend. Oh God, she was cute. She wasn't like Lando, and the pull Oscar had to her certainly wasn't as strong, but it was still there.

The way she laughed at him, punched at his shoulder when he made some deadpan joke, she had to be flirting with him. At least, Oscar hoped she was.

The three of them sat alone, just hanging out. It happened often, and were Oscar's favourite times. She sat in Lando's lap as she spoke to Oscar.

And, suddenly, Lando was standing. He placed her down where he had just been sitting, and walked over to Oscar. His hands were on his cheeks as he leaned in.

Oscar was wide eyed, looked towards her as Lando kissed him. This wasn't happening. This couldn't have been happening. She just watched as Lando kissed him.

Suddenly, Oscar was on his feet. "I'm not doing this if it's some fetish thing," he said quickly, looking between the two.

They looked at each other and, well, laughed. They were actually laughing at him, and it fucking sucked. "Not a fetish thing, Osc," said Lando as he pulled him back onto the couch. "I like you, and she likes you, too. Do y'think she could come over here and kiss you?"

It went beyond kisses. Before any of them knew it, they'd been together for a year and Lando was asking him to move in with them.

He cast a protection spell in the dead of night when he first moved in. She had walked in on him blowing out the candles and wiping the blood up from the floor. He'd tried his best to explain, and she was patient with him, listening to all he had to say. She didn't believe him, of course, so Oscar proved it.

He proved it to the both of them, and they stayed by his side.

And here he was, casting a protection spell for his little family. It had been a year of living with them now. A year of keeping them safe, of only casting spells if he needed to. He kept looking at his loves, the loves he had because little Oscar attempted to cast from his sisters spell book.

Hours later there was a knock on the door. Lando pulled himself out of their little cuddle pile. "I'll get it," he said as he stretched up and walked towards the front door.

Oscar tightened his grip on her as they both waited for Lando to come back. He kissed her head and tipped his own back, watching as Lando walked back into the living room and slipped back into his seat. "Package for ya, Osc," he said and handed Oscar the rectangular package.

He pulled it open. "Wow," he whispered as he ran his fingers over the cover of the book, the first spell book he'd ever used. Without this book, would he still have his loves here, holding him tight through the nights?

He opened it to the first page. Wealth. When he'd cast it, he thought he was going to grow up to be rich. He was very wrong, and he couldn't be happier about it.

[theodorecanaryhood]

A love story: the Jock and the Geek

Jason Todd x Male! Reader

Warning: some bullying, homophobia, sexual harassment and sexual references

The hallways of the school were built like a wall of pain, you got sick and tired of hearing people say high school were the best years.

You clutched your books to your chest as you roamed the hallway, going to your next class.

A group of boys cheered as they tossed the football to each other, wolf whistling as the cheerleaders walked by.

Skin tight tops with short skirts, faces masked by beauty products. You envied that you were average looking. You envied that they all had someone to call their own.

‘Stacey, you and Jason coming to my party tonight?’ Hilary asked, her Afro hair falling down to her shoulders.

Stacey, the pretty blonde cheerleader nodded, shutting her locker.

‘Obvy, I’m hoping me and Jason will finally make out tonight’ Stacey tells her bestie.

Truth is Jason Todd is this big jock, rich daddy and drives a Porsche, however he is not shy of taking his time.

You pushed your glasses up your face as Mike, another jock, pushes you into your locker, knocking your books out your hands. Your printed knowledge scattered the floor.

‘Watch where you’re going queer’ Mike laughed as he saw you rushing to grab your books from the floor.

Mike and his buddies high fived as they watched you in amusement, Hilary gave a look of sympathy as she watched you.

‘Let’s go’ Stacey grabbed Hilary’s arm and the two left you.

‘Is this yours?’ Jason asked as he handed you a sketch book.

You nodded as you took it from him, Jason looked at the opened page as he admired your work.

‘This is some good work y/n’ Jason praised, you seemed surprised as you never realised Jason even knew your name.

‘Thanks’ you replied shyly, Jason handed you the sketch book.

‘You have Chem next right? Mr Ward is an asshole sometimes. Coming to Hilary’s party tonight?’ Jason asked.

You nudged your glasses up your face, shaking your head.

‘I’m not invited, I’m not cool enough’ you sighed, Jason looked a little sad.

‘I invite you, you should come, you’ll have fun’ he said as he placed your bag on your shoulder.

You couldn’t get Jason out of your head for the rest of that day, you smiled thinking about him.

‘The fuck?’ Mike snatched your sketchpad from your desk and held it up.

‘Hey, give it back’ you shot onto your feet trying to grab the book back.

Mike held it up in the air so you couldn’t reach it, laughing as chaos continued in the classroom.

‘Guys look, faggot y/n has a crush on Jason’ Mike said as he held up the sketch of Jason for everyone to see. Including Jason.

You ran out of the classroom as Mr Ward scalded Mike for his outburst.

Hilary felt the urge to go find you, but her body didn’t catch up.

The debate you had over going to Hilary’s party made you think hard, you’d been humiliated in front of all these people and now you have to face them.

You stood outside Hilary’s house, finding yourself there all of a sudden.

‘What are you doing here?’ Stacey asked as she saw you walking inside.

‘Hey y/n you came’ Jason cheered as he rushed over to you, his girlfriend giving Jason a weird look.

‘You invited him?’ Stacey asked, Jason nodded with a smile.

Hilary walked over and gave you a small hug as she welcomed you in. Jason walking with you to get you a drink.

The incident in the classroom was never mentioned, and Mike didn’t see you the whole night.

You felt attracted to Jason and Hilary picked up on it, but you were painfully shy you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything.

Stacey wandered off with a jock, Brian, and was gone for a while. Jason couldn’t find her when it was time to go home.

‘Has anyone seen Stacey?’ Jason asked, the remaining guests shook their heads.

You stood in the hallway of the house as Jason could be heard yelling, Stacey got fed up of waiting for Jason to make a move. So she made a move, with another guy.

Some time went by and you managed to get away from the drama, but every now and then Mike would still torment you.

‘Hey’ Hilary smiled as she sat opposite you, the littered floor of your books.

You smiled a little as she sat on the couch opposite and began reading.

The library was quiet, the two of you sat in a comfortable silence, you closed your books as you took your glasses off and cleaned the lenses.

Hilary waved as you went to go back to class, Hilary left the cheer squad after the big fight at her house.

Jason seemed angry most of the time and didn’t want to talk to anyone, the two of you were partnered for Chemistry. Then History.

Jason was only interested in talking about the work and didn’t want to engage in small talk. Though you weren’t offended, you figured he was embarrassed and going through stuff.

‘So, we need to study outside of school, is it ok if you drop by mine tomorrow after school to study?’ Jason asked, seemingly in a better mood.

You agreed, wanting to spend as much time with your school crush. Nothing would ever come from it, but you could enjoy it while it lasted.

Your glasses were tucked away as you walked to the front gate, an older gentleman was in the garden.

‘Hello sir, can I help you?’ The older British man asked, with a smile.

‘Hi, I’m y/n I’m looking for Jason?’ You asked, the older man rose to his feet.

His gardening gloves covered in mud and leaves, he pointed to the window to the left of the house.

‘Master Todd is just in there, go ahead in’ The older man said, you thanked him as you walked into Wayne Manor.

The Manor was built to the same level you would expect as a palace, but it wasn’t overdone. Considering where Jason lives, he isn’t a spoilt rich kid.

‘Hey y/n’ Jason greeted you as he spotted something different about you.

‘Hey, you have a nice house’ you smiled, visibly impressed as Jason studied your face.

‘Where are your glasses?’ He asked you, you pointed to your bag.

‘I have contacts in’ you revealed, Jason smiled a little.

‘You look better with glasses’ he said, pulling your book out your bag.

The two of you spent more time together as friends as well as study buddies, and you found yourself falling in love.

The walls came crashing down as you spotted Stacey rubbing Jason’s arm, the school hallways began feeling like they did before.

‘Stop touching me’ Jason barked, pulling his arm away from her touch.

You heard the interaction as you watched frozen, Jason visibly annoyed.

‘Baby please’ Stacey pleaded as she grabbed Jason’s arm, him shoving her arm away from him.

‘Fuck off, slut’ Jason said as he walked away, Stacey stood sad as her ex boyfriend walked away.

You did feel a little sad for Stacey, she knew she’d done something wrong but she also felt she couldn’t right her wrong. She had an amazing guy, she couldn’t be patient like Jason and lost him.

Study dates together seemed a little different as Jason had fire in his eyes, he seemed annoyed but never with you.

Jason became sweet with you but never pushed you, you felt like there was a little spark there.

‘You wanna hang out somewhere other than my house some time?’ Jason asked out of the blue, you seemed a little nervous to answer.

‘Yes’ you answered, a few seconds of silence as Jason smiled ear to ear from your answer.

The two of you began hanging out at other places, the diner, coffee shop and even just walking through the park together.

You kept feeling an urge to just kiss Jason, hold his hand. But you were scared of his reaction. Jason never had an issue with the fact that you’re gay, he never had any idea that you’re falling for him.

The TV screen lit the dark room as the two of you sat on Jason’s bed, the PS5 controllers in your hands as you played against each other.

Jason kept beating you in the game and the two of you laughed as you played, Jason howled with laughter as he commented on your playing skills.

‘You’re shit, like so bad dude’ Jason laughed as you nudged your glasses up your face.

‘I’m more into books bruh, video games are new to me’ you laughed along with Jason.

You both got closer, Jason looked into your eyes as he smirked a little. Your heart thumped in the ears as Jason seemed to lean in a little.

‘Fuck it’ Jason whispered under his breath as he connected his lips with yours.

It made your heart scream in joy and happiness as Jason pulled you into his lap. Taking your glasses off of your face, placing them onto his bedside table.

Jason’s hand on your face, fingers crossed over the side of your neck as your legs were opened, welcoming Jason.

Jason’s hot breath mixed with yours as he thrusted deep, making you pant a little.

The feel of Jason’s skin in yours, the feel of his body. The feeling of his manhood inside you made you feel incredible.

The sun hit your face as you woke up, the most amazing dream the night before, as you realise it wasn’t a dream. Jason’s naked body lay next to you.

You ran your hand down his chest and abdomen, feeling his tight abs. His strong muscle, the arms that held you in place all night.

‘Morning love bug’ Jason smiled as he saw you awake, you rubbed your sleepy eyes with a smile as Jason leant up and greeted your lips with a morning peck.

You stretched a little as you rose to your feet, a little lightheaded and your anus feeling a little rough.

‘Shit, it’s 10am? My dad’s gonna be home soon’ Jason saw his phone screen as he rose to his feet.

Towering at 6’3 as you stood at a shorter height, you were supposed to be home hours ago. Your parents were probably not going to be happy with you for staying out.

Jason kissed you goodbye as he promised you’d hang out again soon, your walk home was a little different as you still felt a little tired and sore. But it felt nice.

Jason was the first guy you’d had sex with, he was sweet and gentle when you told him you’d never had sex before.

The two of you began going on dates, officially, and Jason began to open up about his repressed homosexuality.

He dated Stacey because he thought he had to, not because he liked her. Jason took her adultery as a blessing in a way, it gave Jason the escapism he needed to be him.

Jason held your hand through the school hallway, everyone stopping to look as they saw you and Jason together.

Stacey spotted it and felt ashamed of herself, seeing Jason got the right person in the end.

Hilary smiled at you two and ran over to hug you both, congratulations being received as she walked with you two.

Graduation, Prom, College, Red Hood being born, you were with Jason through all of it.

10 years together and paying a mortgage as the two of you stuck together, you worked on your arms and legs a bit more.

Growing and building more muscle, Jason cooked naked in the kitchen after a heated night.

You admiring the view of his back and chest, not being able to stay away from him too long. Jason greeted your lips like a reward.

Celebrating festivities at Wayne manor as Jason held you on his lap, smiling brightly as he fluttered kisses on your shoulder every now and then.

Hilary was married and expecting her first by now, you were still best friends and of course, soon to be god father to her baby girl.

Life had a way of working out for those who waited, Jason waited for love and you waited for Jason. It worked out amazingly for the two of you, the two of you lay in bed together as Jason slept laying on your chest.

You stroked his hair, Jason sleeping soundly on you as he dreamt sweetly. Jason felt like he was the luckiest man alive to have a boyfriend like you, and you had won the lottery.

[legend-the-dumb-jock]

Stephen was the above average joe. Muscular. Huge package. Standing at 6’4”. When he walked into a room people stopped and stared looking a the muscled specimen that heaved the room. And with large size 16 feet you could hear him coming too.

Stephen had a perfect life but where someone is so perfect there has to be a downfall. Stephen’s was that he always took advantage of those close to him. He was able to be so muscular and hot spending all his time in the gym and never once helping his boyfriend, Matt, pay for rent. He was a leach. Every night he would come home dripping sweat. Kick off his massive shoes leaving them where they fell. He would drop his dirty sweat clothes in the hall way and never clean after himself. Then while still dropping sweat, flop down on the couch. Staining even more than what he already has. But it was time. And his boyfriend had had enough.

While Stephen fell asleep like he always did on the couch, his boyfriend still in front of him with a menacing glance. Holding the book he had from his family he began to chant the spell to make Stephen change.

Stephen was dreaming about plowing the hot gym bunny. Bending him over the sink and thrusting himself in. And all the while began to scream while he was having sex …

“….and this vessel must change to meet this new form!” His boy friend finished reading. And then he seen the fine print,,, there had to be an agreement from the one the spell was going to effect. He began to panic. How would he get Stephen to agree to…”YES YES ! FUCK ME !!!” Matt’s mouth dropped. How could this have happened in a more perfect moment. Stepping back slowly he hid the book. Now. Watching as his boyfriend began to change.

Soon Stephen’s well defined abs began to push outwards. His legs began to get fuller and he also began to shrink in height. His pecs quickly lost all definition as they were hidden under a thick layer of fat and his stomach continued to balloon out warden. Hair began to sprout from ever office of his body giving him in a thick coat of fur. His feet got shorter becoming a size of extremely wide and thick size 11s. He had little sausage toes now while his fingers fattened up. His butt began to inflate and sag as it widened and his back began to grow wide to match. A thick unkempt beard began to grow out of his face while he started balding. What was once a hunk before now looked like an out of shape 45 year old man. Matt smiled at his creation. Knowing that there was more to come.

Matt woke up to screams from the living room. Walking in he seen Stephen looking at his phone and trembling. “What the fuck has happened to me !!” Matt asked him. What he was talking about. All a part of his plan to make Stephen lose his mind. He was going to treat Stephen like the fat older man he was now. Even though he was the only other person in the world now that would remember what he is really supposed to be like. “Phen. You need to stop acting weird. It’s time for you to go to work. I wasn’t able to wash your janitor uniform though. “ Stephen just looked at him. Whatever happened seemed to have changed reality he thought. He had to get out of there. And sadly. It seems as though the dirty uniform was the only thing that would fit him. Before he left the apartment Matt handed him some pills “don’t forget your pills Phen. You know you need your heart meds and that cholesterol needs to come down. Try not to eat those 4 double cheeseburger for lunch again” he said as he kissed Stephen’s fatter face.

Work was hard for Stephen. He found that at his new size and short let height he was screed on all aspects of life now. He was the lowly janitor of the gym he worked at ! And people would just throw dirty clothes on him and expect him to always be at their whim for cleaning. During his lunch break he wanted to find a way to fix this. He had to get his old body back ! But then he caught glimpse of it. The burger signs. And drawn by an impossible force he walked over. Walking through the doors he was greeted by the cashier. Working his wallet out of his pocket with his meaty hands he paid for his food. 5 double cheeseburgers. And he ate ever bite. Licking the grease from the wrappers and his fingers. He was forced by some unseen force to be the fat animal he looked like. Walking back home he could help but feel winded. His lunch should have. Been enough to make him feel full for days but his stomach was growling like an angry bear. He felt so tired. As he walked through the apartment door he shuffled his wide feet down the hallway and looking in the mirror began to cry.

Somehow during the day he had gotten older. And much bigger. What little muscle definition he had was completely gone. Now his stomach was rock hard and protruding in an impossible beach ball stomach. Completely bald with white facial hair. Matt came around the corner and Stephen cried. He pleaded for Matt to remember him. “Phen. Are you ok? I know you’re jealous of my youth. But we’ve talked about this. You’re a 61 year old man. You have to come to terms with that!” And he walked off. That number reverberated in Stephen’s head.

Walking around the beach no was no longer fun for Stephen. He was getting looks now but not for his hot young body. It was for the massive beach ball he carried. He had been stuck like this for a whole month at this point. Continuing to try to find a way to change back there just has to be one. Matt came walking up to him with food. “You know one day. I’m going to stop giving into her hunger. We gotta find someway to get you. Lose weight Phen”. Phen aggressively at the multiple cheese burgers, fries and shake that Matt had brought him. Matt watched his creation. Everything from that night with spell had come true. An intense appetite that never went away, old age, massive bloated stomach with no muscle definition, and all the pains that would come with his body being like this. He knew that Phen was trying to find a way back. To get his old body back so he could be happy. But little did he know, that the Matt altered the working of the spell. “And when you agree to this the changes will be permanent”.

[fictionadventurer]

Top 5 obscure light vintage novels! (Not sure if my previous ask got eaten, but also curious about this one specifically)

The strictest definition of what I consider "obscure light vintage novels" requires a book to meet a lot of criteria:

Published before 1960

Not recommended to me by anyone I know personally (including on tumblr)

Doesn't have a fancy Oxford-Classics-type edition with an introduction. (And none of the author's other books are well-known enough to have one)

Has a realistic setting

Ideally written by a woman or centered around a female main character

Which means that very few books fit this list. But of those few, here are my top five.

Desire by Una Silberrad: Flawed but fascinating Edwardian novel about an eccentric heiress who meets a soulful author and eventually winds up working for him when she loses her money and he inherits his father's pottery business. Fascinating characters, amazing romance, lots of interesting themes. I'm also going to count the author's other novels in this category, because she's come to epitomize "obscure light classic" for me. The Good Comrade is a much frothier novel with some great characters, and Curayl is highly flawed, but its silver-tongued hero lives rent-free in my head.

The Ark by Margot Benary-Isbert: I finished this book less than twenty-four hours ago (so I could include it on this list). It's a 1953 German novel set in 1947, about a refugee family building a home after the end of the war. It reads like, if you can believe it, a cozy post-apocalyptic novel. These people are living through some terrible things, but they make the best of things and manage to find joy. It's chock-full of fascinating details about life in post-war Germany, and reminds you that the people on that side of the war were human too, losing people and places they loved, and doing their best to live in terrible times. There are some superstitious elements later on that I wasn't crazy about, but otherwise I adored this story.

The Romance of a Shop by Amy Levy: Novel from the 1880s about four sisters who open a photography studio to support themselves after their father's death. Extremely underwritten (one of the girls meets an old flame and marries him between chapters), but a very easy, pleasant read with interesting historical details, and some nice sisterly relationships that remind me just a bit of Little Women meets Oscar Wilde.

The Heir of Redclyffe and Countess Kate by Charlotte Mary Yonge: Books by one of the bestselling authors of the Victorian age who's completely forgotten today. Both get too preachy at times, but make up for it by having amazing characters. The first one is a family saga about cousins caught up in an old feud, and the second is like if Anne Shirley suddenly found out she was a countess.

The Rosary by Florence Barclay: The bestselling novel of, like, 1920. It gets very melodramatic, but I was also surprised at how grounded and witty the characters were. I remember very little about it, but I have fond memories of the reading experience, and it earns a place on this list because when I want to find an "obscure vintage light novel", on some level I'm thinking I want to find a book like this.

I know you didn't ask, but I find myself wanting to list five novels that don't quite meet the strict criteria above, but are close enough that I want to highlight them.

The Dean's Watch and The Rosemary Tree by Elizabeth Goudge: Goudge isn't exactly obscure in this section of tumblr (which is why I heard of her in the first place), but she's obscure enough that a lot of her books are out-of-print or otherwise hard to get, and these two in particular are among the best books I've ever read.

The Blue Castle by L.M. Montgomery: Montgomery is extremely well-known, and this book has an ever-growing and very devoted cult following, so it's not exactly obscure, but it's much less well-known than most of her other books. A deep cut, if you will. It fits perfectly within the light vintage novel category, and has long been one of my favorite novels of all time.

Lady Audley's Secret by Mary Elizabeth Braddon: It's got an Oxford Classics (or similar imprint) edition, and is well-known as one of the very first sensation novels, but it's not exactly known among people who don't deep-dive into Victorian literature. I read this last month and loved it. It's a cozy sensation novel with an amazing main character, great atmosphere, and a plot that manages to grip you even while not much happens.

Mrs. Miniver by Jan Struther: It's not exactly obscure if it has a movie adaptation, but from what I know, the movie basically ignores the book, which isn't that well-known today. Charming slice-of-life from the very early days of WWII England.

Helen by Maria Edgeworth: Not exactly beloved, and Edgeworth isn't exactly obscure, but this is a lesser-known novel that fits well within this category. The first half had some moments that were so dull I considered not finishing, but the second half was gripping enough that I can mention it as a nice, obscure surprise of a book.

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

What did / does the editing process between online publishing to the website and publishing for print (for TTO:U) look like?

Unlike Curse Words, where about three quarters of the third book was entirely rewritten for print (I wasn't happy with the pacing of the mystery and it wasn't complex enough), TTOU is essentially the same story in both versions with a few name changes, which made the editing process very simple.

My wonderful patron cheese_croissants logged any detected typos as they read, so my first step was correcting all of those, which saved me a lot of work. There were a couple of names of things that I wanted to change for clarity, so I went through and did that, and then I just read the story through multiple times specifically looking for continuity errors, typos, and sentences that could use restructuring for better flow or clarity. The final result is pretty clean.

It's really not that complicated it's just find the errors and fix them. The only trick to line editing is that you gotta stay focused the whole time, which is hard for a 413,000 word story. This is why most people pay someone else to do it I think (it's easier for a new reader to find typos and unclear sentences than it is for the writer).

[lixiesfreckless]

No Translation Needed | h. h.

➸ synopsis: when the language barrier between you and a stranger becomes too wide, your shared interests bridge the gap for you.

➸ starring: hwang hyunjin x female reader

➸ word count: 2.7k

➸ general content: artist!hyunjin, there is somewhat of a language barrier, both people are complete art nerds and it's way too endearing, takes place in south korea, flufffff(I'm so fond of this man)

➸ warnings: microscopic mention of alcohol

➸ rating: teen+

➸ author’s note: an older fic but I'm still so attached to it. two kinds of people: the type who hear hyunjin speak english and move on, and then me

♫ this fic has a soundtrack! you don’t need to listen to it while reading, but rêverie by the man, the myth, the legend, claude debussy goes SO HARD ON THIS FIC LIKE-

You were never the type to dabble in realism.

A pair of headphones, a wide brush, a blank canvas, and a bucket of red paint; that was your activity of choice on friday nights. Nothing that came from that ever resembled anything in particular, but it was never supposed to. Just looking at it, one could tell what emotions fueled the creative process those nights.

The feelings behind them were real enough, you'd hear people say.

But of course, there's always some people that detest abstract art. They say it takes no talent, no thought, that you're just slathering paint on a canvas and expecting to get recognition for it. Sometimes you think they're right.

Other times you buy a plane ticket out of the country, you know, for fun. If you were a starving artist, maybe you'd think about letting their words get to you.

And while some would argue that booking a spontaneous vacation to Seoul could classify as a form of escapism, the painting in front of you has you wondering whether you could mark this trip in your tax forms as a business expense.

All of your years in art school and not once had you ever learned so much from one piece of canvas.

Art museums are designed to look boring. They are supposed to draw your eye from one acrylic-covered canvas to another, making you forget about your surroundings and immerse you into the various artworks. This one was no different, hues of beige and black and white littering the geometric space.

That being said, you are certain that this painting would have caught your eye even if it was posted in Times Square.

You had made your way across the room, ears picking up on the few Korean phrases you knew as strangers shifted around you. A graphite cityscape. A gouache vase of flowers. A portrait made of ink prints on wood. The exhibit you randomly picked over tonkatsu and soju last night in your hotel room was definitely a good one, no doubt.

And to think you almost walked past this piece.

Bold strokes of blue, tiny specks of white, all on a frame that was wider than your wingspan. 

The girl was depicted just off center, in some billowy white dress.

Floating? Drowning? 

You settle on suspended as your footsteps slow down, turning to approach the watery scene.

Staring at it feels like staring at a glass of water. You can't definitively say whether it’s half-empty or half-full, whether she’s reaching for the surface or letting herself sink. Her face is covered by wispy brown hair, obstructing her true emotions from view. Somehow you know this was a conscious decision the artist made, to let the viewer come to their own conclusion on the piece.

Even though you know about the negative effects that human oils have on artworks, you still find yourself fighting the urge to reach out and touch it. To feel the ripples of the oil paint and somehow find your own hand soaked, as if you reached through the canvas barrier and felt the cold loneliness yourself.

Impressionist paintings did always have this charm about them, at least to you. They felt abstract upon inspection, just a mess of strange brushstrokes and controversial colors. And yet when viewed from a distance, it feels like a completely different experience. Up close, a dizzying mix of the shades of the sky. A step back, and it's an unspoken thesis on the solitude of limbo, or whatever you've decided to name this piece.

You glance at the info card at the bottom right corner.

Buoyancy- Hwang Hyunjin

You make a mental note to research him later before your eyes get pulled to the subject once again.

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

You have been staring at his painting for eight minutes.

He had walked around, chatted with other featured artists, talked with a few strangers, but when he came back, you had acted as though you were one of the items on display; still locked in the same position as before. Eyebrows furrowed, one hand resting on your canvas tote bag, the other in the pocket of your trousers. 

In the nicest way possible, you looked like a tourist.

But tourists don't have long attention spans, and you could have been roleplaying a statue with how long you'd been standing there.

A strange mix of anxiety and excitement rushed through Hyunjin when he found you still standing there. 

No one had ever observed his art for that long before.

At least, not in one sitting. Definitely not like this. Why haven't you moved on? Can you see something that he can't? Are you thinking of buying a print?

He wants to approach you. To leave you alone. To watch you scrutinize his painting. To run screaming to the event coordinator.

Casually, he sticks both hands in his jeans and stands a few feet from your right side, as if he's one of the visitors.

He takes a moment, gaining whatever’s left of his composure before speaking.

“I'm so glad I know how to swim.”

You snap out of your daze, surprised to hear English in the Korean white noise you've been immersed in. You look over and see the gorgeous young man standing near you, looking at the painting you've been so engrossed in.

“Yeah,” you exhale, “I totally get the fear of open water.”

Hyunjin chuckles, strangely drawn in by the sound of your voice.

“Although, she doesn't seem all that scared to me,” you add, shifting your focus back to the canvas.

“You don't think so?”

“I mean, you could argue that she doesn't want to be there, that she's drowning,” you begin, pointing to the girl. “But…the longer I stare at it, the more I feel like she's just hanging there, not reaching for the surface on purpose.” Your finger trails down to the bottom right corner. “I think that's why it was named Buoyancy, at least that's what I got out of it…”

You trail off, realizing that you're rambling to a total stranger about a random piece of artwork. Looking back at him however, you find your face heating up at the amazed expression on his, as if you had just told him his middle name.

“I wish I had thought of that,” he lies. It was almost scary how quickly you had found the meaning he'd tried to convey after months of fighting with the paint.

“Well that's the fun thing about art,” you say, smiling to yourself. “It's all subjective. What were you thinking?”

Hyunjin opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again in mild frustration.

“I'm not…very good with English,” he says, defeated.

He would argue that he's not very good with any language, even his mother tongue.

Art was the only language he felt he could speak easily without hesitation. It was easy to throw himself into that with reckless abandon, because it was the only place where he truly felt understood.

“But I can still understand you,” he quickly amends, glad to see that spark behind your eyes again. He walks past you, stopping at the painting on your left. “What about this one?”

“This one has some really dramatic lighting, which makes me believe…”

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

Evening sunlight filters in through the exhibit windows as you and Hyunjin examine an organically-shaped vase, admiring its handiwork.

“I’ve always wanted to try pottery but…I don’t really like the feeling of cold clay on my hands,” you chuckle, looking at the tall man next to you. He grins, scrutinizing his hands as he contemplates his answer. 

“People tell me I have good fingers- for clay,” he adds quickly, even though the meaning wasn't lost on you, and you fight back a smirk to appear unphased. “But I haven't found a good studio? Is that how you call it?”

“I wouldn't know, I've never been,” you say, walking to the next painting. Which happens to be where you both started.

“Wait, have we been through this whole gallery?” You quickly check your watch, confirming that you have been there for much longer than you had intended. Looking back at the stranger you have spent the evening with, you feel heat start to scatter across your face.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to take up so much of your ti-”

“I liked it,” he blurts, and you feel reassured as his face lights up with panic. “Talking. With you, I mean.” He looks just past you to the art on the wall, ears turning the slightest shade of red. “No one has ever said anything so beautiful about my art before.”

He watches as your face circles through several emotions, before settling on embarrassment. 

“You're…you're one of the artists? Which one is yours?” You say, trying to recall what you said about every art piece.

He nods toward the painting that had first caught your attention, the one that practically jumped out at you an hour ago.

“Hyunjin,” he says quietly, extending a hand toward you in a humble introduction, as if that same hand didn't produce the masterpiece in front of you. 

“Y/n,” you whisper, trying not to let your mouth hang open in awe. “And to think I was going to Google you later.”

“You were?” The light in his eyes was unmistakable.

“I always research artists that inspire me,” you admit, bashfully dropping his hand.

“I inspired you?”

You meet his eyes and you know then, the weight that your words carry.

To create is a desire that all artists cannot shake; it is what keeps the painter keep coming back to the blank canvas, the sculptor to the slab of clay. But when the process is finished, all they can hope is that someone will see it, and feel a fraction of what they felt whilst creating it. 

Moving someone to the point of giving them the desire to create, through their artwork, is a dream many artists never get to see come into fruition.

And maybe that's why Hyunjin stares at you now, wondering which lucky star is shining down on him now.

“Can I…” he pauses, hoping he's saying the line like how they do in the movies, “can I buy you a drink?”

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

When people say studio apartment, this is what you wish they mean.

Floor-to-ceiling window walls on one side, where several canvases sit propped up against the city skyline, and an apartment on the other, with a cute kitchenette and loft bedroom that doesn't feel cramped. It's perfect for someone who needs enough space to think, without sacrificing their space to live.

You hear Hyunjin click the door shut behind you as you set your bag down on a chair, surveying the studio side of his residence.

Several canvases catch your eye.

You can't even blame him for attempting to paint it because with the view he has, you'd paint it every day. 

Different versions of the Seoul skyline are scattered across the room, each depicting a different time of day. Sunrise is leaning against the window. Midday is sitting on a canvas. Twilight is hanging up on the wall, and something akin to golden hour lays unfinished, perhaps even abandoned on the floor. You crouch in front of it to get a better look.

“That one is…not finished,” Hyunjin says from the kitchen, pouring two glasses of soju. You can feel his nervous gaze on you even with your back turned to him.

“It's beautiful,” you whisper, looking at the palette he used to mix the colors. An array of browns and yellows are smeared on the glass, which were no doubt used to put the buildings into the scene.

He doesn't say thank you; his face does that for him when he crouches next to you, cheekbones pink as he sets the soju glasses on the floor. 

“I can't get the colors right,” he sighs, staring at the painting in discontent. “It looks…dull.”

“Maybe you should try adding red instead of brown,” you suggest, picking up a palette knife. “May I?”

Hyunjin stares at you in bewilderment, before opening a tube of vermillion and squeezing a bit onto the palette. 

“I studied color theory for what felt like forever,” you chuckle, taking the knife and adding red to a few of his previous colors.

“I never went to art school,” he says, as if that makes him a lesser artist. You feel a twinge of jealousy at that statement, knowing that the man next to you was this skilled without coaching, before adding, “You didn't miss much. It killed my creativity.”

Hyunjin goes pale at that as you pass him a clean paintbrush and toss the palette knife aside.

“Did you get it back?” He asks, and when you tilt your head, he adds, “Your creativity?”

“It comes and goes.” Sometimes you wish you didn't stake your livelihood on your ability to create. Inspiration is always a welcome guest but it never stays for long, at least on your side of the ocean.

Watching him add your hues to the painting is like having inspiration fed right into your bloodstream. Immediately the painting comes to life, the reds of the sunset becoming visible at the whim of his paintbrush.

He stops for a minute to admire the changes, and turns to you for feedback, eyes twinkling with joy. Or maybe that's just the soju.

“It was beautiful before,” you say, tracing your finger along the side of the canvas, “but now it looks alive.”

“I love the way you talk,” Hyunjin says quietly after a moment of silence, and the bluntness of the compliment nearly has you choking on your soju. But he just looks at you, no hint of humor in his eyes, sitting entirely too close to your tipsy self, and you feel your body buzz with warmth.

“And I love the way you smile,” you whisper back, unable to look away as he sets down his paintbrush, trying to hide his contagious grin.

He turns back to you, and you wish for several things. You wish you didn't have a plane ticket taking you away from this place in a week. You wish that you had finished your glass of soju. You wish you could poke the mole under his eye, or the dimple in his cheek.

You wish that you were drunk enough to close the gap between you two without a second thought.

But when your foreheads touch, your phone buzzes, so you grin and chuckle to yourself.

“I…I think we've had too much to drink.”

He looks at you through hooded eyes and smiles again.

“Or not enough.” He counters.

You nod in agreement at that and pull back, mentally kicking yourself for losing the only chance at finding out what his smile tastes like. But it's probably better this way. You don't want to be remembered as the girl who sweet talked her way into his bed.

You're halfway to the sink with your glasses when he speaks up suddenly.

“I want to see you again.”

You set the dishes down before turning to face him, and you wish you had brought a change of clothes. And maybe an extra toothbrush.

“I don't want to finish it without you,” he says, nodding to the painting that he had moved to the easel.

“I can come back tomorrow morning,” you promise, trying not to sound too hopeful.

“I can make crepes.”

“I love crepes.”

He picks up your bag from the chair and brings it to you, hating how much it feels like he's rushing you out the door. 

“See you tomorrow, y/n.”

“Goodnight, Hyunjin.”

You leave the apartment and close the door behind you, but your feet don't advance down the hallway. Hyunjin's hand hovers over the locking mechanism, unable to click the deadbolt into place as he considers running after you.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you spin around to knock on his door, only to find him throwing the door open and grinning in delight at the sight of you.

“It's past midnight, isn't it?”

His smile tastes like mint and chamomile tea.