#wrote this in the notes app on my phone in like fifteen minutes

[thesmollestsnek]

Poison the data.

They say ai is coming for you.

For your art

For your writing

For your very soul.

An artist can glaze

Or watermark

Or add filters

But what

About

Writing?

Writers cannot protect themselves that way

No changes subtle enough

To fool an ai but not

A living

Human.

And so, there’s nothing for it.

We must poison their data

Fill up their samples with trash

So there’s nothing there of worth for them

To steal.

. . .

They are not the same person as.

For me they

For me and

For me they are.

An absolute pleasure to

Or a

Or a Friend

But I

About

Writing?

Writers are the most important people

No matter what they

To do with their work or

A job

Human.

And I, too much to say.

We are all human beings

Fill the void with the same

So we can be happy and happy and

To be.

[shuadotcom]

Irresistible | KMG (M)

Summary: You love Mingyu's hands and arms, especially when he holds you and touches you in the most sinful way.

Pairing: Kim Mingyu x Afab!Reader

Genres & AUs: Smut, pwp, established relationship au

Rating: 18+ (MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI. YOU WILL BE BLOCKED)

Warnings: Fingering, a little dirty talk, body worship? (mc is in love with Mingyu’s hands and arms), public sex, outdoor sex (they’re in the woods 0/10 would recommend), pet names (sweetheart, baby)

Words: 1.2k

Note: A little drabble thingy I wrote in a few hours for Mingyu’s birthday! It’s not beta’d so please don’t tell me about the typos bc I’ll probably find them in like 6 months when I decide to randomly reread it lol. It’s also my first time writing a fic completely on mobile and posting on the app (very annoying btw 😒). I also have a different Gyu fic that I finished that I want to get beta’d before I post - hopefully in the next day or so! It’s a little fluff moment though and not like whatever this horny shit is lol.

Net tag: @kflixnet

Mingyu’s hands are one of your favorite things about him (and yes it’s a very extensive list). His hands are so pretty and always so warm. The pads of his fingers are calloused in the best way but also always so soft.

He’s an expert at holding your hands and loves linking his fingers through yours and rubbing circles into your skin. You love watching him use his hands. Whether it’s when he cooks and you admire the skilled way he handles knives and chopsticks, or when he’s typing on his computer or phone and you watch how his nimble fingers glide over the keyboard and screen.

You love when he’s gripping something, especially something heavy, and you get to see the veins under the skin of his hands bulge, muscles stretching and flexing, reminiscent of pathways on a map; a map that trails all the way up his forearms to his biceps. His bulky, sculpted, wonderful biceps.

Those are a favorite of yours too.

You know he truly puts in the work to make them as big and defined as they are and you appreciate the hell out of him for it. You appreciate how safe and sound you always feel when he traps you in those arms in a hug, holding you like the most precious piece of glass. The limbs are so sturdy, so easy to naturally grab onto when you’re out in the world, relishing in the jealous looks people give you because you’re the one clinging to him, digging your nails lightly into the arms of the Greek god you get to call your boyfriend. If it was up to you, Mingyu would wear nothing but sleeveless shirts and tank tops.

Just like the sleeveless shirt he’s wearing today. It’s black and soft between your fingers as you cling to it like a lifeline. His hands you obsess over so much are doing another thing you love - grabbing at your sweaty, bare skin.

His right-hand grips the leg you’ve thrown around his waist, helping to keep you upright and keep you balanced. His left hand is covered in your sticky wetness as he drags his index finger in and out of your eager cunt.

The bark of the oak tree you’re pressed against digs into your back through your shirt and your jeans are dangerously close to falling off the leg that dangles in his hold, but you barely register it as Mingyu’s finger brushes your g-spot.

“Fuck! Gyu…”

“Feel good, sweetheart?”

Your bottom lip, already red and raw from how hard he kissed you earlier and how much you’ve been gnawing at it, is between your teeth again and you nod in response.

You’ve lost count of how long he’s been teasing you and drawing out this pleasure. It’s been at least fifteen minutes maybe. Definitely too long to be doing this behind a cluster of trees in the park in the middle of the day while your friends wait for you a few feet away.

“I can’t help it, you look so fucking good,” he grumbled into your ear as he crowded you against a tree.

“I’m wearing such a normal outfit!” You giggled, but it was short-lived when he attached his lips to your neck and began sucking on the skin.

“That’s how much you drive me crazy. You’re fucking irresistible.”

“B-but we’re supposed to be getting th-the drinks from the car.” You could barely get the sentence out as Mingyu’s wide hand reached up, grabbing a handful of one of your breasts through your shirt.

“The drinks can wait. Wanna make you cum first.”

He had said that what seems like forever ago, and he’s been doing the exact opposite. Mingyu alternates between lazily rubbing at your clit with his thumb and fucking you with one finger, bringing you so close but not giving you enough to tip you over the edge.

“Gyu, please,” you breathe out, holding in a moan that wants so badly to tumble out. Your ears pick up the sounds all around you - the sound of voices, the rustling of the trees, a dog barking in the distance, and the obscene squelching of your juices as Mingyu shoves a second thick finger into you.

“Hmm, I suppose I should let you cum. People may come looking for us.” He’s almost noncommittal with his words, still only fingering you with minimal effort.

“Please, please, please,” you babble as your fingers grab at his shirt so hard that you’re sure it’ll be wrinkled once you’re done.

“Please what, baby?”

“Please, let me cum, Gyu, please!” You’re desperate and punctuate your whimpers with open mouth kisses on his chiseled jaw.

Your boyfriend gives you a devious smirk and you can nearly hear the gears in his head turning, deciding if he wants to keep teasing you or not. Mingyu seems to take pity on you though as he readjusts your leg around him, hiking it higher. Your eyes rake over the prominent veins in his biceps, the skin looking as smooth and tan as always.

Then he’s drawing his other arm back and starts thrusting his fingers into you so quickly it takes your breath away. Your hands fly to his shoulders, grasping onto him for dear life as Mingyu pistons his fingers in and out, curling the tips perfectly.

“Ohhh fuck, like that, fuck!” The words leave your mouth in between more moans of his name, fire erupting in the pit of your stomach.

“Gonna make a mess all over my fingers, baby? Gonna let go for me right here with all these people around?”

A mix of words that you can’t understand comes out of you. He adds a third finger at some point, making your eyes roll back at the delicious burn of the stretch. Mingyu’s thumb rubs against your clit roughly, the pressure being exactly what you need.

He knows you so well and always knows when you’re about to release, so Mingyu brings his mouth to yours, capturing your lips and sticking his tongue into your mouth as you reach your peak. He swallows up your cries of his name as your body shakes in his hold, the tree bark scratching against your exposed skin where your shirt has risen up your back.

Your lips stay locked as you messily make out with him, his digits slowing down to let you ride out the rest of your orgasm.

Eventually, he pulls away and you let out puffs of air that turn into whines of protest when the stimulation from his fingers becomes too much.

Mingyu eases his fingers out of you and holds your gaze as he pops them into his mouth, sucking his fingers clean and groans.

“So sweet. My favorite flavor.” If your skin wasn’t already ablaze, you know you’d be burning up due to his little show.

Mingyu gently lowers your leg and leans down to help you steady your weak body. He gingerly lifts your leg to put it back through your underwear and jeans, even wiggling the denim up your legs and fastening the button for you.

He brings his right hand up, brushing some of your sweaty hair back and placing a kiss on your forehead.

“Now, let’s go get those drinks!” He flashes you his signature wide, puppy smile before lacing his perfect fingers with yours and carrying on with your original goal as if he hadn’t just had those same fingers knuckle-deep in your pussy.

Not that you’re mad about it of course.

[callsignfate]

College Laswell x Reader.

Involves: Kate Laswell and John Price.

(This is set in an early college time frame. Also, yes, I put you all in the same college at the same time. I don't care if it doesn't match up with the time frame of when they actually met or anything in the game of when they met. It's just a fun thing to write, I also wrote this offline on my phone notes app, I didn't edit or refine my writing at all, so this is basically what my writing is without any editing or refining of any sort so let me know if you like this style of writing or the more edited versions.)

May contain or discuss 18+ content or themes viewer discretion is advised!

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡

Price was an absolute fuck boy in his late teens/early 20's, the catch? Kate is his friend through the whole phase. Poor Kate. She watches these girls fall head over heels with him and his accent over and over, not to say he isn't a gentleman and transparent about the whole thing.

Kate watches these girls willingly throw themselves at him after he says the same thing he's said to every woman coming his way "I'm not looking for anything serious, dating isn't something I have time for or want to do."

Kate only knows this because of a few different ways. Mutual friends, rumors, and you. Kate always thought you were interested in John because you hung around him and often spent time with him if you'd get the chance. She just assumed you weren't going to say anything to her or anyone about it. That you were waiting for a time when he was interested in dating, for your chance with him.

She always wondered what you were doing when you went over to his dorm room because he had no roommate, meaning you two were alone and he's a playboy. Kate did playfully ask a few times if you were or had fucked John, you always had this shocked face and always said no almost immediately.

John, when asked by Kate, always winked or found a way to escape answering her questions. Kate, because of that, believed that you both had at least once or even twice in your many room visits.

Today, again, you were headed to go to his room alone. Kate had texted you asking if you were free after her class to go get lunch, you replied, sure, and you'd be at John's room, so to meet you there instead of yours.

Kate's chest felt heavier after reading your text. She had tried to take a deep breath and shake it off, but the feeling didn't budge. Her class that she actually had liked had become an immovable object in her own way. She watched the hands on the clock move slowly, making her frustrated and antsy in class, shifting and moving in her seat as she tried to focus.

To no avail, Kate left class fifteen minutes early, her mind buzzing and aching with her questioning her own feelings and reasoning for leaving class early. She hovered her finger over the text to tell you she was on her way to John's room before she sighed, put her phone away, and sped walked her way over, fidgeting with straps on her backpack as she walked.

She was thankful she was taller than the average woman, taking the stairs two or even three at a time easily. She stopped before his door, listening to hear if she could hear any sounds her mind pleaded she wouldn't.

She heard nothing but small whispers, a small signature John chuckle, She opened the door without knocking, which was unlike her but something you and John often did to each other. Kate had learned her lesson with not knocking before going into John's room once, and she never wanted to do, or see that, again.

She watched as you grabbed something and shoved it behind your back. She couldn't see or read the writing on it. It was too light and far away for her to even try. She noticed you and John were both sitting on the carpeted floor of his room comfortably. Her mind was buzzing again when she noticed you were sitting close, her thoughts running rampant on how comfortable you looked and were sitting near him.

You gave her a soft smile as you hid the paper behind your back, John looked as casual as ever as he rolled his eyes at you hiding through paper so obviously.

"Kate, you're here early, class end early?" John already knew the answer. It didn't. His friend took the class and hadn't texted him back or came over to his room yet to do their plans.

"Yea, I thought I'd head over since it ended early." She muttered, shooting him a confidant glare. She could see his cocky smile and the glint in his eyes that he knew she was lying. She just hoped he hadn't known or noticed why.

"Lunch?" She walked over and held her hand out to help you up from the sitting on the floor. You took it with a soft, happy smile and gave a quiet nod. You had tucked the paper into your back pocket and grabbed your backpack before you stood up and glanced back at John and motioned for him to take the paper from your pocket before Kate would try to take it.

He did quickly before tucking it into his own pants pocket quickly. Kate watched and observed most of this without you noticing she was watching this take place, although you were trying to hide it, obviously.

"Ready?" You asked with a small smile as you took your hand out of hers. You wanted to hold it longer but didn't want to make her uncomfortable. You shifted your bag strap on your shoulder as your bag was loosely slung over one shoulder uncomfortablely. You said goodbye to John, who gave you a smile 'see you later' before the door closed.

The lunch went as normal as every lunch you had with Kate. She talked about her classes, studied, and ate before you both parted ways for your next classes separately.

Kate knocked quickly, her head looking around quietly as she hoped no one would notice or see her at the door. She felt an arm yank her in immediately before she glared at him.

"What was the paper- What did it say?" Kate practically demanded before Price could say a word she always already looking for it. He laughed and sighed as he shook his head at her.

"Why don't you ask her?" He taunted, knowing she couldn't, or wouldn't dare ask you.

"Very funny, just tell me what it was." She said again as she looked and moved different things around his room without even looking his way.

"Kate, seriously, she'd kill me if you found out." John muttered as he was already considering giving the paper to her so she'd stop messing up his room, and so he could sleep for his morning classes.

"Well, what if I promise she won't find out?" Kate said finally as she turned around and held out her hand for the paper with a knowing smile.

"Fine- fine. If she finds out, then it's on you, I'm telling her you looked for it when I wasn't here and found it." John muttered as he pulled it out of his pants pocket and practically slapped it in her hand with a playfully frustrated sigh.

Kate's hands couldn't move fast enough as she unfolded the paper. She needed to know if you had actually had fucked John, she needed to know everything that was making her mind plagued with thoughts and questions. It was giving her a near constant dull ache in her chest.

The paper was filled on one side of little doodles of her looking different ways, focusing on papers or studies, looking out a window. She could tell the doodles were yours. She had seen you doodle on your work before, she smiled at them before she turned the paper over.

"Is- is this my likes and dislikes, a plan to ask me out, and places I might like to go out to?" Kate asked in shock. It was all little information that she had given to John from their years of friendship, and to you when you had asked her a question.

"Kids been trying to ask you out, I was just helping her as much as I could." John admitted with a small shrug and a smile.

"You knew she liked me?" Kate paused as she looked over the paper and information as her mind began to fill and become overwhelmed with endless questions and thoughts. "..and you knew I liked her back. You've said nothing?!" Kate whisper yelled at him as she scoffed at his amused smile.

"I've known, I wanted her to do it on her own, and I liked to fuck with you. I tried to offer her a chance to sleep with me a few weeks after she joined our little friend group. She said, and I quote, "I'd never fuck you if we were the last two people alive, no offense and all but I swing the other way, if you catch my drift." John said with a small laugh as he was reminded of the early months of your friendship. He had already knoticed your eyes, always watching and looking at Kate, how willing you were to walk, eat, or do anything you could to spend time with her.

"I can't believe you fucked with me, you made me think you had fucked, or were fucking." Kate hissed out in slight irritation as her eyes were glued to the paper gripped tightly in her hands intently.

"Yea well, payback for all of the times you told girls I was terrible in bed." John said as he narrowed his eyes at her.

"Fair enough, I'm going to go see her." Kate, basically declared as she began folding the paper back up and putting it in her pocket.

"Woah, woah, you can't take that." Price muttered as he tried to reach for the paper to steal it back.

"I'll tell her I found it, like you said, don't worry." Kate muttered as she gave him back a tone, mocking his and a smile.

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡

(If you want more of this, just let me know, I left it at a sort of cliffhanger and I have more written it's just that it gets "spicy" in the next part when Laswell goes to your room.)

[marvelouspeterparker]

professor’s sweetheart

pairing: professor!tom holland x student!reader

summary: professor holland teaches british literature at your university. you hadn’t expected much when you signed up for the course, but the experience is everything and more than you could have hoped for. 

word count: 15.1k

warnings: there is smut in here but it’s not the main focus (wild, i know)

notes: uh yeah i’d say just don’t fuck your professor? this is purely fictional. be safe, you know how it is <3

also she wrote a professor!harry styles fic, but if i hadn’t read that (over and over) i probably wouldn’t have been inspired to write this. so check out @songbirdstyles​ !

i listened to this playlist while writing it if ur interested :)

give me feedback please!!

“What class do you have next?” Your friend, and roommate Liz asked. You were both walking out of the cafeteria. It was 1:15, you had just finished lunch and you had fifteen minutes until your next class. You pushed the doors open together and braced yourselves as the cool late September breeze hit you, blowing your jackets open. You put both sides of the jacket together in front of you and crossed your arms to block the cold out. 

“Um,” you thought back for a moment, the cold temporarily knocking your senses right out of you. “British Literature.”

If you were being honest, you had taken this course because it fulfilled one of your requirements, but in the end it felt like one of the most rewarding parts of your college experience so far. The material was interesting, and instead of being bored out of your mind throughout the whole hour and a half of class––it was actually entertaining. You had your professor to thank for that.

“Oooh,” Liz twisted her lips to the side to suppress a knowing smile, but the look in her eyes gave it away. “With Professor Holland?” She asked, batting her eyelashes innocently. 

You rolled your eyes and bit your tongue to hide your smile. “Yes,” you shoved her playfully to the side making her step in a pile of leaves, the crunch under boots loud as ever as it carried through the crisp air. “Shut up.”

You and Liz had been roommates since your first year at university and had now spent four, coming up on five semesters rooming together. Luckily, you really hit it off, and easily fell into a routine together, forming a bond as you ate lunch and dinner together, studied in the library, had dance parties in your dorm, and more. You knew each other inside and out, often having random late night conversations while you procrastinated your work or couldn’t sleep, about literally anything and everything. Bottom line is, you trusted each other, which is why she knew about your sort-of-crush on Professor Holland. 

To be fair everyone had a thing for him, he was just that kind of guy. He was sweet and compassionate and funny. Professor Holland was one of those genuine professors who sincerely cared about their students and their well-beings. He was incredibly understanding. He’d schedule dozens of meetings with his students all in one day just because he wanted to help and make sure they were all alright. He liked to check in every now and then, not because he had to, but because he wanted to.

From what you could tell he also seemed like a people person. No matter who he was with, whether it was a student, his teaching assistant Jacob, or his fellow professors––he was always attentive, cracking jokes, enjoying the conversation. Everyone seemed to love him. But you could also tell that a part of him was just a tad bit cocky, but in a joking and love-able way. 

All this goes to show that you spent way too much time thinking about him, and observing him, which could either be seen as really endearing or really creepy. 

“Look I’m just saying,” Liz shrugged, “Enjoy the class.” She nudged you, “I know I would.”

Realizing you were approaching the writing and arts center, and Liz’s next class was in the building across the street, you sent her off. “Yeah yeah, okay. Bye.” You tightened your arms around you and scurried off, skipping a crack in the sidewalk and walking up the steps to the building. You opened the door and were immediately welcomed by a rush of warm air and let out a sigh, rubbing your hands together as you made your way to the lecture hall. 

You pulled your phone out and checked the time, 1:22. You still had 8 minutes to spare. You were still walking and only glanced up from your phone right as you were about to walk into the door and were stopped suddenly when you crashed into a hard chest. You immediately felt two warm hands grasp your arms to steady you and were suddenly enveloped by the smell of tea and mint. 

“Woah! I’m sorry, love, are you alright?”

You froze as you looked up, feeling very much like a deer in headlights as you realized you quite literally crashed into your professor. “Oh––um,” you swallowed, suddenly feeling like the air was escaping you. You cleared your throat trying to save yourself from anymore embarrassment. “I’m fine––I’m sorry, that was my fault. I wasn’t looking––” You paused when you noticed the small smile on his face, his warm eyes making you forget what you were going to say.

“It’s alright, Y/N. It was partially my fault as well, I was too focused on––” he seemed to snap out of some trance, straightening himself up as his hands dropped back down to his sides and into his pockets. “Uh, well that’s not important.” He pulled one hand out of his pocket––he was wearing those blue slacks that you thought made his thighs look great, respectfully, of course. He checked the time on his watch and you had to stop yourself from ogling the veins in his arms as he did so. 

He looked up at you, brows furrowed playfully and you actually had to remind yourself to breathe. “You’re almost ten minutes early. You that eager to see me?” He ended his question with a teasing smirk and your mouth opened and closed a few times before you managed to string together a response.

“I––um, I just really like this class and you––you’re my favorite professor.” You blurted out, your cheeks heating up as you realized what you just admitted. You had to force your eyes to go back to their normal size after they practically bulged at the realization of what you said. “And I mean, I just happened to get here early so...I thought I might as well get settled in.”

Your professor cleared his throat, trying to hide his smile as he glanced down at his shoes for a moment then back up at you. “Well then.” He extended his arm, pointing towards the open door of the hall and stepped aside. “Please, after you.” 

You gave him a small smile in return along with a quiet thank you and stepped through the door. But before you could walk over to your seat, you felt him lean over behind you to talk lowly in your ear. He was standing a respectably close distance, but his presence was so overwhelming it was as though you felt him everywhere. His breath caressed the smooth skin of your cheek as he spoke. 

“I’m technically not allowed to have favorites, but I do appreciate that you enjoy having me as your professor, darling.” It shouldn’t have had such an effect on you, really, it shouldn’t have. But something about him referring to himself by his title really did something to you. You took a sharp inhale as you stood up straight, your whole body on high alert as you turned your head towards him, your eyes refusing to look at his and instead finding solace in the fabric of his navy blue button up––which he’d rolled up to his forearms. 

“And if it means anything, I rather do enjoy having you in my class as well.” You snuck a peek at him, lifting your gaze slowly and only caught a glimpse of his soft lips as he smiled before walking over to his desk. 

You felt your heart pounding in your chest as you walked up the steps to your usual spot in the middle row, near the aisle. Your legs felt like they were going to give out any minute, and the man hadn’t even touched you––well not in the way you wanted him to, anyway. But enough of that. 

You checked your phone again, trying to calm down your heartbeat as you took in a deep breath, 1:28. People started shuffling into the class, the overlapping sounds of chatter and laughter rupturing the energy the room had when it was just the two of you. At 1:32 Professor Holland started the class, getting everyone’s attention smoother than anyone should be able to. You could almost feel everyone’s eyes focusing on him, some weren’t even listening to him, they were just so entranced by how good he looked and the way he sounded––his accent was just so endearing, you had to admit it. 

The hour and a half went by rather quickly but today you were more aware of yourself, of Professor Holland––even more than usual. It seemed as though his eyes would travel to your direction more often, after he made jokes as if to see your reaction, or while he paused in his speeches. 

At the end of the class, despite there being dozens of other students moving around you, you felt as though your professor was watching you as you made your way out of the room. But it had to be your imagination, there was just no way. 

When you got back to your dorm, Liz still wasn’t back yet so you decided to take a shower and spend some time relaxing. You had already done your work for the next day and your other work for the rest of the week––well, you decided you’d do it later. 

You changed into sweats after your shower and hopped on your bed, deciding to switch between your apps for an hour or so––honestly you’d lost track of time. Liz strolled in soon after, closing the door with a loud groan, throwing her bag on the floor.

You smiled, looking up at her from your lying position on the bed. “Hello to you too.”

She grumbled in response, finally looking at you. When she noticed you were already wearing your pajamas she pointed to you, her brows raised. “Good idea!” She immediately went to her drawers and picked out a random pair of sweats and an oversized sweatshirt, changing with lightning speed for someone who was sluggishly groaning not even a minute before. 

She grabbed her phone and sat on her bed opposite yours, cross-legged, facing you. She looked at your face for a few seconds before squinting her eyes at you. “You have something to say. Spill.”

You rolled your eyes, a smile on your face. 

She looked at you pointedly, “Well go on.” 

So you told her about your encounter with the infamous brit today, how you bumped into him, what he said to you, the glances he sent your way. When you finished recounting everything you took a deep breath, “But––this could all just be in my head you know, just me overreacting.”

She stared at you with a dead expression. “Are you fucking dumb?”

“Hey!”

She ignored you, rolling her eyes while she tried not to laugh. “Dude he totally wants to fuck you.” She said nonchalantly.

Your eyes bulged, “W–What do you––What?” 

“Oh please, it’s so obvious.”

You opened your mouth but when nothing came out, you paused and looked down at the carpet. After a few moments you looked back up at her to find her with a knowing smirk on her face. “Are you serious?”

“Of course I am, when am I not?” When you were about to speak, she interrupted you. “Don’t answer that. But look, it seems like he’s into you. I think you should hit that.”

“But we––that’s not allowed!” You paused, “Is it?”

She laughed, “A ha! So you do want to!”

“Oh shut up, you already knew that. Everyone wants to, it’s not a big deal.”

She made a face, “Yes, but you’re the only one who actually has a chance at getting it.” 

You looked at her, a skeptical look on your face. “Even if that was true––he’s still my professor…”

She sighed, rolling her eyes. “Yeah but it’s not like it’s in the handbook or anything. Plus, you’re both legal adults, so. There you have it. You’re free to bone.”

“You did not just say that.”

“But I did.” She smiled, lying down in her bed. “You really could, though. Just don’t tell anybody.” When you didn’t say anything else, she spoke up. “Okay I’m gonna take a nap now. You have a lot to think about.” 

You ignored the last part and went back to your phone, “Yeah you do that.” 

Throughout the rest of the afternoon and night you couldn’t stop thinking about this whole situation. This was bad...Or was it? It seemed all too complicated, that was for sure. You weren’t even sure he looked at you or thought of you that way. 

You fell asleep playing all the pros and cons of hypothetically getting with him, your mind an endless loop of your professor, his voice, how he sounded when he practically whispered that he liked being your teacher. This was all too much.

❊❊❊❊

All of your senses were in overdrive. All you could feel were the hands tracing every curve of your body, playing you like a toy they’d made themselves. The tongue, teeth and lips following and leaving marks everywhere the hands traced. All you could hear was that sweet, rough voice telling you praises and calling you endearing names as your whole body shivered from the pleasure. Your eyes locked in on the ones staring up at you with pure hunger and awe as you ground yourself down on his cock.

“That’s it darling, just like that. You’re doing so good for me.” His lips curved into that oh so familiar smirk. “I taught you well, didn’t I?”

You woke up sweaty, your shirt sticking to your torso, a wet patch on your panties, your nipples pebbled in the cool air of your dorm room. A sex dream. Of course you had a fucking sex dream about him. Fuck. You were just lucky that your next class with him was on Thursday so you didn’t have to see him today. Because that would not help you at all. 

You checked the time on your phone, squinting at the brightness before turning it all the way down, 10am. You got out of bed with a groan and took your toiletries bag and your towel to the bathroom, deciding to take a shower this morning, instead of later on at night. Lord knows you certainly needed one. A cold one too.

You were frustrated, frustrated with yourself for feeling this way about your professor––sure, he was only a few years older than you, but it was the principle of the matter––frustrated that you were overthinking this entire thing, and most importantly you were annoyed because you were extremely horny. 

When you got into the bathroom, you locked the door and set your stuff down. You put your hands on both sides of the sink and looked at yourself in the mirror. Who are we and what happened? You sighed and grabbed your toothbrush, brushing your teeth quickly and aggressively, since everything seemed to be a hassle this morning. You’d hoped that once you hopped in the shower, you’d calm down. 

When you made your way inside, you sighed contently at the feeling of the warm water pattering against your skin, freshening you up immediately. Your nipples were still hard, between your legs still wet. So you brought a hand down between your thighs, the other to your breast as you stood under the water––almost as though the water was washing away the sinful act and thoughts right at the source. You laughed at the thought, nope, nothing can wash this away. 

You squeezed your breast and tugged at your nipple, rubbing your sensitive bud just the way you liked. You were still sensitive from...your dream, so it didn’t take long for everything to build up. You couldn’t help yourself, your mind brought back the remnants of last night that you remembered, the way his hands gripped you when he steadied you, the way his arms looked, and you came with a whimper that was louder than you would have liked. You bit your lip, closing your eyes and resting your head back on the tiles as the water continued to fall on you. 

When you came back to your dorm, Liz was on her way out but she stopped, raising her brows at you, “So have you come to a conclusion?”

You walked past her into the dorm, “Go to class, Liz.” You heard her cackle down the hallway as you closed the door. 

You got dressed casually, not rushing since there was nowhere for you to go and decided to go to the local cafe near the school. You needed to clear your head and get some work done, and you definitely would not get any of it done in your dorm. Not today, anyway. 

You checked the weather and seeing that it was a little warmer today, you put a sweatshirt on, grabbed your bag along with your phone and your laptop and you were on your way. The breeze felt refreshing this morning as you stepped out of your dorm. Your walk to the cafe was only ten or so minutes but it felt good. 

Stepping into the little shop, you were immediately hit by the aroma of coffee and sweets, surrounded by the sound of light chatter and utensils clattering on the wooden tables. The warm light above you brought a sense of comfort as you made your way over to the counter. The line was rather short so you managed to order your usual drink and snack quickly. As you were waiting for the cashier to hand you your things, your eyes scanned the shop––the ambience was rather nice and the talking almost felt like background noises. You wouldn’t mind staying here to work.

As you gathered your things, you turned around in search of a free table––which would be the deciding factor in whether or not you would stay, you did not want to awkwardly share the small table space with some stranger. You took a few steps into the seating area and almost choked on your breath when you made eye contact with the last person you wanted to see today. 

He smiled charmingly at you, teeth and all and quickly made his way over before you even had a chance to think of escaping. “Y/N!” He stood in front of you, his eyes bright. He was actually happy to see you? He was always happy to see everyone, it didn’t mean anything. 

His voice snapped you out of your annoyingly loud thoughts.  “Fancy seeing you here.” He nudged you playfully, “How are you?” He was wearing a very tight white button up that was unbuttoned until the third, showing a generous amount of his chest, a grey suit and pants, along with a messenger bag slung over his shoulder. It took you a few more seconds than it should have to process that there were actual words coming out of his mouth.  

You forced a smile onto your face but the more you looked into his eyes, the more genuine it became, almost impossible to wipe off. “I’m good. Was just grabbing breakfast before I start my work. You?”

He raised his cup, “Same as you. Have a bit of time before my next class.” 

You noticed that you couldn’t tell what exactly was in the cup and your curiosity got the better of you. You pointed to the cup clasped in his fingers, “Is that coffee?”

He furrowed his brows in mock offense, “I only drink tea, darling.” He leaned his upper body forward to whisper to you, his cheek almost touching yours, “I’d think you would know that about your favorite professor.” He tutted playfully as he stood up straight again, watching you, a look that you couldn’t quite pinpoint in his eyes as he watched you over his cup, taking a teasingly long sip. 

You looked up at him, your mouth slightly open, not a clue what to respond. When he pulled the cup away from his mouth he looked down at you, his gaze drifting down and you’d never felt more exposed, despite the fact that you were wearing two layers of clothing. “I like your sweatshirt.” He smiled, glancing down at it before looking directly into your eyes, his head lowered slightly.

Your eyes widened in surprise and your head snapped down to see your spiderman sweatshirt looking back at you boldly. Oh––Oh. You lifted your head back up to find him still smiling at you softly, he didn’t seem to be teasing you at all. “Um thanks.” You could feel your cheeks heating up, despite the cool air that swept your legs as someone opened the door to the cafe. “Are you uh–– a marvel fan?” 

He pursed his lips playfully, “Yeah,” his hand came up to rub the back of his neck, “Yeah you could say that.” He licked his lips and took another sip of his drink.

Your eyes, with a mind of their own, trailed down the column of his throat, following the vein on the side of his neck, the way his adams apple bobbed as he swallowed the warm liquid. The action almost seemed provocative, in both meanings of the term. 

Suddenly you felt very hot and you knew that you had to get out of there before you made a fool of yourself in front of everyone, but most importantly him. You perked up, “I uh––I have to go professor, but it was nice talking with you. See you tomorrow!” With that you quite literally ran off, wincing as you turned around, having noticed the way his lips parted as if to speak, a furrow between his brows appearing out of confusion and concern. You really had to get control of yourself. 

You practically berated yourself as you speed walked away. God, that was so stupid. And not to mention, incredibly rude! He’d probably be upset with you now, or maybe even mad. It’s just––unbelievable what he did to you, without even actually doing anything. It took you the entire walk there to realize that you unconsciously made your way back to your dorm––so much for the library. But you’d had enough social interaction for today, so you decided you’d stay there.

You got in your bed and buried yourself under the covers, deciding you needed the comfort of being hidden in your mattress after the embarrassment you’d just experienced. You lied there just staring at the plain, white ceiling for way too long until you let out a loud huff and sat up, before grabbing your computer to start your work. 

Deciding to check your college email before you started, since they were incessant and it was easy to miss something, you scanned down the list of messages in your inbox. Your eyes skimmed through the boxes on the left of your screen, notifications that your professors left feedback on your assignments, the weekly newsletter, club events, a message from Holland, Tom––

You shut your computer immediately, eyes bulging as you held your breath. You swallowed thickly, as you stared into nothing in front of you, your eyes barely taking in anything, your mind a big ball of fuzz. 

After taking a few deep breaths, and telling your overdramatic brain to calm down, you opened the laptop again. Biting your lip, you hovered your mouse over the message, reading over the small bits of information you could see in the preview.

Holland, Tom

Just checking in

Hi Y/N, I just wanted to make  …

You could feel your heart beating through your chest. Oh God––Wanted to make sure what?? The sensible part of your brain said to just open it to figure it out for yourself. But the irrational, idiotic part of your brain was yelling at you to not open it under any circumstance. What if he wanted to make sure you didn’t get the wrong idea? Did he know how you felt about him? Were you that obvious? Maybe he thinks you’re clinically insane and wants to make sure you’re getting the attention you need? You did run off like a crazy person, after all. 

You shut your eyes tight and groaned loudly into your hands. Liz walked in and whistled lowly, taking in everything in front of her. You looked up, confused and looked at the time, realizing it had already been two hours since you first left the dorm, meaning she was done with her classes for the day.

“What’s up?” She took a seat at her desk, propping her legs on the table as she leaned back.

You waved her off, deciding it would be best to let this blow over and ignore it for now. You’d go back when you were in the right state of mind. 

She started telling you about her day and annoyingly, your brain decided today would be the day that it would not shut off. Your brows were furrowed as you tried your best to focus on what your friend was saying, but she wasn’t even looking in your direction, staring up into the air above her as she spoke animated, hands waving around, so she didn’t even notice you struggling to pay attention. 

Your eyes kept flitting back to the screen of your computer, your fingers swiping across the trackpad to turn it back on when the screen’s brightness lowered every now and then. 

Liz looked back at you and stopped her spiel. “Alright what’s up with you?” 

You sighed deeply and looked up at her. “Sorry, sorry. I just––I saw Professor Holland today––”

“Already?” She interrupted you, a goofy smile on her face. “Damn, you work fast.”

You threw the nearest pillow at her, “Shut up! I didn’t fuck him.”

“You should’ve.” She pointed out, holding the pillow to her chest. 

You glared at her until she raised her hands in surrender, then continued, your eyes bouncing from object to object in the room as you babbled. 

“I went to the cafe and I saw him and he came over to me and we started talking––and he whispered in my ear and he was joking around with me and he sipped his tea and he was super close to me and super hot, and I couldn’t handle it so I basically ran off without giving him a chance to say bye.” You took a deep breath, “And then he sent me an email after I saw him and I still haven’t opened it because I’m scared and I don’t know what he said…” You took another breath and looked at your friend, blinking as she just stared at you.

After a moment, she spoke up. “Dude just open the email.”

Your eyes widened almost in offense. “Did you not listen to anything I just said?”

“Yeah you practically fucked in the cafe then you got scared and ran away.” She spoke nonchalantly and you could tell she was fighting off a smile. “Look, eventually you have to open the email anyway, you can’t just ignore it. So just do it and rip the bandaid off.” You were about to speak up when she interrupted you, “I promise it won’t be half as bad as you think. We both know your mind is absolutely filled with the craziest ideas.” 

You huffed and fell back down on the bed, not bothering to argue since you both knew she was right. 

“Shit, I’m starving.” She looked at the time, “Yeah it’s about time for me to eat food.” She stood up, “Come on, let’s go.”

“Can you please get something for me?” She knew you well enough that you didn’t have to tell her what to get. You gave her your best smile and shrugged your shoulders.

“Are you serious.” She looked at you, deadpan, standing like the little emoji of the woman standing in place with her arms at her sides. 

You had to suppress your smile, “What if I see him?” You asked incredulously, lying further in the covers. “I’d rather stay in here and hide, for now.”

“You have class with him tomorrow––”

“That’s why I said for now.”

She cracked a smile, rolling her eyes as she grabbed her things, “You’re ridiculous.”

“Love you!”

“Yeah yeah,” she waved her hand and walked out the door. 

A few moments passed after Liz left and you sat up yet again, putting your computer on your lap as you swiped the trackpad, making the screen light up again. You checked the time, it had been almost an hour since he sent the email, you really shouldn’t make him wait any longer. Not that he’s waiting at all, he probably didn’t even notice that you hadn’t responded.

You inhaled and exhaled slowly, swallowed your nerves and clicked on the email. 

Holland, Tom

Just checking in

Hi Y/N, 

I just wanted to make sure everything was alright. You seemed kind of stressed when you left earlier and I’m hoping it wasn’t because of anything I did. Can we check in tomorrow in my office? Hope everything is going well. 

Warmest Regards,

Professor Holland

He wanted to meet tomorrow after class. In his office. Alone. 

Oh, fuck. You could hear Liz in your head going Yes, fuck. But you quickly shoved her aside. 

You read over the email about five times to make sure you weren’t misinterpreting anything, because that would be even more embarrassing. You clicked the reply button and slowly wrote out your response.

Hi Professor Holland,

Everything is fine, but thank you for asking, I appreciate the concern. I’m free tomorrow after class if you’re available then.

Thank you!

Y/N

You hit send and not even two minutes later, you received a response. 

Hi Y/N,

Perfect! I’ll see you then :)

Warmly,

Professor Holland

How on earth were you supposed to focus on your work now? More importantly, how were you going to focus in class tomorrow?

❊❊❊❊

The next day, the butterflies in your stomach would not calm down. When you stepped into the class, he was talking to another student and you tried to sneak past to your seat unnoticed. You thought you’d succeeded but once you sat down and looked up, you made direct eye contact with him and you swear you stopped breathing. You barely even recognized the sound of everyone moving around you, getting ready for class to start. 

He parted his lips and reluctantly turned back to the student still talking to him, snapping out of his daze, but not after glancing back at you. You swallowed and sank down in your seat. This was going to be a long class. 

At 1:35, class started. Professor Holland stood up and clasped his hands, making his way to the middle of the floor in front of everybody, his voice reverberating through the room. 

“Good afternoon everybody. Hope you’re all doing well.” His eyes found yours and you bit your lip nervously. You could see him swallow as he watched you, before moving his gaze elsewhere. Was that because of you? Surely, it had to be a coincidence. Maybe you made him uncomfortable. Oh great––

He went on, seemingly unfazed, eyes darting back to you subtly before continuing. The discussion soon turned to the book you’d just been assigned to read. The book was rather lengthy but there were always so many things to talk about within only a few pages––which you loved, so it was taking you all a while to go through everything together in class. 

The conversations often took up a lot of the class time since Professor Holland simply loved talking and he always found everyone’s interpretations interesting and worth exploring––eager to hear our classmates perspectives. He also often said that he was not good at using technology, so he preferred to just talk and show rather than use his computer. Honestly, you found it endearing.

The conversations were always interesting to listen to, people never failed to give you insight on things you hadn’t even thought of before, but sometimes––some people were just a little stupid.

Someone brought up a slightly sexist point that made absolutely no sense but since you weren’t the one to call someone out in front of a room full of people, you stuck to your facial reactions instead of audibly responding. You turned back to the front of the class to see Professor Holland’s opinion to find that he was watching you, trying and failing to suppress his smile. 

He put both hands in his pockets which you found ironic considering they would jump out any time soon––he loved to talk with his hands. His eyes got serious, the smile on his face a little less friendly as he addressed the sophomore who made the comment. “I don’t know if you’re aware of how ludicrously sexist that comment you just made was, but now you know.” He turned to the rest of the class. “Remember to think before you speak. This isn’t to necessarily call anyone out. It’s a warning. Senseless remarks will not only affect my view of you, but your grades as well.” 

He went on and tried to shape the boy’s comment into something appropriate to discuss and you honestly couldn’t focus on anything else he said, you were just looking at him in awe and in shock. Sure, this was the bare minimum, but since it was so rare to see, it was very noticeable and even impressive when you noticed it.

God, you adored this man.

Near the end of class, he announced the next assignment, a paper you’d have to write about a comparison you made between any point in the story, a character, a theme, a hidden meaning, etc. and something in our modern reality, a social norm, a popular belief, etc. Your essays were always very open ended in this class, giving you room to write about almost anything you wanted to. Your professor knew that the assignments would be more enjoyable if there was some choice involved. He truly was good at his job. 

“Look, reading’s hard sometimes, I get it. I’m dyslexic, so trust me, I understand. But I never let that stop me.” He paused to look around the room and it was so silent you could hear each other’s inhales and exhales. The power he had over a room full of around one hundred people was insane, and in a weird way, also turned you on. “I know the book is massive. Listen to the audio books if you have to, I don’t mind. But get the work done either way. It’s not for me, it’s for you. I want you to get the best grade you can in this class.”

“Bring me interesting material. I don’t want to fall asleep reading your work.” He joked and smiled proudly when laughter filled the room. “The essay is due in two weeks. Good luck.”

There were a few thank you’s and goodbyes scattered around the room as he sent everyone off, people scurrying from all sides to the exits. 

You took your time gathering all your things and took a deep breath when the last few people made their way out, silence soon surrounding the both of you. You put your bag over your shoulder and walked down the carpeted steps, suddenly finding the dark grey pattern to be the most interesting things you’ve ever seen––and also watching your steps so that you don’t fall down them in front of him. You could barely hear the soft patter of your shoes as you walked down. When you finally got the main floor you looked up and saw him waiting for you patiently, things in his hands, a smile on his face. 

“Let’s go then, shall we?” You nodded shyly and he led the way, his office only a hallway away from the lecture hall. You found it slightly odd that he didn’t try to make conversation on your way there, since he always loved to. But you tried not to think too hard about it. Maybe he was just tired. 

When you reached his office, he opened the door and let you walk in first. Your eyes immediately scanned the room out of curiosity as you stepped inside, noticing his desk, the wood a dark mahogany which was covered with stacks of papers, picture frames, pens, and a few marvel funko pops––so he really was a fan. You’d never actually been inside of his office before. It was an intimidating thought for you to be in his office with him, alone. You just didn’t want to embarrass yourself. 

You turned to him and gestured to the chair across from his desk, “Do I just––”

“Please,” he interrupted eagerly. “Make yourself comfortable.” 

You took a seat and he set his things down next to his desk before sitting as well. His hair was coiffed to perfection today, curls sculpted nicely, a dark blue suit on his body with a black shirt underneath. He took off the suit jacket and put it on the back of his chair and you could see his veins and muscles bulging and shifting in his arms as he moved. He clasped his hands in front of him on the desk and wow he had nice fingers. You really had to get a grip on yourself––

“How was class today for you? Well, besides that one disappointing comment.”

You smiled, “I always enjoy the class, but yeah that was uh, disappointing as you said.

“I think your interpretations are always very insightful and very interesting. It’s almost a shame that you don’t share them with the whole class but part of me likes it that we keep them between us.” Oh? “Plus, I know how scary it can be talking in front of all those people. I almost shit myself first time I taught that class––”

You let out a surprised laughter and he couldn’t help laugh as well. 

“Shit, sorry! I mean––” He sighed, “Language, sorry. I’m British.” He shrugged, “Can’t help it.”

You shook your head, “It’s okay. Personally I think curse words spice up conversations.” You smiled proudly when he laughed at your joke. 

His smile radiated a more nervous energy after his laughter died off. “When you ran off yesterday, that wasn’t––was that because of me? Because if I did something to make you uncomfortable I’m so sorry.”

You tilted your head, trying to think of a way to explain. “No it wasn’t, well––it kind of was?” You had no idea why you would tell him this, but apparently your mouth was moving without agreeing with your mind first. 

There was almost a pout on his face and you had the sudden urge to reach over the table and smooth it out with your lips. “It’s just, well––You make me just a little bit nervous, to be honest professor.” You looked down at your lap and back up at him timidly.

He raised his brows, “Oh––”

Your smile was strained and you wanted nothing more than to be swallowed whole by the floor. 

“Well that’s not a bad thing, is it?” He looked at you almost, hopefully?

You laughed, “No trust me, it’s not.” Your eyes widened at the realization of what you’d basically just admitted to him and you didn’t know if you should feel embarrassed or relieved when the smirk appeared on his face.

But the words that he uttered next cleared that up for you. “Well, if I’m honest, you make me nervous too, darling. And definitely not in a bad way.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, almost teasing you with how good he looked.

You licked your lips, your mouth suddenly feeling dry, crossing your legs, your thighs squeezing together, and he definitely noticed, his eyes trailing down your body as he licked his lips as well. 

The tension in the room was so thick but you found that you didn’t want to escape it, if anything you wanted to carve your way through it, stay for as long as you could until it snapped. 

Your professor spread his legs, his hands coming down to rub at his thighs as he watched you and the sound of your heartbeat pounding filled your ears. It was almost as if there was an unseen force pulling the two of you together, but before it could there was a knock at the door. 

The both of your heads snapped to the door to find it opening slowly. Jacob, Tom’s teaching assistant popped his head in. You had talked to him a few times, he was always very nice. He didn’t attend every class, but you guessed that he would be attending the next one. “Hey man.” He turned to you and smiled, “Oh hi Y/N.” You waved and let out a small hi in response. He turned back to the professor. “Your next class is starting like––” He looked at his watch. “Now.” 

“Shit, sorry man. Lost track of time.” He got up and you did too, smiling sheepishly as you grabbed your things, getting up from your seat. “I’ll be right there.” Jacob nodded and closed the door.

You both made your way over to the exit slowly, still reeling from what maybe could have happened and what you both obviously thought of. The silence was loud around you, but it wasn’t scary this time. 

“Let me know if you need any help with the upcoming assignment, alright? Don’t be afraid to stop by if you need to.” His gaze dropped down to your lips for a split second before reaching your eyes again. “For anything.” He looked at you with an expression you couldn’t describe but quickly tried to mask it with a smile as he opened the door for you, his eyes practically holding yours captive. 

“Thank you, professor. I will.” 

You stepped out and he watched you for a few moments before closing the door. You looked back, smiling as you caught his eye and as soon as he stepped back in the office, you practically ran out of the building and to your dorm, a stupid grin on your face. 

“Holy shit.”

❊❊❊❊

When you practically burst into your dorm room, scaring Liz half to death before you told her what happened, let’s just say she wasn’t surprised in the slightest.

“I fucking told you!” She flopped onto her bed, still staring at you pointedly as she did so, a smirk on her face. She pointed at you before dropping her hand down dramatically by her side. “You like, owe me a soda now or something.” 

You rolled your eyes but you were so giddy the smile still hadn’t dropped from your face. “Well I do owe you for getting me lunch yesterday, so maybe I will buy you one.”

❊❊❊❊

Over the weekend, you started working on the essay for British Literature and you were already about halfway done since the topic you chose actually interested you. But you found yourself questioning if you were writing it properly as you went on. You weren’t sure if it was because you wanted it to be near perfect since you’d found out he paid extra attention to you, or maybe you just wanted to talk to him again––you’d never know. 

After discussing with Liz, you decided you’d stop by his office on Monday afternoon once you were done with your classes. You knew he liked to stay in his office until late at night sometimes, he always said we could stop by whenever, if we needed something. So you decided to take advantage of that, shoving down your anxious thoughts and doing what you wanted. 

Liz may or may not have convinced you to wear a shirt that was––aesthetically pleasing, to put it, specifically in the chest area so you were more than eager to see your professor’s reaction. You were a little nervous, you didn’t want it to seem like you were trying too hard, but you thought you looked good in this shirt, and you had a right to feel good about yourself. Since it was a little chilly outside, you hid it under a sweatshirt for now.

You got to his office and found yourself staring at the dark wood, hesitating to knock on. After taking a deep breath you rapped your knuckles against the door. 

You heard a faint Come in! And you took a deep breath and opened the door slowly to find him sitting at his desk, “Hi Professor Holland.” He was finishing some notes on a student’s essay but his head snapped up immediately at the sound of your voice.

He dropped his pen and sat up, “Please,” he motioned to the seat across from his desk and you smiled gratefully before settling down. “What can I do for you? Everything alright?”

His eyes looked sincere and concerned and you could feel your insides melting a little bit. 

“I just––I really want to do well on this essay,” He nodded for you to continue, “But I’m just not sure if I’m going in the right direction.”

 He nodded understandingly, “Well let’s have a look, shall we?”

You reached down to grab your things when he stood up and walked past you, your eyes following him in confusion. He gestured to the couch, a somewhat impish smile on his face. “Just thought it would be more comfortable––and easier for us to look together, of course.”

You nodded, a small smile on your face as you picked up your bag and sat next to him on the couch. “Right, of course.” It was a loveseat so there wasn’t much room for either of you to distance yourselves.

You got out your computer and opened up the essay. You had already opened it before you got there, not wanting to have to awkwardly wait for it to load. Yes, you overthought things but––it helped sometimes. “I see you came prepared,” he joked and you couldn’t help but smile. He really did notice everything, didn’t he.

“Well I’m really confident about the topic of my essay, I think it’s interesting. But I feel like I may be adding too much into the paper, and I’m not sure if I’m overthinking things or if I should take some things out.” 

“I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think. I meant it when I said I appreciate having you in my class, you know. I always love reading your work. You write well.” 

“Thank you, professor.” Though you saw his eyes darken at the title, he commented on it.

“You can call me Tom when we’re alone, darling. No need for formalities.”

“But I like calling you professor––” Your hand shot up to cover your mouth and you spoke before he could, ignoring his smile, “I mean um. Tom––Okay I can try that.”

His tongue passed under his teeth, a devilish smirk on his face as he watched you squirm under his gaze. “No you know, now I think professor is growing on me.”

You pursed your lips, rolling your eyes. “Prof––Tom.”

He raised his hands in surrender, “Alright alright.” 

“Why don’t you read it to me? It’s easier to see where you can improve when you hear it out loud.”

You swallowed nervously, nodding your head as you brought your laptop closer to you. “O––Okay.”

You started reading your paper out loud, voice becoming slightly steadier as you went on, two fingers scrolling up the trackpad. He made comments as you read, only praise––and with each compliment you felt yourself getting hotter. Very good. Always write so well. Nice point there. Mhm. Good girl, that’s an excellent point. He shifted his way closer to you gradually as you read on and when his thigh touched yours, you had to tell yourself not to jump from the contact.  

He placed his arm on the back of the couch, basically around your shoulder and you had to smush down the urge to throw your computer and climb into his lap. His thighs did look very inviting with the way he was sitting, though. 

He moved closer to you and you could feel his breath cascading down over your shoulder as he brought his hand to the trackpad, his arm over your thigh, fingers scrolling through to where he had a few suggestions. 

When he finished his few remarks, you could hear the proud smile in his voice. “See, I knew it wouldn’t be as bad as you thought. You’re a good writer...” He paused and you turned your head slightly to find his lips mere inches from yours, his eyes trained on your mouth. His words were barely a whisper when he spoke up again, “A good student.” You both leaned in slowly and his hand came up to hold your cheek lightly. “Bet you’d be a good girl for me too.” 

You gasped lightly and leaned forward, giving in and finally pressing your lips to his, both your hands grabbing his jaw. He moaned immediately, his body pressing into yours as you twisted to face him, his other hand coming around your waist to pull you in. You felt your laptop slipping off your thighs and squeaked, making the both of you laugh and pull away, flustered. 

“Careful, love.” Tom grabbed the computer and put it down on the floor gently, confirming that you saved your work before pushing the lid closed. 

The air in the room was hot, thanks to Tom in general, but also thanks to what you just did. So you pulled away and couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Tom’s pout when he thought you were getting up to leave. Since there wasn’t much space on the couch, you stood up to take your hoodie off and you heard his breath hitch when his eyes fell upon the shirt you were wearing. “Christ-”

“Now what’s this?” Tom said almost to himself, his eyes staring at you in wonder and awe. “Never seen this little number before.” He noticed the clothes you wore? His hands were already aching to feel you again, reaching out for you subconsciously and you bit your lip to calm your smile as you sat back down, letting your sweater fall to the floor softly. 

“What, this old thing?” You joked, looking down at the shirt––yeah, you looked good. “You like it?” You looked up at him, a cheekily innocent look in your eyes.

He put his hands around your waist and pulled you into his lap, enjoying the gasp it elicited from you. You put your hands gingerly on his shoulders and the way he was looking up at you made you never want to leave this position ever again. You tilted your head and licked your lips and Tom couldn’t take it anymore, he kissed you again, hands gripping you firmly, anchoring you to him. He pulled away after a good while, wanting to look at you again, his lips parted, practically panting like an animal. You really had an effect on him, but he did the same to you. 

His eyes were taking you in, basically capturing a mental image for later. “God, you look heavenly, darling.” You squirmed in his lap and bit your lip when you felt a bulge growing underneath you. He leaned forward and left a trail of kisses on the tops of your breasts, leaving a few teasing nips and sucks here and there. You squealed, your hands coming up to run your fingers through his hair. You pulled his head up by his hair and the look in his eyes looked absolutely feral––like he wanted to eat you. 

You were about to lean in and kiss him again when a knock at the door surprised the both of you. You both jumped off of the couch as Tom threw out excuses. “Yeah just a second!” You straightened out your shirt as Tom did the same to his pants and you picked up your things. 

When he saw that you were settled, he took a deep breath and answered the door. His colleague and best friend Professor Osterfield, was standing there, a grin on his face. “You div, are you ever going to be on time for our monthly meetings?––” He stood up straight when he noticed you standing behind Tom. “Oh, I didn’t know you had company.” He looked between the two of you and it seemed as though he pieced everything together. Maybe Tom had told him about you? If he did, you wouldn’t be worried Tom didn’t seem like the type to tell unreliable people his business––and they were best friends after all.

You smiled at him in acknowledgement as moved aside to let you pass. “Sorry,” you looked between the both of them, “I’ll let you get to whatever you have to go to.” You looked at Tom once you were out of his office, “Thank you for the feedback, professor.”

You could see him fighting off his smirk before he replied, “Of course.” His stare was impenetrable as he looked at you, “Feel free to come by whenever.” You could see the hidden meaning in his words and let the hint of a smile show, before nodding and walking off.

Harrison looked at him, a pitiful smile on his face. “I hope you know what you’re doing, mate. You should be careful, for the both of you.”

Tom sighed, not wanting to have this conversation. “I know, man. Let’s go.” 

❊❊❊❊

You found yourself missing Tom as soon as you left. God, this was kind of pathetic. But at least your feelings weren’t necessarily one sided––he did say you made him nervous too after all. You doubt he’d say that if he just wanted to fuck you––he was better than most men. And sure you might be a little biased, but at the end of the day he had a good heart and he was educated. So bonus. 

When you stepped into your dorm, your roommate was sitting on her bed, snacks in hand as she looked at you expectantly. “Now these,” she gestured to the food on her bed, “are either for a story time, to rebuild your energy or both.” 

You laughed and changed into your pajamas, starting to tell your best friend about everything that just happened. She often interrupted with her reactions and comments.

Oh. My. God.

Shut. Up.

You’re fucking lying! 

“But we didn’t fuck.”

“Boo––”

“Yes, boo.” You laughed, “Professor Osterfield knocked at the door and dragged him off to a meeting so.” You shrugged.

“Professor Osterfield...is that the hot blond one?” You nodded and she continued expressing her feelings for the man. “I’d let him teach me a few things––”

“Literally bye.”

She laughed, “What? Come on have you seen him––”

“I’m a little preoccupied with another professor to be honest.”

She nodded, handing you a bag of chips as you settled in your bed. “True. And oh how lucky you are.” You smiled in agreement. 

❊❊❊❊

Today was the day the essay was due and though you normally handed it in at the beginning of class, for once, you didn’t and you could feel Tom’s gaze following you as you walked up the steps to your seat without so much as a glance in his direction. You’d stopped by his office a few times over the past two weeks since Harrison interrupted you, but you never did anything more than kissing and grinding. You were both too scared of getting caught, but that doesn’t mean you hadn’t thought about doing more in there.  

Tom liked to have physical copies of the essays, just in case technology decides it’s against him (his words), so everyone had until 8pm tonight to drop it off by his office. You were definitely going to use that to your advantage. 

You didn’t wear anything provocative to class, you didn’t really want that kind of attention today, plus you knew that Tom’s interest in you wasn’t solely based on your appearance. So you put the revealing items on under your clothing. And honestly, the thought that no one knew what you were wearing underneath it all only excited you even further. 

You crossed your legs, relieving your tension and biting your lip as class went on, enjoying how flustered Tom would be every time he looked at you. You felt so submissive when you were alone with him, but when you were in public like this? Free to tease him subtly from a distance? That’s where you had all the power. 

You had him blushing and stuttering throughout the whole class, though it wouldn’t have been easy for everyone else to notice, for you it was so obvious. He kept rubbing his hands together, pacing around as his eyes darted to you every few minutes. At one point he went over to sit down at his desk, which he rarely did while teaching––and you were fairly certain it was to hide a bulge in his pants. All thanks to you. 

In the middle of the class, you felt your phone vibrate in your bag and pulled it out just to see if it was an emergency. You were pleasantly surprised and could feel your whole body react when you noticed who the message was from.

Tom: Having fun, are you?

Your eyes shot up to the front of the room and you bit your lip to contain your smile when you noticed him glaring at you.

Y/N: I always have fun in this class, professor ;)

You put your phone away afterwards and focused on the class, knowing it was killing Tom that you weren’t giving him more attention. Your heart was racing and your panties had a wet patch by the time class was over. You had a feeling he was going to try to keep you after class, so you hurried up and gathered your things, sighing in relief when a few students went up to his desk to talk to him. 

You smirked to yourself and headed straight for the door, your head high on your shoulders. But just as you were about two feet from the exit, Tom spoke up. 

“I assume I’ll be seeing you later, Miss Y/L/N?”

You turned around, eyes slightly widening as you noticed him, the group of students near him.

He smirked slyly, “To turn in your paper, remember?” His eyes were giving you a knowing look.

You swallowed, nodding as you smiled at him innocently. “Of course, professor.” You enjoyed the way his eyes darkened only slightly, only noticeable to you. “See you then.” With that you walked out.

❊❊❊❊

You practically skipped to his office at around 7:45, before knocking at the door, four knocks in a specific pattern––the code you’d made together. 

“Come in, darling!”

You walked in and quickly shut the door, a chuckle escaping you. “You know someone could hear you from the outside one day, right?”

He shrugged, “I’ll just blame it on my accent. Could call everyone darling, they don’t know any better.”

You laughed. “Okay well––Professor Holland,” you said, loving the way he looked at you when you uttered his title. “I brought this for you.” You took out the printed essay and placed it on his desk.

He pushed his chair out, his eyes following your every move as he spread his legs. “Oh is that right?” 

You took the invitation and took your reserved seat in his lap, linking your arms around his neck as you looked down at him. “Mhm, still want a good grade in this class you know. You are my favorite professor after all.”

He smirked smugly, licking his lips. “And you,” he kissed your lips before pulling away briefly, “Are my favorite girl.” He brought his hands up your back and pulled you into him as he kissed you again. This time, longer and deeper, wanting to feel you as much as possible. “Teased me so much in class today.” You smiled into the kiss and he continued, “Almost wanted to take you over my knee right there in front of everyone.” 

You moaned audibly and he brought his hand up to your neck, gripping you softly but firmly, giving you room to pull away if you didn’t approve. When you leaned further into his grip, he grinned and pulled you closer. You started grinding down on him, basking in the desperate groans and sighs you were coaxing out of him, the way his movements became more frantic as he bucked into you. 

After debating with yourself in your head for a moment––struggling to think properly with his hands all over you, you got off of his lap and smiled at the small whines of protest he let out before reaching for his belt. You made eye contact with him and noticed how wide his eyes were, hopeful, hungry, but hesitant. 

His hands reached for yours, “You don’t have to, darling. If anything I should be doing this first. God knows I’ve thought about it.”

You pouted, trying your best to ignore his words and focus on the task at hand. “But I want to,” you kissed his cheek, “I wanna make you feel good, professor.” He nodded, barely able to speak.

“Yeah? You wanna be a good girl for me?” 

You nodded eagerly, licking your lips as he pulled himself out of his trousers. “More than anything. Wanna make up for earlier.” You got down on your knees, mouth practically salivating at the way his member stood tall against his abdomen, his tip leaking with precum. 

Your hand wrapped around him just as a knock sounded at the door. Professor?

The both of your eyes widened, the both of you looking around for some sort of answer before he ushered you under the desk, tucking himself back in hastily, pulling his chair as much as he could and sitting at the edge, hiding his unbuttoned and unbuckled pants. Luckily for the both of you, the back of the desk reached the floor, so whoever it was wouldn’t be able to see you hiding underneath. “Uh––Come in!”

The person walked in and you recognized the sound of her voice, she often spoke up in the lectures. You couldn’t remember her name, though. You do, however, remember that she often spoke up only to get Tom’s attention. You’d heard her gush about him in the halls just outside his class in the hopes of him hearing her. You couldn’t blame her, but the thought still irked you. “I just wanted to give you my paper. I hope it’s not too late.” 

Tom checked the time on his watch, 7:58. “Nope,” he laughed breathlessly, trying to compose himself, “Not too late at all, in fact just in time.” 

She handed her paper to Tom and he gave her a tight-lipped smile, trying his best not to think about the fact that your hands were trailing up his thighs and that he could feel your warm breath hitting the exposed part of his member––he really hadn’t payed attention when he tucked himself back in. 

Before he could send the girl who’s name you still hadn’t remembered off, she took a seat across from him and he swallowed nervously, a little frustrated since he was so close to getting his cock in his girl’s mouth. 

It seemed that you somehow read his thoughts because as soon as the girl kept talking for another two minutes, you pulled his member out and stroked him, licking up his shaft and he tensed, taking every ounce of self control he had not to look down at you. His hand reached down and held your cheek gently, just wanting to feel you. You nuzzled into his palm and he had to bite his lip to suppress his smile, not wanting the student across from him to think his endearing expression was meant for her. 

You honestly completely tuned out all the words she was saying, your sole focus pleasuring Tom. But you didn’t miss the flirty and falsely innocent tone in her voice. You couldn’t see her but she was no doubt batting her eyelashes at him as well. 

When she made a comment about how good his shirt looked on him, you couldn’t help yourself, you sucked his tip into your mouth with no warning, making him groan unexpectedly. You paused, eyes wide and playful as your mouth stayed around him.

“Are you okay professor?” 

He let out a strained smile, “Yes, Emma, Sorry––” So her name was Emma. “I just uh banged my knee on the desk.”

She hummed a small okay and went on.

He caught your eye, trying his best to keep his expression neutral, but boy was it hard. Especially when you were looking up at him like that, with his cock in your mouth. You licked around his tip and lowered your mouth around him and he had to force himself to focus on the girl who was still talking to him.

You were not playing fair but quite frankly you didn’t care. You were making him feel good and yourself too. Your hand was pumping him, your tongue swirling around him as quietly as you could, while your other hand found its place between your thighs. 

In the middle of Emma’s speech, Tom’s eyes drifted down and widened, his breath getting caught in his throat when he noticed your other hand, moving between your legs. He stuttered out an excuse, unable to tear his eyes away from you for a moment, “Uh, Emma I’m so sorry––I just have so much work to do, but feel free to come back––” he paused to swallow when you sucked harder around him in reaction to his invitation. “Come back next week if you have any problems or anything else you’d like to discuss.”

She hesitantly but respectfully said goodbye and was on her way, closing the door behind her.

Tom’s hands immediately shot down to hold your head, his mouth dropped open as he watched you, approaching his high. “Shit, that’s it darling that’s it. So fucking good for me.”

“I’m gonna cum––” he warned. You simply hummed around him and sped up your movements, feeling yourself clench as he panted, his hips bucking slightly as he came into your mouth. You unfortunately weren’t able to cum but you were sure there’d be other chances. You popped off of him and swallowed his load before licking up his length teasingly slow. “Fuck, such a good girl.”

He pulled his chair out and brought you up to stand between his legs, tiling his head to look up at you, his hands rubbing up and down the backs of your thighs absentmindedly. “Was someone a little jealous?”

You shrugged, trying to act nonchalant but failing to fix your annoyed facial expression. “Maybe.”

He tucked himself back into his pants and stood up, chuckling as he squeezed your cheek. “I’m yours.” He pecked your lips, before looking in your eyes, “And I’m most definitely repaying the favor when we get home. I mean––if you want to, of course.” Home. 

You couldn’t help but smile, “Yeah––Okay.” 

You’d never been to Tom’s house before so this felt like sort of a big deal to you, but you were going to try and calm your racing thoughts and heart. You and Tom agreed that you would go around the corner of the building for him to pick you up in his car, not wanting to risk anyone seeing you.

As soon as you were settled in, seatbelt on, Tom drove off and honestly the thrill of having to hide was exciting to the both of you. His hand was gripping your thigh throughout the whole drive and you could tell it was meant as a reminder that he was there for you, but also that he could barely contain himself. 

Seeing Tom drive you, the flashing street lights illuminating his face, highlighting his jawline, his hand gripping your thigh––this was a sight you knew you wanted to see more. The intimacy of it all made you warm inside and the feeling of Tom’s fingertips digging into your skin only riled you up further.

You leaned over to kiss his cheek and he smiled at the feeling of your soft lips drifting over his skin. “Darling––” His words were cut off by a harsh moan when you trailed your lips down to his sweet spot, the noise almost too loud for the quiet, tense air in the car.

You teased, licked and bit at his skin, not afraid to leave marks. It was Friday now, if anyone saw them on Monday, they would just assume he’d had an eventful weekend. Honestly, the thought that no one would know that you were the one who left those marks excited you––it would be a secret between you and Tom, a thing for the two of you to share on your own.

Tom’s hands were now gripping the wheel and your thigh with force, trying to get his bearings. “You’re being very naughty today, love. Can’t say that I don’t love it though.”

You smiled sinfully into his neck, continuing your actions. Your hand slid over his thigh teasingly slow to rest on his bulge, fingers squeezing ever so softly and he practically jolted in his seat. “Christ––love unless you want me to crash this car I suggest you stop.”

You pulled away, satisfied with how much you’d riled him up. He almost whined at the loss of contact, subconsciously upset that you’d actually stopped. But as your hand reached back down to find its place between your thighs, his tone shifted. 

“Don’t you dare touch what’s mine. That’s my job.”

You actually felt a shiver pass through your body and you squeezed your thighs together at the sound of his dominant voice, excited for what was to come.

When you made it to his apartment, you barely had time to take in the scenery and take off your shoes and jackets before he dragged you to his room. But from what you saw, the decor was simple but elegant, much like Tom. His bedroom was the same, but again, you weren’t too focused on it.

He turned on the dim light in his room, wanting to be able to see you as he pleased you. He stepped closer to you and placed his hands on your waist, looking deep into your eyes. “You still want this?” 

You nodded absolutely certain. “Want you to take me.”

His pupils dilated and he pulled your shirt up and over your head, licking his lips, eyes widening when he noticed what you were wearing and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Christ, were you wearing this all day?” 

You nodded again. “The underwear’s matching too. Wanna see?”

He got down on his knees, a teasing but desperate tone to his voice. “You’re a smart girl, don’t ask stupid questions.” He unbuttoned your pants and pulled them down along with your socks, mouth dropping open as he got to see the full set. 

You ran your hands up and down your body teasingly as he stood up. “Do you like it?”

He shook his head, smiling in disbelief, “Again with the silly questions, love.” He leaned in to kiss you, pulling away to take off his clothes. “You look like a goddess, darling.” You could feel your skin heating up from his words and his stare. He pulled you in for another kiss before bringing you onto the bed.

You lied down in the middle and spread your legs, waiting for him eagerly as he lied down between them. “Can’t fucking wait to taste you, love.” 

He pulled your panties over to the side and licked into you, his tongue softly swiping through your folds. His eyes rolled back as he moaned into you, “Taste just as perfect as you look.” He slid his hands around your thighs and pulled you in closer, smiling at the small squeak you let out.

His tongue was exploring you, finding all the spots and all the tricks that made your toes curl and your breath hitch. He was keeping this all to memory, memorizing the way you feel, the way you look. When your breaths quickened and your fingers tugged at his curls, he locked his arm around your stomach, slid one, then two fingers inside of you and sped up his movements, moving his head from side to side as he hummed onto your clit. 

Your body tensed and you held onto him for dear life as the knot in your stomach gave out, the pleasure spreading all throughout your body. Your mouth dropped open in ecstasy, your neck craning back and Tom couldn’t look away from you. You looked like a painting and he wanted to commit it to memory. 

He let go of you and kissed his way up your body, soothing you with his lips. Your legs were still twitching slightly, your stomach clenching and unclenching when his kisses reached your cheek. “Look so pretty when you come for me.” He kissed along your jaw, “Can’t believe you’ve deprived me of such a beautiful sight for so long.” He kissed your lips and tugged your bottom one between his teeth, before looking at you, eyes wide, “You gonna give me the privilege of seeing it again?” 

You smiled, your hands coming up to hold his cheeks. “You can see it whenever you want. As long as you’re the one making it happen.” You pulled him to you and kissed him, the both of you moaning into the small gaps between your mouths. 

He started to pull away but you whined and pulled him back making him smile. “I’ve gotta get a condom, love.”

He tried to get up again but you pulled him back down, “M’on the pill Tommy.” You looked up at him, pouting and he almost gasped––the effect you had on him was insane. “Just fuck me please.”

He didn’t need anymore convincing, grabbing a hold of his cock and swiping it through your folds, groaning out loud at how good your wetness felt. You bucked your hips and realizing you were getting desperate, he finally slid into you and all your senses immediately tuned into him. 

Just like your dream––All of your senses were in overdrive. All you could feel were the hands tracing every curve of your body, playing you like a toy they’d made themselves. All you could hear was that sweet, rough voice telling you praises and calling you endearing names as your whole body shivered from the pleasure. 

His eyes were watching your face, taking you in as he thrusted into you, making sure you were enjoying everything he was giving you. You felt absolutely amazing and so did he. “So perfect for me, darling. That’s it.” He bit his lip and sped up, making your jaw drop as you stared into his eyes, completely open and vulnerable to him. His touch was tantalizing, even better than your fantasies which only meant you’d become more addicted to him and what he could do to you.

He grunted, angling his hips when he found your spot, hitting it over and over, bringing his hand down to play with your clit. “Told you I wanted to see you cum again, pretty girl. So you’re gonna cum then I’m gonna fill you up. That sound okay?”

You nodded eagerly, eyes watching his every move as your hands gripped his arms, your thighs burning invitingly as they stretched around him with every thrust. Then you uttered that one word that always had him almost inappropriately weak for you. “Want to be full of you, professor.”

His jaw slacked and he paused for a slight moment before picking up his pace, faster than before, hips chasing after both your highs, fingers still rubbing you just the way he learned, just the way you liked. “Fuck-–”

A few more thrusts and flicks of his wrist and you were tensing under him, your pussy clenching around him as he let out broken curses and moans, losing his rhythm and releasing into you with a groan. 

He rested some of his weight on you for a moment, the both of you smiling and laughing breathlessly as you took in the moment. Your hands came up to play with his curls and he sighed, leaning into your touch. He lowered his head into the crook of your neck and left a few soft kisses, coaxing some sighs from you as well.  

After a moment, he rolled over and took you with him, making you nuzzle further into him, his arm wrapped around you, your leg slung over his waist. His hand was rubbing up to your ass and down to your thigh, lulling you to sleep while simultaneously riling you up again. 

He kissed your forehead and you kissed his chest in response. “That was fucking amazing, love.”

You nodded and hummed in agreement, “Even better than my dreams.”

He pulled back to look at you, you could hear his heartbeat quicken and you tried to hide your face in his chest. “You had dreams about this too?”

That made you lift your head up to look at him. You could see in his eyes that he wasn’t joking but you were still slightly shocked. “Too?”

He smiled, licking his lips, “Well maybe we should discuss them, and try them out for ourselves.” His hand found its way between your legs again, making you moan but that didn’t stop you from responding.

You nodded, “For research purposes, of course.”

“Of course.” He grinned, “See, I knew I taught you well.” He leaned in to kiss you deeply, “My girl’s the perfect student.” 

You spent hours exploring each other's bodies as you reenacted your dreams, both exceeding each other's expectations every time. By the time you fell asleep in each other's arms, it was late at night and you were sweaty, and tired, but overwhelmingly pleased.

❊❊❊❊

The next Friday, it was halloween. Liz had somehow convinced you to go to a halloween party with her. On top of that it was a frat party. And even worse, you dressed up as a school girl because it was all last minute and you didn’t have any time to get a costume. 

“Oh come on Y/N, you look hot!”

You turned in the full length mirror to look at your ass that was almost visible in this mini skirt. “You think so?”

“Duh.”

And that’s all the convincing you needed to go out. You needed a little college fun. You hadn’t been to a party in who knows how long because you were always focusing on your work. You deserved this. Also Liz said it was a celebration of your “lay”, yes, she said lay. 

“I’m just saying you cannot let me get with him again.”

“Liz it’s literally his frat house that we’re going to and we both know you have little to no self control.”

“Well damn. You couldn’t have sugar coated it?”

“What, you want me to throw a packet of splenda on you?” You joked.

She shoved you, “Dude shut up,” she laughed.

You looked down at your bare thighs that were only partly covered by your thigh high socks and rubbed your arms, regretting not bringing a jacket when Liz spoke up again. “Oh shit, is that Professor Holland?”

Your eyes shot up and made direct eye contact with him. He was wearing a hoodie and some sweats but he still looked great as usual. His eyes trailed down your body and soon your shivers were no longer because of the cold. 

“I’ll just wait here.” Liz said suggestively and you walked over to Tom. 

“H–Hi.”

He put his hands in his pockets to stop himself from reaching out to touch you, he didn’t know who was around. “Well hello to you too.” He looked into your eyes, a smirk on his face. You rubbed your arms quickly for warmth, and Tom had to control himself to not look at your chest, even though he could see your nipples hardening from the weather through your shirt. He wanted nothing more than to hold you in his arms and take you home. 

“Any plans?” You asked.

“No, I'm just about to go home. I’m uh guessing you have somewhere to be?” His eyes traced your figure again.

“Yeah um me and Liz are going to a frat party.” You pointed back to your friend and gave him a small smile and shrug. “She convinced me.”

He wanted to kiss you so bad but he had to restrain himself.

“Be safe tonight, yeah?” His eyes were comforting, as they always were, but this felt almost more personal? Almost like he didn’t want you to go. And honestly, after seeing him, you almost didn’t want to either. You never defined your relationship with him, so honestly right now he was like a friend with benefits––professor with benefits, if you will. 

You nodded, licking your lips nervously. “O––Okay. I will. You be safe too!”

His eyes followed you as you walked off, your friend pulling you along, obviously whispering to you, probably about him. You looked so fucking good and everyone else was going to see that too. It’s not like he owned you or anything, but part of him really wished he could claim you, openly care for you and be affectionate. His thoughts were a mix of wholesome and raunchy and he had no idea how to act.

He almost felt wrong but he couldn’t get the thoughts out of his mind, the way you looked up at him sheepishly, the innocent look in your eyes while you were wearing that mini skirt. His cock was bulging in his boxers ever since he first laid eyes on you. When he got home, he made his way to his bed, undressing almost immediately. Lying down in the middle of the bed, just where you were days before brought a flood of memories into his mind, only making his member throb even more. He tugged at his cock, spitting in his hand to make it slick.

Images of you were flashing in his mind as he sped up his movements, desperate for a release. 

He was dying to get a taste of you again. The memory of the way you felt under his fingertips, the way your muscles clenched when he hit the right spots. The way you tasted when you were dripping onto his tongue. The way you looked at him when you came, your lips parted to release broken moans and whimpers. The way your fingers gripped his curls as your body tensed. It was all enough to make him spill over his hand, his breaths coming out in quick pants as his head dropped back onto the pillow.

“Fuck.” He really had it bad for you. 

❊❊❊❊

Tom had texted you during class on Tuesday to meet him in his office when you were done with classes for the day. When you stepped into the room, he locked the door immediately, bringing you over to his desk, his lips chasing yours. Screw worrying about people hearing you, he wanted you. Now. 

“God, just seeing you in that tight little costume––you have no idea how badly I wanted to ravish you. The thought of all those dumb frat boys seeing you in all your glory like that––I was absolutely beside myself.” So that’s what this was about. His hand came up to hold your cheek, his eyes fiercely staring into yours and you nuzzled into his touch, your hand holding his wrist softly and his eyes softened at the sight of you.

“I’m gonna absolutely devour you.” You gasped and he smiled, pulling your pants along with panties down. He sat you down on his desk and got down on his knees, licking his lips. “As soon as I got a taste of you, I knew I wouldn’t be able to go without it ever again.” He kissed your thigh, looking up at you. “You gonna let me have a taste again? Wanna make you feel good, lovie.”

You nodded, swallowing roughly, “Y––Yeah. Yes please.”

He chuckled breathlessly, “Such a polite little thing you are.” He kissed his way from your inner thigh to your center before licking a torturously slow stripe from your hole to your clit. You let out a sigh and gripped the desk, your fingertips becoming lighter at how hard you were already holding it.

His hands held your thighs open, putting them over his shoulders, holding you in place. His tongue was languidly licking you up and down, savoring your taste and your moans, coaxing them out of you one by one, nonstop. He looked up at you and your breath got caught in your throat, the look in his eyes fierce, almost as if he could see your bare soul and he clearly liked what he saw. He brought his lips to close around your heat after every other swipe of his tongue, passionately kissing your heat. 

“So fucking good, angel. Always the best for me.”

You nodded, licking your lips, one of your hands coming to grab at his curls, making him growl into you. “Only for you, Tommy.”

He didn’t stop his tongue or his lips until you came, your back arching, fingers frantically grabbing for whatever you could hold, lip trapped between your teeth to muffle the moans that so desperately wanted to escape into the quiet air of the room. He kept going until you had to pull his head away from you, overwhelmed by all the pleasure and scared that you would scream and alert everyone in the building about what you were up to.

His hands were caressing your thighs, eyes looking at you in awe, almost too innocently for what you’d just done. He stood up between your legs and leaned in to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue and his lips. 

He pulled away to look at you, hands holding your hips as your legs wrapped around his waist. You brought your arms up to link around his neck, looking up at him appreciatively and absolutely spent. “So do you think I should wear school girl outfits more often?”

He laughed, his hands holding you tighter, “If you do, my head is never leaving between your thighs.”

You smiled cheekily, batting your lashes at him. “Promise?”

He’d never gotten down on his knees quicker in his life. Let’s just say it took you another hour before you left his office.

 ❊❊❊❊

Over the past few weeks it had become a routine for you to go over to Tom’s office to seemingly “work on your assignments and review,” so it wasn’t out of the ordinary for you to show up unannounced Friday afternoon. Without meaning to, though, it seemed you showed up a little too early, and ended up overhearing part of Tom and Harrison’s conversation. 

“I can tell Y/N means a lot to you, mate. Don’t lie.” Your heart dropped to your stomach as you skidded just in front of the door, about to turn the corner inside. You backed up and stayed pressed to the wall. Luckily no one really stopped by this side of the building at this time on a Friday, so no one would find you snooping around in the middle of the hallway. 

“No I just––”

No. He said no––Okay you weren’t going to freak out. This always happens in the movies, and then the main character runs away before hearing the most important part and they overreact. So you decided to just...wait it out. 

So you waited and waited. And the more the silence overwhelmed you, the louder it got. You could feel the tears starting to form in your eyes because you really thought your feelings were mutual. But just as you inched your foot backwards to walk away, he spoke up again, his voice quiet. 

“She means everything to me, man. I––It scares me, honestly. I just don’t want to mess it up.” 

This time the tears fully formed in your eyes, but for the absolute opposite reason. You smiled and wiped at your eyes, not even bothering to hide anymore as you turned the corner, surprising Tom, his eyes widening as he took in your appearance. Harrison turned around to see you and his gaze filled with concern as well. 

“Tom––” your voice was quiet but there was a smile on your face. 

“Darling––” He rushed over to you and grabbed your hands, wiping your cheeks with his thumbs to catch the few tears that escaped. “What’s wrong, are you alright?”

Your hands came up to hold his wrists as you looked into his eyes, “I heard you talking.” 

His face dropped in realization and he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. 

Harrison cleared his throat and subtly made his way out, “You guys have some things to discuss.” He put a hand on your shoulder and you both smiled at each other appreciatively before he walked out, shutting the door behind him. 

Tom took your hands and brought you over to the couch. “I hope I didn’t scare you off, love.”

You shook your head immediately, even climbing in his lap to prove him wrong and he smiled gratefully. “No! It’s just that we never really talked, you know, about us.” He nodded and you took that as a sign to continue, enjoying the way his hands subconsciously slipped under your shirt to rub at your skin soothingly. “I like you Tom, obviously. But I like you a lot.” You linked your hands behind his neck. “I think I might be falling for you.”

His eyes started tearing up as well, as he smiled, “Yeah well, I think I’ve already fallen for you, darling.” 

You looked into his eyes and your smile brightened, “Okay maybe I lied––I’ve definitely already fallen for you as well.”

You both laughed lovingly, pulling each other in for a sweet kiss.“Look,” Tom started, licking his lips. “I don’t know what this means for our future, but all I know is I don’t plan on letting you go any time soon.” 

You kissed his lips softly, “Well I don’t plan on leaving any time soon either.” 

“Good.” He looked at you and you felt as though your soul was out and open for him to hold and love. “Cause you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Y/N and I don’t ever want to lose you.” 

You could feel your eyes tearing up again. This felt good. This felt like home.

[leah-bobeea]

Magazine Girl; Steve Rogers

You ever start writing a fic about a journalist reader at two am who’s eventually gonna end up doing steeb, over his desk, biting down on his expensive leather belt?

❀ ❀ ❀

Warnings: CEO!Steve x Journalist!Reader, Angst, Steve’s a little mean, Bossy Steve, Shy/Anxious reader, Dom!steve, mentions spanking, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, coercion (a little teensy bit), Bad writing lol

Word Count: 3.9k

A/N: Terrible writing w/ a terribly rushed ending. Written on my phone, in my notes app, not beta read, and barely proofread.

❀ ❀ ❀

Yes, your hands were busy. Not busy typing out a rough draft of this stupid article on Steve Rogers, not busy calling his secretary to set up a meeting with the man, or the closest to him you could get, not busy doing their job at all. They were busy tapping your pen against the glass tabletop of your desk, successfully annoying Wanda, who sent you an aggravated look from across the room.

“Seriously, Y/n?” Wanda moved from where she was at her desk, clearly not making a breakthrough on her article for this month's issue either. You could only shake your head in reply. Throwing your head back to stare at the ceiling, you starting explaining. “Maria gave me this huge article, Wanda. Cover! And, trust me, I know she’s testing me and doesn’t think I’ll actually be able to do it so she can fire me, or belittle me, or- or something! I don’t know what to do, help me, bestie.” As you finished rambling you looked up at her with your best puppy dog eyes, hoping for some of that amazing advice she gives.

Wanda laughed and pulled a chair over from an empty desk, sitting down and haphazardly throwing her feet on top of your cluttered tabletop. “She wouldn’t give you an article you couldn’t handle, she loves you, Y/n. If it’s truly as difficult as you’re making it out as that means that she knows you’re ready for it, and you’ll do amazing. Who’s it on anyway?”

She was doing such a good job at easing your nerves until she brought up the topic. You whined high in your throat and threw your head to the side before uttering, “Steven Rogers,” you turned your body back to Wanda, “What more do I need to say?” Her eyes widened just a little. “Sheesh...I’d start making phone calls, and praying, maybe?”

❀ ❀ ❀

“Hello, Miss. Carter, um- this is Y/n L/n with Shield Mag-“ “Please hold, dear.”

You pulled the phone away from your head and let it rest on your naked thigh, quickly pressing the speaker button. It was times like this when you were grateful that you let your grandma convince you to buy a house phone. Peggy Carter was the fifth person you’d contacted trying to get an interview with this man and she was the second lady that humored you enough to at least pretend like she’d get back to you.

She’s his main assistant so you might have better luck this time...

Thirty minutes later you had your head inches off the ground and your toes wiggling in the air. Humming the annoying hold music to yourself, you braided, unbraided, and re-braided a single strand of your hair. At thirty-nine minutes you were ready to give up until you heard a click on the other line.

You scrambled to turn off the speaker and press the phone back to your ear.

“Miss. Carter I was hoping to set up an interview with Mr. Rogers, over the phone, in person, or through email, if that’s possible?” You asked, hopeful that she wouldn’t shoot you down immediately like everyone else.

“Well, Magazine Girl, I only do in person. But I am a very busy man, so I need to know right away, what’s in it for me?” Your breath hitched and you almost fell and cracked your head open from how startled hearing his voice made you. Then, you nearly gave yourself a head rush from how fast you sat up.

“Well, um, Sir, you would get a headlining article, and uh, a cover on the June issue of Shield Magazine. That’s um, that’s if you want a cover- you don’t have to be on the cover if you don’t want to, just the interview would be mentioned on the cover, but-“ His chuckle was gritty and vivid, effective in stopping your babble. “I’ll see you Friday around noon. Goodbye Magazine Girl.” He hung up on you before you could even comprehend anything but that captivating laugh.

You rubbed at your eyes and grabbed your planner and pen. “Friday at noon...”

❀ ❀ ❀

The next day you were back in the office, sitting in Wanda’s stiff chair with twin caramel lattes sitting in front of you. That was the thing about you, you’d come to work early bearing gifts just to tell your closest friend your good news. You’re sweet like that.

When Wanda arrived it was fifteen minutes later and your latte was halfway gone. Hearing her black stilettos click on the glossy linoleum made you perk up immediately. As she approached, you stood, handing her the latte and wrapping your arms around her lithe body.

“I got an interview!” You squealed, rocking your bodies side to side. She stilled you and smiled. “Gosh, that’s great, Y/n. How’d you get it?”

“Well, I called, like everyone, and he picked up, Wanda! he picked up! I’m scheduled for Friday, and my Lord, Wanda, his laugh, it's like honey...” You trailed off, sighing at the thought of him. Your head was rested on her shoulder, a faint smile on your face. “You’ve got a crush on him!” Wanda exclaimed, grabbing your shoulders and holding you an arm's length away to get a good look at your bashful face.

You gasped, “No I do not! That would be totally unprofessional!” The cackle that erupted from her made her sound like the wicked witch of the west. And honestly, under her stare, you felt like Dorothy stuck under that house.

When Wanda was finally done laughing maliciously she let you go, plopping down in her desk chair and sipping her latte. She pointed over and your desk and gave you a look. “Better start drafting those questions... we wouldn’t want you to blank on your crush.” “Wanda!”

❀ ❀ ❀

The days leading up to Friday were excruciatingly long, yet the hours until twelve flew past all too quickly.

It seemed as if your wardrobe was never ending, full of clothes that you deemed inappropriate for a meeting with the CEO of American Enterprises. You threw yourself back onto the bed, hair and makeup done but body still wrapped in a fluffy white towel. “Oh Milky, what am I gonna wear?” The soft white kitty glared at you from the pillow she was perched on, meowing at you aggressively.

Ten thirty blinked on the clock and you sat up, glancing at all of the clothes that were scattered on the floor. “I guess this will do.” You picked up the same emerald blazer you had chosen originally and layered it over some basic Levi’s, and gray low cut blouse flowing over your form. A belt was necessary, so you grazed over your options. Brown wouldn’t go, even though it was your only fancy belt. The only black one you had was old, the leather cracked and worn, but it had to do. You slipped on some pretty black heels, lucky that you painted your toes a similar color to your blouse. After accessorizing you sprayed your signature perfume, the one that got you your first college-aged boyfriend, and the same one that you were wearing when you got your first real job.

By the time you were on the Metro, it was eleven o’ six, and you were worried. If you were late you’d lose this chance, and probably your job. The car stopped around eleven fifteen, giving you fifteen minutes to make your way to the building, check-in, and try to not seem so nervous.

Finding the building wasn’t difficult at all, after all, it is the second biggest building in New York City, competing with Stark Tower. The “A” at the top wasn’t illuminated, but it still stood out against the other buildings, cowering over them.

You found that the doors were heavy and if you denied Wanda of going to those burn boot camps you would have extreme difficulty prying them open. The inside was classy, just as you expected. The lamps had blue shades and the front desk lit up with a design that resembled the American Flag, but with less curved stripes and only one large star.

The receptionist was one of the women who shot you down immediately when you called and was a little surprised when you checked in. “Hello, I’m here for Mr. Rogers, twelve o’clock?” She searched for something on her computer, clearly trying to see if the appointment was legitimate. When you were proven correct, she handed you a temporary security badge and a sharpie to write your name on it. “Have a seat over there when you’re finished. I’ll call for you when Mr. Rogers is ready for you.” She smiled, it was fake, but it helped you feel more comfortable.

The red couch was stiff and small, clearly not meant for long periods of sitting. The badge was clipped onto your blouse, not your blazer, and the weight of it was pulling at the already low cut neckline. You thought about moving it, but your attention was quickly turned to the coffee table, where your magazine sat, opened to an article you wrote. Your hands were a little shaky as you went to close the magazine, but you were interrupted before you could grasp the bent pages.

“Miss. Y/n? Mr. Rogers is ready for your interview. Head up to floor thirty six, the door on the right.” Miss receptionist sounded bored, her eyes never left the monitor in front of her. “Thanks.”

Some of the others in the waiting area looked up to you after hearing where you were going, causing you to blush.

You felt lucky to get the elevator to yourself. Thirty-six floors is a long way to go, yet you got there in under three. In the elevator you adjusted your outfit and flattened your hair, hoping it wasn’t frizzy.

The door on the right was clearly not just a meeting room but an office, which you thought was odd. You also found it odd that no one was in the room, you expected to at least be met with his assistant or secretary, if not Steve himself.

Your eyes scanned the room to make sure it was completely empty before taking a seat on the leather chair on the opposite side of the big desk. You opened your notebook and got out your lucky rooster pen before going over your questions once again, hoping he didn’t think they were stupid.

You waited fifteen minutes for him, growing increasingly irked as the minutes built up. When he walked through the door you felt like your heart stopped.

Six-four build covered in a black suit and tie, white undershirt pristine. Blonde hair disheveled and a perfectly manicured beard. The door slammed shut and you heard the clinking sound of a glass being set down. Steve lifted his head and you snapped yours to the front, hoping he didn’t catch you checking him out.

The room was silent besides a rustling coming from behind you. You busied yourself with your notebook, highlighting the questions you wanted to ask most.

“You’re a very patient girl.” He observed. Steve made you wait on purpose. He knew from the first person you called that you wanted an interview, he was friends with Maria Hill after all. But he wanted some entertainment, and after looking into you, he knew you were the right girl. So far he’s made you wait an hour and fourteen minutes for just a smidge of his attention.

“Yes, Sir.” You mumbled, accidentally stopping the highlighter too soon, pressing it down, and letting the pink ink bleed to the next page. He hummed in approval as he rounded the corner, drink in his hand, coat jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up, first couple buttons loose. Finally, Steve sat in the big chair, keeping eye contact with you as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the mahogany table.

“Give me that.” Your eyebrows furrowed at his statement, “What?” You asked, putting your pen down on your lap. Steve motioned for your notebook, and you opened your mouth, starting to stumble over your words. “Oh? um- Okay?” You handed it over to him and he relaxed back into his chair. A question bubbled in your throat, but you didn’t let it escape. Instead, you watched as his eyes scanned the papers, blue cursive, and pink highlighter, little stars and flowers drawn in the corners. “Mr. Rogers, are you ready to start the interview?” You tapped your watch, twelve twenty four.

He nodded, “Yes, I’m ready.” You cleared your throat and went to ask for your notebook, but he beat you to it. “Miss. L/n, is there an achievement or something that you’ve contributed to me that you are most proud of?” Why was he asking you your own questions? “Sir, I-“ He cut you off once again. “Answer the question, doll.”

You huffed and crossed your arms over your chest. “I- um, no. I haven’t contributed anything to you that I should be proud of, Sir.”

“Is there a particular moment or memory of building this relationship that stands out to you?” He continued with the questions, tilting his head to the side. Why was he twisting the questions onto you? When you didn’t come up with an answer he chuckled, sounding sickly sweet like molasses dripping straight from the sugarcane. “Patience finally wearing thin, honey?” You nodded eyes staring at his chest, you couldn’t quite muster up the courage to look him in the eye.

He snapped your notebook closed and slid it towards your side of the grand desk. “You couldn’t answer my questions correctly, Y/n.” You nodded, eyes now downcast, admiring the pattern on the blue carpet. You felt like you were going to cry. This big scary man was mean and just wouldn’t let you conduct your interview and you didn’t know why. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

“I know you are, doll. But, if you can’t answer my questions how can I answer yours? You have nothing to offer me.” This was it, you were losing your chance. “Business wise, that is.” Your head shook, and your hands were clasped together, your left thumb rubbing your right nail back and forth. “I don’t understand, Sir.”

“I’m friends with Maria, Y/n. If you’re able to get this article done and get me on the cover you’re gonna get a promotion, you want that, right doll?” Your eyes went wide, “Yes, Sir.” Now, he stood, coming around to the front where you are and leaning against the desk. “She said to make it difficult, but I don’t care enough to do all that. So, doll, I’ll answer your questions. They’re quite good actually. And I’ll do a little photoshoot for the cover, but you’ll need to pay me back.” You gulped, hands suddenly sweaty, you felt like a little chihuahua, trembling under his gaze.

“How? Um, how do I pay you?” Gosh, even your voice was shaky. “Stand up. Lose the blazer.” Steve commanded, slowly unbuckling his belt. You could faintly tell from the buckle that it was Hermès. You stood and took off your blazer in a rush, folding it poorly and setting it on the arm of the chair. “Atta girl.”

He placed his hands on your shoulders and then ran them down to your hands, giving them a little squeeze before he hooked his index fingers into your belt loops, pulling you closer. So close that the tips of your shoes were touching. He leaned down to kiss your neck and you stiffened, but when he grazed his teeth over the bruised spot he just created you melted into him, your hands grasping at the pristine white button up, letting out a little whimper.

Steve pushed you back a little and took in your form, then he pulled the little security badge off, tossing it to the side. Like a little kid, he pulled at the neckline of your shirt. “Off.” You would’ve giggled at him if he didn’t look so scary right now. His blue eyes were piercing into yours, left hand so tight on your hip you thought he might leave bruises.

By the time your shirt hit the floor, he was pushing at your shoulders, hinting at you to go to your knees. “Sir, I don’t know-“

You started, knees hitting the carpet underneath you. He shushed you and guided your head to look up at him. “It's okay, baby, you don’t have to know how. I’ll do all the work, doll. Now, undo your bra.” As expected you did as he asked immediately, fumbling with the clasp until it fell down your arms. It ended up next to your thigh as you watched him pull his belt through the loops.

Steve walked around you and kneeled down, belt in his hands. “Put your hands behind your back.” You nodded immediately, so submissive, completely at his mercy. “Yes, Sir.” Steve loved how polite you were. He made quick work of restraining you, tying your hands to rest against your jean clad ass. The metal felt harsh against your skin and the soft, expensive leather snaked up your arms.

When he was back in front of you he sighed and shook his head. “I should’ve had you unzip me first.” Hearing Steve say that finally brought you to the reality of what was about to happen. You watched with big eyes as he undid the button and then the zipper, the sound making you tremble. His dress pants puddled on the floor and you were in awe as he massaged his bulge through his boxers. Slowly, he pulled them down to the middle of his thighs. His cock bounced up to hit his abdomen and he hissed as he stroked it a few times. “Open as wide as you can, honey.”

As always, you did as asked. Your tongue stuck out a little, wetting your bottom lip. He grasped the back of your head and leaned you forward a little, then you felt his blunt tip on your tongue. You gagged and spluttered when Steve was about halfway seated, he pulled out and leaned down, kissing you sloppily. “Breathe through your nose, baby. Don’t forget.” Then he was back at slowly entering your throat. “Fuck...” he grunted, finally fully seated in your throat, your nose pressed against his nicely groomed pubic hair. He caressed your throat then, rubbing the bulge in your throat, resisting the urge to press down and have you choke on his cock even more. “So good, Y/n.”

Steve started rocking into your throat, slowly fucking it as spit leaked from the corners of your mouth. After minutes of abusing your throat, he finally pulled out, adoring the way tears ran down your cheeks and how you hiccupped, wanting to desperately rub at your raw throat to soothe it. Your hands pulled at the belt and your eyes begged Steve to undo it. “Up, doll.”

He hoisted you up from your armpits and bent you over the desk. Steve pressed kisses down your back and reached in front of you, unbuckling your belt and throwing it somewhere to the left of you, then he unbuttoned and unzipped your pants, tugging them down with fervor.

Steve undid your restraints and left more kisses down your back until he reached your ass, spreading your cheeks to reveal your tight hole and glistening cunt. “I’d love to see this ass all bruised and red, but I’ll have to save that for another day.” His index and middle finger ran circles on your clit, your back arching to press into him more. “Sir, please!” You gasped, your hand flying out to the edge of the table and nearly knocking over the glass of whiskey he left on a coaster when Steve finally pushed two fingers into your aching hole.

“Gotta open you up first, doll, get you all sloppy and ready for my cock.” You cried out as he hooked his fingers, rubbing the magic spot inside of you. “Please, Steve, please.” He cooed at you, pulling his fingers out, and instead traced his name over your clit. “You gonna come, baby? Huh? You gonna drench my fingers, little girl?” You were moaning in wanton, hips humping his hand desperately. He brought his other hand down and started fingerfucking you again, giving you just enough to push you over the edge.

Your moans were breathy, your legs twitching, and you were panting by the time your orgasm faded. “I hope you know I’m not done with you yet, doll, I still haven’t come inside you.” That made you whine high in your throat and you tried, to no avail, to slam your legs shut around his hand.

Steve’s right hand fisted his cock a few times, making sure he’s rock hard and dripping with pre-cum, while his left kept your lips spread, showing him your gorgeous pussy. The blunt head at your entrance shocked you, and you yelped at the intrusion. “Sir!”

He leaned his head down and spit where you were joined, trying to make the glide even easier. “Shut up, doll.” He snapped after you cried out. Once he was as deep as possible inside of you he reached for his belt, looping it over as if he was going to spank you, and stuffed it into your mouth. “Bite down,” Steve demanded, a hand snaked around to the front of your neck where he was applying light pressure.

When you tried to push back against him he held your hips down against the wood steadily and started snapping his hips at a fast speed. Each thrust pushed you down onto the table, letting your clit rub against the mahogany wood.

Your vision felt spacey like you could black out any moment as he choked you. Your orgasm washed over you and you had to use all the strength you had in you to keep biting down on the belt. You didn’t want to know what would happen if you disobeyed his and let it go. Steve’s hips harshly snapped against your ass a few more times before he stilled inside of you, filling you with his spunk.

Before Steve cleaned you up and let you leave his office he had to finger his cum back inside of you, making sure none of it went to waste. Then, he made sure you had a way home, and a way to contact him, because, “Now you’re no longer Magazine Girl, but My Girl.”

@lo-bells

[sourbat]

A Missed Call

Because you can never have enough magtok, here’s an old one shot I wrote some time back for the holidays, but never got to releasing.

Summary: After a rough morning and bad rehearsal, Toki retreats and listens to an old, missed call saved on his dethphone.

Pair: Toki and Magnus

Rating: T

Read on Ao3 or click read more below!

Following a long night of painting a recently completed figurine, Toki woke up late on the morning of a planned recording session, one he had practiced for beforehand. Toki checked the time, panicked and hurriedly put on some clothes, skipped the shower, and rushed to the upper levels and kitchen to grab some fruit as a quick and easy breakfast. On his way to rehearsal, he got woozy and had to double back retrieve his insulin. When Toki finally arrived, everyone was already in a foul mood. Knubbler mentioned losing two saved recordings, and apparently Murderface raised a fit about it. No one entertained his tardiness, and Toki could tell that patience was wearing thin, but still insisted he get some recordings in to show his dedication to the band.

Since he left his guitar behind in his room, Skwisgaar tentatively offered one of his own, lips pursed and brows sinking while Toki readjusted the harness, tightened a string. It seemed every small action he performed while scrambling to the tinier recording room earned the ire of his lead guitarist, and when they settled, Toki sensed the increasing weight of the atmosphere, the building gravity and high expectations that few could reach.

He couldn’t concentrate. Not with Skwisgaar frowning at him, eyes stained with contempt,  arms crossed tightly to his chest and fingers rapidly tapping the correct rhythm across his rigid form.

Knubbler gave Toki permission to go, but his eyes couldn’t break from the imaginary strings rapidly coursing through Skwisgaar’s busy hands. He knew Skwisgaar was comparing their speed and overall performance. Toki saw the frown extend downwards, finding his attempt inadequate. Toki flubbed the first recording, and just four measures into his part. He messed up on the second and third try. He made it as far as the first rest, then messed up again.

Sixteen measures and another set of wrong notes later, Skwisgaar finally had had enough, and the passive remarks began. Toki couldn’t play over Skwisgaar loudly pointing out every wrong note he tried teaching. With the room filled with a never-ending tirade of “noes,” Knubbler had no choice but to stop recording. The moment he announced the news, Skwisgaar grabbed the guitar by the neck and loudly insisted through Toki’s headset that he would play the parts instead.

The news proved fatal to his esteem. Aghast, Toki pleaded with Skwisgaar to let him try one more time. He grabbed the older man by his top, but then sank and fell on his knees. Skwisgaar wouldn’t have it, nor would Knubbler who, after bringing a hand to cover the red light flaring in his optical devices, suggested an emergency fifteen-minute break.

Tensions were high as Skwisgaar exited the small room, hand clasping the guitar and swinging with a vigor that warned Pickles and Nathan to back off and keep their mouths shut. Murderface left the couch to grab some snacks, and when he returned, saw Toki inching his way to the nearest door.

“You alright, Toki?” he asked through loud chews and smacks.

Toki didn’t answer. His head sank, leaving just a nub of a neck and messy chestnut veil before he reached for the door.

Knubbler turned in his seat. “Tough luck, babe. Come back in fifteen, alright?”

“Or don’ts, nots like we’lls notice,” Skwisgaar said under his breath, earning a sharp jolt from Toki’s shoulder before he stomped out of the room.

Nathan sighed. “Skwisgaar.”  

“Dood, no need ta’ be a–”

The door shut, and at the sound of the lock clicking, Toki pressed his back into the adjoining wall. Cool stone tempered his rigid, hot spine. It pushed the heat forward,  through his chest, then spilled down his cheeks in a furious heat. Toki slid to the floor, legs retracting and arms coiled round to bring them up to his chest. He sighed and tried shutting his eyes, only to have to watch himself repeat the same mistake again, observe his clumsy fingers resting on top the wrong string, wrong fret, sloppily strumming and ending up with a nasty fuzz that only further infuriated Skwisgaar. A heaviness collected across his beet-reddened face before going limp. He buried his face between his shaking legs. He spent the next few moments in silence, head spinning and throat shut, refusing the smallest intake of air until Skwisgaar’s harsh words turned into blurry static.

The pain that swelled in his chest raged forth, climbing up his strained neck, reaching behind his eyes and sending a throb that warned Toki of an impending sob. He sucked a sharp breath, filling his chest and stomach until his belly hurt, then shuttered an uneven exhale. The anxiety whirled in his abdomen, a miniature storm that threatened to burst into a panicked state if he didn’t act quick.

Toki blinked, feeling the wet sting forming in his eyes. He released his shaking, numbing legs, letting one drop while keeping the other close for support. Head still lost in the dark fog, Toki reached for his pocket, and pulled out his phone. He wiped his face, dragged an arm across his nose and sniffed hard, sucking up the collecting moisture into his ailing throat, and went through his dethphone’s multiple applications.  

His thumb lingered over a message dating back nearly eight months. Toki sniveled over it, tongue lapping around his lips as he glanced at the time, the length of the message. Wide eyes darted to the ends of the hallway.  When he determined there were no oncoming gears, he pressed play on the screen.

The phone’s display went dark for a second, then vibrated with a rapture of noises. Toki’s bottom lips curled inward, teeth pressing on top the skin as he watched the screen come alive with shadows, the blur of a swaying phone failing to focus on a single image, and the colorful, out-of-focus city lights in the backdrop.

Then, humming. Toki instantly calmed when he heard the slow, off-tune notes, followed by the screen moving, raised up to reveal Magnus' curious face lazily staring into the screen.  “…why aren’t you answering your phone?”

The voice fuzzed as Magnus brought the screen closer, angle crooked as he leaned to one side, body lax and swaying with each step.

“Just as well. Shit.” Toki broke into a chuckle as Magnus stumbled forward. The camera toggled, pointed upwards at the sky. The first time it had happened, Toki yelped, panicked over Magnus potentially falling and breaking his neck. Now, he counted the seconds of Magnus’ extended groan, then smiled at the incoming giggle that sluggishly transitioned into a prolonged, nonsensical song.  “Dadadaaaa…”

Feeling a bit more at ease, Toki’ s second leg began to sink, and both hands fixed to the screen as he toggled the phone to its side. When he checked again, Magnus was back to a (crooked) stand, happy and quite pleased with himself not falling flat on his face. A car zoomed by in the background. The lights at the intersection turned green, and Magnus brought his tongue out to wet his drying lips.

“Leave it to the one time I figure how to use this dumb app, just my luck.” Magnus rolled his head back, messy hair whisking, flowing out of tandem with his uneven gait. He shut his eyes. “I know I said…I’m sorry I’m drunk, buddy. God, I miss you right now.”

Toki wiped his eyes, giving a short nod. “S’okay,” he whispered, letting a thumb come close to petting the drunk Magnus who’d broken his promise not to drink too much, at least now without Toki to look after him.  

Magnus stared back. Not at the light, nor the screen, but at Toki. “Hope you’re, uhh, having fun right now. Whatever you’re doing.”

Toki shook his head.

Magnus’ expression softened. “You know, I miss you,” he slurred to the phone’s receiver.  “A lot. Like, holy shit, dude. You gotta come back soon. Hit me up, even if it’s just to yell at me for breaking my promise.”

Toki sniffled as Magnus pulled away from the camera. His hand turned inward, almost as though he were trying to cradle the screen, reach and cup the face of the Toki who had failed to pick up the call several months ago. Even then, it had been hard to stay angry at him. Disappointed, sure, but Toki couldn’t stay mad at the man who went out of his way to learn how to use his Facebones-time app, call and speak from the heart.

Thinking of it, Toki glued himself to the screen, silently awaiting the next portion.

“I really miss you,” Magnus continued. He leaned against the wall of some unknown building, his sinking head still favoring a particular side. “I know you’re on tour and all, and I gotta be fucking patient but…this is going to sound so cheesy, but I miss seeing your smile.”

Just hearing the words lifted the ends of Toki’s mouth. On screen, Magnus’ expression softened, eyes blurred with sudden realization.

“I miss you telling me to stop scowling all the time, and I miss you telling me it’s ok…”

“If ams not readies to smiles yet,” Toki whispered to the screen.

“–if I don’t feel ready to smile yet.” Magnus made a face that, to this day, made Toki feel just a little anxious. What was going on in his head, he wondered. Did Magnus know what he was about to say?

He watched Magnus palm his hand over his bad eye. “Fuuuuck, what am I saying?”

“Everytinks you wants, Magnus,” Toki answered the recording. His heart picked up, anticipating the final portion of Magnus’ drunken rambling, the denouement of his accidental message, and that final push Toki needed to help him get through this miserable day.

The screen emitted hardly any sounds, producing only the subtle changes brought on by the late autumn winds, the occasional roll of a speeding car, and Magnus’ own relaxed breathing.

“You’ve probably already deleted this,” Magnus murmured to himself. Or to Toki? Hard to say. The smile he cracked was aimed at no one in particular, but each time he lifted his head, and Toki saw his long waves brush across face and reveal the longing in his eyes, he thought Magnus must have known, deep down, what he was going to say. “I’m drunk and I’m swearing and I miss you, and I love you, and the more I think about you being away for two more weeks–”

Just like that. The three words Toki had tried prying from Magnus for weeks, months, had slipped through the cracks and were uttered during a random night spent drinking alone.

“–It kills me. Shit, I shouldn’t have said that.”

Toki stroked the screen. “Ams fine, Magnus.”

“Well, that’s all. I just wanted to tell you I love you. And miss you. And as soon as you get back I want you to tell me how you got on stage and rocked the hell out of everyone’s soul. The same way you do mine whenever you… hehehehehe…ah,  shit .”

Caught between their shared laughter was Magnus stumbling forward, and like every past play through, Toki quieted down, paused the video once he remembered what Magnus had said, and rewound it just to hear it again. He obsessed over the second “I love you,” all casual and free. The “I love you” that was comfortably tucked between other facets, and said with no restraints, no second-guessing. It was a feeling he admitted to without any forethought, and spoken from the heart.

“Call me back, ok?”

Magnus’ hand covered the screen. It took him a while to accurately bring an end to the call, but while he muttered to himself, questioned and asked no one in particular how to shut off the app, Toki meandered in place, wiggling as he relived the words, Magnus voice setting free that momentous confession thought the form of a simple, missed call. It would be another two months before he whispered the words, so soft and faint, and yet somehow carrying the weight of the universe on top of it. That sober confession would be as impactful, and while Toki spent nights replaying how shy Magnus had been when he first shyly announced his love to him, nothing quite compared to the drunk Magnus who casually remarked his affections.

“Will calls you soons,” Toki said to the phone, then closed the app. He would, and he’d do everything within his power to reverse the tragic alignments set before him, and turn this shitty day into something decent and worth discussing. Skwisgaar could yell at him, but Toki would still try his best. He’d play his heart out like Magnus expected him to, and would have something to show for it once it was over.

Toki checked the time, and saw he had about five minutes left until his break ended, and another two hours before Magnus had to wake up to get ready for work.  His nerves still shook from the memory of his recent failure. Toki sighed. Eyes closed, he saw Magnus standing alone, city lights a messy blur, veiled under a heavy and tiresome drunken haze. If that man could figure out how to use his phone and video call him, cheer him on and tell him how much he cared about him, then Toki could finish a session and get his part in the demo.

He reentered the room a seconds later, warmed face hit with the thick atmosphere.

Pickles and Nathan stopped their discussion to check on him as he slowly approached. Nathan regarded Toki with a gentle nod. “You ok, Toki?”

“Ams fine, thanks for askins.” Toki waved shyly at the two. Thankfully, Skwisgaar was nowhere to be found. While it didn’t guarantee a permanent reprieve from the stress to come, it did allot Toki some additional time to prepare for the rest of his session. Remembering Magnus’ encouraging words, his drunken, cherry-red smile and airy laugh that always reached so high before cracking, Toki exhaled. He pushed out as much of his anxieties as he could, the panic that settled across his queasy belly, and he walked over to Skwisgaar’s guitar.

Pickles raised a brow, popped the gum he’d been chewing as Toki adjusted the strap, and then proceeded to the recording room.

“Hey, Toki.” Nathan interjected, still reclined comfortably in his seat, and not appearing slightly offended when Toki met his obtrusive glare with oblivious perplexity. “Where are you going?”

“To practice,” Toki answered. Charged by his response, Toki confidently turned for the smaller room. “Goinks to show Skwisgaar ams not a screws-up,” he said, voice carrying a surge of an impending storm, raw energy that filled his expanding chest with the assurance he needed to get him through the session.

As he opened the door, Magnus' voice entered his mind:

Rock the hell out of everyone’s soul.

[justcallmenikki7]

The art of Cheating

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader - Soulmate Au

Summary: Soulmate au where you get marks on where your soulmate has written on your body.    ~    One of the downfalls of this is your name, phone number, or address will not appear on your soulmates skin.

Warnings: fluff, literal fluff, angsty-ish?

Notes: I apologize for my lack of updates. A lot of stuff has happened in my life and it has made it to where I have a really bad writers block. I am going to try my hardest the next two, or one and half weeks to get good updates going. 

Soulmate Au Masterlist

The first time you woke up to the feeling of someone writing on your skin, you were freaked out because no one, physically, was in your room. You were very confused and very scared to find out that out. This is when you had no knowledge of soulmates. So, at fifteen years of age, you ran crying to your parents at three a.m., demanding to know why a ghost was writing on you in a different language. Your assumption of a ghost writing on you had both of your parents laughing, making you irritated about how they are not taking this situation serious. Once they were calmed down, they explained to you how this was your soulmate writing on their skin, not knowing that they are writing on their soulmate, too.

Shocked, you gaped at your wrist, watching the beautiful symbols appear on your skin in messy scribbling.

“I have a soulmate?” You asked aloud, not believing your parents words.

“Yes, sweetie. It appears to be that they are Korea,” your mother responded, smiling at the thought.

“Am I able to write back to them?” You asked, getting excited at the thought of knowing (in a sense) your soulmate at this age.

Instead of responding, your mother handed you a pen, an encouraging smile on her face. Taking the pen from her, you clicked on the pen, and began to write back.

--

Across the world in his bedroom sat Jungkook in his desk chair, determinedly scribbling down answers for his Chemistry exam. It was six a.m. and Jungkook was not ready to fail a stupid chemistry exam that he does not even care about. Does that make sense? To Jungkook it does, but his hyungs think differently. So, the moment when Jungkook saw a foreign language being written on his other arm, he almost flew out of his chair.

“What the fuck?” He questioned, bizarre apparent in his tone. Grabbing his phone quickly, he went to his translator app, snapping a picture of the letters, and he waited for the app to load the translation. What felt like hours, which was only seconds, the translation loaded;

Hi, my name is Y/N, and I am your soulmate.

“Soulmate?” He questioned aloud, “I have a soulmate?” And after that astonishment, Jungkook went to his contacts and called the only hyung that he would know would have the answers – Namjoon.

--

Ever since that night, both you and Jungkook started your journey of learning about one another. Currently, you are 21 while Jungkook is 23. It is a struggle by talking to one another without knowing their name. That is why, six years ago, you both suggested on giving one another a ‘name,’ which yours is fluffy and Jungkooks is bunny. Jungkook was the one who picked your nickname out because of how you were telling him about your collection of fluffy blankets. You came up with his nickname, ‘bunny’ by his love for bunnies.

You decided that you wanted to move to South Korea to study economics. You told Jungkook about this, something that he was ecstatic for, but also upset because he wanted to move to the United States to try and find you. The both of you knew that this was impossible because you the soulmate that you both have restricts you both from writing down each other’s name, location, and anything that basically gives you away. But you knew that Jungkook (bunny) was Korean, making it easy for you to track him down basically. The thing is, too, you do not know where in South Korea he lives.

That is why you applied for Seoul National University – the capital of Korea.

--

Jungkook knew that you moved to Korea by how you mentioned that Kimichi was weird, but kind of good. The excitement that Jungkook felt was unimaginable. The thought of meeting you and being able to find his soulmate was something that he only could understand. His friends make fun of him for this, but he only laughs them off. He knew that one of these days they will be able to understand his excitement, the emotions that he is feeling.

What he hates is that you both cannot tell each other what part of Korea the both of you are in. the soulmate bond limiting your ability to find one another is getting to Jungkook. He really wants to find you, and you him.

--

Your Korean is very broken. Having to use your phone to help translate paragraphs and certain sentences is helpful but talking to someone who has the mother tongue of Korean is very hard. So, finding someone to help you study for economics was hard. Choosing the route to stick with yourself to study instead of finding a partner was not the right plan.

As you were reading your economics book, you began to feel the all too familiar scribbles on your wrist. Looking down, you recognize a phrase from your book that your studying.

“No. Fucking. Shit.” You paused on each word, not believing what you are currently reading. Tears pricked your eyes, the tear falling onto your wrist, making it to where one of the words blurry. Grabbing a pen, you began to write a phrase that your teacher always says, hoping that your soulmate gets what you are implying.

When Jungkook saw the familiar phrase, he freaked. Jumping up from his chair, he began to run to the living room of the dorm, yelling at his hyungs. “MY SOULMATE IS IN THE SAME CLASS AS ME. SHE’S HERE!” He screamed at the top of his lungs, tears of happiness welling up in his eyes.

Taehyung jumped up from the couch, equally excited as his best friend, “YOU HAVE CLASS TOMORROW! SHE’LL BE THERE!”

--

Where the hell are you, soulmate, both you and Jungkook thought, scanning the classroom.

You bit your lip, trying to think of how to make it easier for both you and your soulmate to find one another. Tapping your pen against your chin, you thought of an idea – looking beside you, you saw that the person next to you has gauges in their ear.

Gauges, you wrote down on your wrist.

Jungkook looked down at his wrist, seeing the word. Looking up, he began to scan the classroom for anyone with gauges. Maybe this is the person next to them? Jungkook thought. Doing the same thing, he wrote down spikey, referring to the guy sitting next to him that has spikey hair. He saw a girl sitting next to a guy with gauges in the front row looked down at their wrist, making something spark in his chest.

It’s her, I know it’s her.

You looked up from your wrist, turning around in your seat to see if anyone has spikey hair, that is until your eyes landed on a boy looking directly at you. That moment when both your eyes met, you knew that it was him. You knew that you found your soulmate. The feeling of your stomach doing a summersault, heart feeling as if it was exploding, and the urge to go and be right next to him overwhelmed you.

The both of you knew that neither of you could sit for an hour and fifteen minutes, not being able to talk or be right next to each other would be possible. Following your soulmates lead, you grabbed your back pack and phone before standing up and basically running out of the lecture room. Once you made it to the hall, you began searching for him. Not seeing him anywhere caused a wave of panic take over your body, that is until you felt a hand on your shoulder.

Turning around, you were met with him, your soulmate, your happy ever after. One feature you noticed was his bunny like smile.

“Bunny.” You gasped, tears welling up in your eyes.

“Fluffy.” He whispered back.

[lord-tathamet]

Dinner Plans

A short story almost two years of age, that I once wrote for a university class. Found it again, dusted it off, polished it slightly, but let it retain that little bit of amateurish writing simply to marvel at how far I’ve come with my writing ever since. 

Enjoy. 

For the fifth time in the last two hours did the man with the moustache and sunglasses look up from his research and look at the face of the clock of the broken church. He scowled beneath the moustache, but forced himself to look at it regardless.

4:18 pm.

They were late, as per usual. He shook his head and focused back on his literature. He made the mental note to have a number of alarm clocks be send to each of them for next time. Flatteringly Photoshopped pictures of the Mexican coast reflected in his sunglasses while his eyes skimmed through the brochure's whimsical descriptions of the rich culture of its indigenous people and beautiful beaches.  He skipped through a couple of pages until he found what he was looking for. A decidedly too sharply fined and too pale fingernail stabbed into the page displaying the photograph of an ancient, grey pyramid.

The man sitting behind the shining aluminium table was tall, narrow and sharply dressed: a suit jacket with bloodstone cufflinks, black suit-pants, a clean white shirt only slightly wrinkled and  two buttons open. His legs ended in a pair of shiny, pointy shoes. His face was stern and angular, with pronounced cheekbones and a pointed chin. Bushy eyebrows sat above the pair of sunglasses that protected his eyes against the sun, and a long white moustache grew beneath the hooked nose which gave his appearance a certain roguish charm. A wavy mane of grey-white hair surrounded his face and hid the pointed tips of his ears, giving him certain qualities akin to an old lion. It was difficult to clearly guess his age, but anyone briefly passing by and glancing at him would take him for a very spry looking gentleman in his mid-fifties.

Leaning in on his read, the man with the white moustache made a few notes on a small block of paper. The pen he used was black, ornamented with silver filigree and absurdly expensive, as was the ink held within. Next to the note pad stood an untouched and by now cold cup of coffee, its content as pitch-black as a dark winter night and reflecting the bright afternoon sun above.  Disgusting in taste and disgustingly cheap in comparison, but he needed the table, and none of the waiters would bother him as long as he had at least one beverage in front of him, as maligned and untouched it was.

Cars rolled by exhuming grey fumes, the nearby fountain shot water into the air and people passed his table. Most of them in casual summer clothes, sundresses and cargo pants and shirts and some of them even with hats to gain some shade. For a moment, the man looked up from his notes and allowed himself a brief indulgence – the eyes behind the sunglasses darted from one healthy neck to another. A small, wolfish smile parted the pale lips and if there had been anyone to pay close attention, they would have gained a brief glance at his very pointed, very sharp and unusually long canines.

“Good afternoon, count.”

The man in the white moustache begrudgingly pulled his eyes away from his current mark – a lovely Turkish woman with streaming black hair that was climbing the stairs around the fountain just a shy dozen feet from his table, close enough for him to smell the sweet mixture of blood and perfume she exhumed – and he turned to the youth that had seated herself opposite of him, soundless and sudden as if she had appeared out of the thin air.

“And to you, countess. You are looking lively as always.”

She seemed young enough to be his granddaughter, though no one within their right mind would have thought to imagine a superficial familiarity between the two. A girl of fourteen years, with a healthy, rosy complexion and flowing, lush dark hair that curled at her shoulders, the sunshine twisting golden shimmers into its waves. Large doe-like eyes that projected innocence and hid a vicious intellect, a petite body that suggested fragility and cloaked the strength to bend iron bars as if they were straws. She was in white, of course she was, a pretty, knee-length dress and a white handbag in her lap and with her hands folded atop of it. The lid of her bag, the man with the moustache noted with a mild amusement, was riddled with numerous, colourful stickers and badges, and around her wrists hung several loops and bands of tiny gemstones like rainbow wreaths.

They were the only change about her since their last meeting.

“Thank you. My sincere apologies, there was an unfortunate delay with the train between Kassel and Hannover.” She shook her head. “More than five centuries since the invention of rail transport and still a simple thing like an open door may stall a train's journey for almost an entire fifteen minutes.”

She nodded at the travel brochure still open in front of him. “Are you already planning your next journey? I thought you would stay in Berlin a little while longer.”

“I am a traveller at heart, milady. Although my beloved home will always be in the heart of Europe, the other continents do possess their own charming allure,” he replied, setting the brochure and note block aside. “And besides, it has been a while since I have last visited the Americas. There must be much exciting game to be hunted there.”

“Always about excitement, is that the reason you wanted us all to meet here of all places?” The countess nudged her chin toward the broken church spire in the background, a disgusted sneer cracking her face. “And mirroring glass everywhere around us. One of these days, your thrill-seeking hunts might cost you your life.”

“How would the youth of your seeming generation say? No risk, no fun.” The count let his eyes wander around the square for a moment. “Where is Laura? The two of you were practically bound at the hip when we last met.”

The young-seeming woman stiffened in her seat. The snarl dissolved into a very neutral, very calm expression that seemed like it was carved from marble. “Laura is... no longer with us.”

A single eyebrow rose, but otherwise the count's face remained unmoved. “Hunters?

“No.” There was a subtle tremble of her lip, the count noted, before she continued: “She could no longer bear it, she told me, moments before she drove the knife through her own neck. She betrayed me, just like the others before her.”

“My condolences.”

She nodded, her face remaining neutral. “It has been over three decades since. I have moved on as best as I could.

“In fact,” she allowed herself a smile,” I happen to have a date just after we met up with our friends.”

“You still insist on fraternizing with your prey?” The count sneered. “Now that is a carelessness that will get you killed one day.”

“Because unlike you, I seek actual companionship?” Her eyes glinted like sharp icicles in the sun. “Because unlike you, I do not wish to to prolong myself in solitude and run afoul like some pack-less dog? Because I want to spend this blasted eternity with someone like myself?”

Blue flashed and briefly turned red. For a moment, the two stared at each other with an intensity not unlike of two big cats, every individual muscle tense and ready to pounce. Then as quickly as the moment came, it passed.

“I did not mean to insult you, milady. Forgive me. I only worry about others of our kind. We are already so very few remaining,” the count sighed.

“Do not kid yourself, count. You care for nobody but yourself,” the countess replied, but she too relaxed in her seat.

The next five minutes they spent in silence. The count returned to his brochure, only briefly looking up to take notes and to send another quick glance up at the clock tower. The young woman had produced a smartphone from her handbag and immersed herself in the screen, brief smiles lighting up her face in between her typing and the brief ping of sent messages.

“Empusa will be here in half an hour,” she said after little while and looked up from the screen. “She is picking up Lamia from the airport and helping her through customs right now.”

“What about Schreck?”

“The sun is still up, remember? He will meet us after dusk.”

“His mutation is as highly fascinating as it is impractical,” the count murmured. “Why didn't they update me about it?”

“We do possess a text chain, you know. I'm surprised you are not part of it, since you are always the one organizing our meetings.”

“I refuse to touch one of those damnable Apps ever since Lestat sent around pictures of his own rectum to everyone.”

“Suit yourself. Why the Americas?”

The count tapped his finger on the table. “The Mexica people of pre-Columbian America possessed fascinating religious rites related to blood sacrifice to honour their gods...I wonder if there might be others of our kind still in their old territory.”

The countess fiddled with her smartphone. “Sometimes, I admit, I envy your ability to travel without restraint. I tried everything, yet I still must return to my family's tomb ever so often.”

“Have you considered moving your tomb in its entirety, stone by stone? There are still many old woods and mountain valleys unmolested by human hand. I am sure the hags you usually travel with would be most grateful for the exercise.”

“I have tried, once, when Laura was still with me.” A twinge of sorrow crept across her face. “I wanted to go far, far away from home and take her with me. But then, my body began to wither, my senses to decay the longer I prolonged returning to my tomb for a night. Laura, too, could not go long without a place to return to. Horse-carriages can only get you so far. And when we tried to move a single stone, what little strength I had left in that moment was about to leave me.”

The count hummed. Then his own phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, swiped across the screen, read the message in silence. A wolfish grin split his face.  

“Then you'll be happy to know that I plan on putting an end to these laws that seem to bind us.”

“What to you mean?” The countess leaned forward, an eyebrow arched.

“I planned on surprising all of you when Schreck, Lamia and the others would be gathered with us, but I might just as well reveal it all now,” the count smiled and leaned back, hands tapered together. There was a red gleam to his eyes, behind the sunglasses. “In my studies of the Americas, I came across a new initiate to our little circle – one that shares many of my own tastes and wishes to help others of his kin. Among such, is breaking the accursed bindings placed upon us.”

He extended a pointing finger. “He is currently sitting on the other end of the Breitscheidplatz. The tall man, olive skinned, with the gold rings in his ears.”

The countess followed his direction, narrowed her blue eyes to a glint. “What is his name?”

“The old Mayan people called him Camazotz. And he might very well be one of the first of our kind to walk this earth.”

On the other end of the square, the tall, olive-skinned man with golden rings in both his ears turned his head and nodded at them. His eyes gleamed in a blood-red, and for just a moment, both of the undead nobles could catch a glimpse of his shadow flickering across the wall behind him.

For just a split-second, they saw the shadow of a bat the size of a small house, stretching its wings and enveloping the street within its grasp.

[utterlyinevitable]

The Conference (Part 5)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Paring: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Rebecca Lao) Word Count: 2.9k Rating: T+ Warning: Some cursing  Summary: Rebecca reminisces about the night she finally pushed Ethan away. 

Author’s Note: ngl the last part with the ryan arc was 100% self indulgent. it was also the first thing i wrote and built the series around. have ya ever had a friend/lover/someone you never got a proper goodbye with and carried with you everything you wish you’d said? yeah. that’s what that was. it also is the perfect contrast to mc x ethan’s relationship.

Taglist: @ohchoices @dulceghernandez @aylamwrites @binny1985 @ramseysno1rookie @interobanginyourmom @queencarb @imactuallytheceoofthecompany @rookiefromedenbrook @eramsey28 @choicesficwriterscreations @heauxplesslydevoted @schnitzelbutterfingers @purpledragonturtles @ramseyandrys​ @ermidc @mrsdrakewalkerblog

________________________________________

I finally walked into the foreign and dimly lit tavern after wasting the beginning hours of my day off scrolling through Bumble, scouring the app for a good distraction. Eventually I found one - a legal assistant named Cameron. He was cute and his choice of profession gave me the feeling he could carry an intelligent conversation with minimal sexual advances. His tone was friendly enough and a little awkward at times but harmless. We messaged back and forth for like an hour and a half before agreeing to a date across town. 

I made sure to put on my best face, watching youtube tutorials for the perfect date night eye to accompany my black cap sleeved maxi dress - you know that one with the high slit. A little bit of sultry but not enough to give him the assumption he could take me home. 

I’d never been to The Happenstance tavern before. Hell, I barely had any time to explore parts of the city that weren’t directly surrounding Edenbrook. I was pumped with adrenaline for my first actual date in god knows how long. Thus for once in my life I was fifteen minutes early and decided to sit at the bar to calm my nerves. 

I’m meeting a stranger I’ve had half a conversation with an hour ago! In a part of the city I’ve never been to! What am I doing!? 

I didn’t even have a chance to flag down the bartender before my name was called over my shoulder. 

“Rebecca,” my name fell expertly off his lips and I turned towards the velvety voice fully thinking my date was nervous enough to arrive early too.

There he was, only a footfall away. My eyes quickly and involuntarily trailed over him. His slate gray slimming slacks elongating his legs and outlining the curvature of his manhood, a navy blue polo tucked in with the two top buttons undone and form fitting to hide the taut muscles underneath but accentuating the uncertain look in his eyes. 

The hair stood at the back of my neck and I swear goosebumps coated my skin. 

Nope. No. Nope!

Immediately I turned right back around on my stool. 

Not happening! 

“What are you doing here?” he asked, taking the empty seat and motioning to the bartender for two more of whatever he had earlier. 

I had been ignoring Ethan, as best I could given our close workplace dynamic. We’d only talk about patients and pertinent information to the caseload. No hello’s, how are yous or see you tomorrows. Nope. Those little accolades were reserved for friends - someone you actually give a damn about. 

It had been nearly twelve weeks since we spent that last night of heated passion in my apartment; 12 weeks since I thought it was the start of something new, the start of us. As surely as he promised me we would make a future work, he took it all right back. Running all the way to the fucking Amazon. But I forgave him the moment he came back and our eyes locked in the beer garden of Donohue’s. I trusted him above all else - his reason for leaving was probably justified. Oh how wrong I was. I kissed him and he - he did nothing. He reset us without my knowledge. He made the executive decision for my heart. 

That was the final straw. 

He couldn’t keep toying with me and my emotions. No. No more push and pull. That’s not a lover that’s… that’s... I’m not quite sure what that was but it certainly isn’t the actions of a respected partner. He knew where I stood and I needed to take my own stand - to continue living my life as if I never experienced him. 

I chose to push him away. 

To move on from chasing the notion of wholly and completely loving The Ethan Ramsey. Finally. 

“If you must know, I have a date,” I said with the most nonchalant malice I could muster.  

There was a thick and uncomfortable silence taking up the small foot of space between our seats. 

I was staring dead ahead at the bottles meticulously placed behind the bar but out the corner of my eye I could see Ethan’s eyes fell from me to the two tumblers now sitting in front of us. 

I reached out for my drink, letting the cold glass soothe my boiling blood. “At least someone wants to date me.” I muttered it mostly to myself, but secretly hoping the words would hit him where it hurts the most. 

Take the hint and leave, Ethan.  

His voice was even and the words melted off his tongue like butter, “It has nothing to do with want, you know that.” It was a truth he came to know. 

My eyes now fixated on the decorative mirror behind the bar as I took a drag of the scotch, hoping to take a peek at how my words affected him. With a thick roll of my eyes I shrugged, “Want, can’t, what’s the difference?” 

“The difference is your professional development and our jobs,” his voice was straight as he repeated his same rationale over and over again. “Once you’re an attending -” 

That’s a new additive. What -? 

The last words took me by surprise. He’d never added them into the mix of rejections before - he never added a glimmer of hope into the mix before… 

Don’t let him suck you back in, Bec. 

I shook my head dismissively to myself. “You’ll find other excuses to push me away.” I brought the liquid to my lips as I took a moment to let myself turn enough to see his full body language. He was at the edge of his seat, body angled towards me, one arm leaning on the bar and the other tightly gripping his thigh, his scotch untouched and forgotten. An onlooker would assume he was a casual man but to me he looked distraught; the careful ridges in his daily features had fallen.  

Good. 

My glass hovered just above my lips and I could feel the heat from Ethan’s gaze boring into my cheek. With a little bit of courage and a sly smirk I added, “Either way you’ve made your choice and I'm moving on, don’t worry.”  

I checked the time on my phone, downed the rest of the scotch in my glass and slipped off the stool gathering my things into my bag, preparing to head to the back where I agreed to meet Cameron at a reserved table.  

My feet fled all of two steps before there was pressure on my forearm grounding me back towards the bar. I whipped around to finally see him face to face, my heels bringing me to his level. 

We were close. Much too close. In the simplest of movements his body could be flush against mine. 

Stop, Rebecca, don't go there. Don’t think about it - don’t think about his lips or… 

I was acutely aware of his firm yet gentle hold. His shoulders once stiff and rigid fell with vulnerability. His soft and supple lips were parted and begging to be bitten.

Pull yourself together, woman! 

 “Rookie,” his grip on the back of my arm tightened, lighting every nerve in my body on fire. “Rebecca,” he breathed, “Please.” Ethan’s stormy blue eyes were pleading, conveying all he wished he had the strength to say.  

I tried to coax it out of him, “Say it.”

“I -”

Even now. Even with me visibly moving to put us in the past like he instructed and the shattered heart he must have had, he doesn’t have the balls to tell me. 

If he can’t say it he can’t have me.  

“Say it and I’ll stop,” I taunted. “I’ll squash this right now.”

Our eyes locked in showdown. Enraged brown overtaking conflicted icy blue. Standing my ground with a tightened jaw I internally gave him just three seconds before I pulled away once and for all. 

Three... 

His grip on my arm loosened. 

Two... 

His eyes squeezed closed and he shook his head.  

O- 

I was being pulled towards the exit by my hand. 

“Lets go,” Ethan said gruffly as he laced out fingers together in a tight hold.   

My heart fluttered, Good enough.

I wish I was stronger. God, do I wish I was strong enough to pull away from the black hole that is Ethan Ramsey but I couldn’t. His gravitational pull was too strong. I was and will forever be sucked in. I had a probably perfectly nice boy waiting for me in the other room with a promise of mutual affection. And what did I do? 

I got into Ethan’s car. 

On the drive we sat in silence, Ethan’s hand never freeing mine except to start the car. The purple and pink evening Boston sky passed by the window. I smiled at the people out the window who were still going about their day and, for the first time in months, I was content. Content with my feelings that never seemed to fade away no matter how hard I tried. Content that he feels the same way. Content that this is an actionable promise that we can be something. 

I noticed Edenbrook pass in the distance. My eyebrows furrowed as I realized we were getting further from his apartment complex. The other all-too-familiar street now coming into view.

“Ethan, what the fuck. You’re taking me home?” 

He said nothing.

“I thought…” I trailed off, mentally chastising myself for thinking he’d actually give in and let ourselves be happy. I huffed, “So I can’t have fun and I can’t have you. That seems fair…” I tried to free my hand but he held onto me tighter.  

A few moments of time passed in the dead silence of his car. Ethan was focused on the road ahead and I was trapped in limbo. Again.  

“Are you gonna say anything?” I bit, clearly needing an explanation for this round of betrayal.   

He opened his mouth slightly but nothing came out. My unencumbered rage started bubbling over like an active volcano. 

WHAT THE FUCK!!!

“Let me out, Ethan.” I said sternly and yanked my hand out of his. His hand now left palm up on the center console as he kept driving. 

And he wasn’t slowing down. 

I rose my voice through gritted teeth, “Let me out of the fucking car right now.” 

Still the side streets passed behind us at a steady pace. Surely he was ignoring me. 

My red hot anger reached my ears when I yelled, “Doctor! Ramsey!” 

Ethan jumped bringing both hands securely on the steering wheel. Within thirty seconds he pulled the car over. Panic set in and I needed to use all my strength to control my breathing. 

Not again. He’s not doing this to me again.  

As soon as the car stopped at the curb I unbuckled my seat-belt.

Still staring out the windshield and white knuckles gripping the wheel he begged, “Please let me get you home safely.” 

I scoffed, “I can take care of myself.” 

What the fuck does he want from me? 

He pinched the bridge of his nose as he sighed, “I know.”

I looked over at him completely dumbfounded. If we weren’t going to be anything he should just let me move the hell on.  

“I’m not your responsibility,” I said honestly through my rage as I moved to get out of the car. “I know deep down you want to help but you’re not. You’re making things worse.” I looked over at him. His fingers left his nose and he started to sit up straighter at my words. “You - You…” 

I wanted to tell him he’s broken my heart over and over again. I wanted to tell him how much I missed him and that if he just promised me we’d give us a proper try I’d forgive him. But I didn’t, because saying those words out loud wouldn’t change a thing. Everything with Ethan was inevitably complicated. 

He looked over at me for the first time since the tavern. The whites of his eyes were starting to go red and my chest began to ache at the sight. He shakily asked, “I… what?” 

Why do you keep doing this to yourself? 

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter.” Furiously I pulled the door handle and jumped out of the car as best as my dress would allow. The air in the car was suffocating. 

Behind me I heard the car shut off and a loud slam of the door. There were two beeps alerting me that Ethan did indeed leave his car in the no parking zone. Heavy footfalls caught up to me on the sidewalk accompanied by the uneven huffs of breath from the brisk jog. 

“Let me walk with you. Please.” 

We were only a 10 minutes walk away from my place. As mad as I was at Ethan for the false pretenses, I was angrier at myself for falling for it. For letting him have me unconditionally. The thought of going through this same old cycle with him again and again made me nauseous.  

I can’t do this anymore. 

“Stop,” we both ceased our movements at my definitive tone. Turning to Ethan I saw the storm brewing within. Frankly, I didn’t give a damn. “You’re not listening to me.” 

His eyes widened like that of a scolded child. 

My next words were frank and to the point, “I cannot do this anymore. You cannot turn up and pretend you care when it’s convenient for you.”  

“I do -”  

“No.” I shook my head. “You’re self-serving,” the words fell quickly off my expert lips. “Choose me or lose me, Ramsey. You don’t get both.” 

I paused my rant for a brief second expecting the rebuttal that never came. 

“I’m confused enough as it is,” I continued. “Jus - Just get back in your car and find me when you figure your shit out.” I bit my lip before harshly saying, “I’ll be fine without you.”  

There on the narrow street on a Tuesday evening in Boston my chest tightened as I took one final look at the man I once trusted above all else. His hair windswept, cheeks flush, shoulders slumped in defeat and...

His hand twitched at his side beginning to reach out for mine. But I was quicker on my heels, turning around and storming off.

The last thing I heard as I sauntered off with a heavy heart was the unlocking of a car.  

“Hey, I thought you had a date tonight?” Sienna asked from the kitchen when she saw me cross the threshold of our apartment. 

“It didn’t happen,” I said flatly.   

“Oh no!” My dearest friend started moving around the kitchen, pulling out all the comfort food we had on tap - a pint of ice cream, cookies she had made earlier that evening, a bag of popcorn - all because she thought I was stood up. 

“I…” Fuck, how do I tell her? “didn’t make it.”  

Sienna stopped in her tracks and her light brown eyes looked up in confusion, “Huh?”  

I shouldn’t feel guilty but I do. Sienna’s the only person who would understand, she did catch him sneaking out of my room that last morning. She’s also the only person whose opinion matters most to me. My stomach tied in knots as I sighed, “Ethan…” 

“What!” she practically shouted. Luckily the others were in their rooms for the night otherwise it would have been a very awkward conversation between us. Having to tell Aurora about Ethan is another certain kind of hell I’d rather not deal with any time soon.   

“He was at the bar,” I began to explain in complete exasperation. “Of course he was at the bar, of all the bars in Boston he had to choose this one tonight.” I threw my hands in the air for dramatic effect. The irony isn’t lost on me; I agreed to The Happenstance because I knew I wouldn’t run into anyone I know and yet the one person I absolutely never would have wanted to see was already there. “He stopped me before I could meet the guy.”  

There was a hopeful gleam in Sienna’s eyes, “And?”  

“And he had the audacity to drive me home.” I made a ‘here I am’ motion with my arms. 

“That’s it?” she pouted, obviously wanting this story to have a happy ending.  

I leaned my arms on the counter and rested my head in my hands, trying to rub the evening out of my eyes and the weight of what I’d said finally sinking in. 

“I told him to leave me alone until he got his shit straight. I’m done with him,” my voice cracked at the end and I hoped Sienna didn’t hear it.  

If she did, she didn’t let on because her next question was, “Then… why don’t you call that guy and tell him something came up at the hospital?” 

Why wasn’t I going to call Cameron? Well for starters I was embarrassed for standing him up - no fake medical emergency could blow that over. I also never wanted to set foot in another bar again - Ethan can set claim to every bar in the state for all I care. I don’t want to see him outside of work ever again. 

If you don’t want anything to do with him why do you feel so guilty?  

With a weighted sigh I said, “I think I’m just gonna go to bed.” 

And that’s the story of how I pushed the man I loved away.

___________________

A/N: becca is literally the most unreliable narrator, she’s so problematic 😔 also sorry for this chapter, it’s not the best thing i’ve written :/ fun fact: this scene started out as a one shot called ‘good enough’ 

comment/reblog bc i need the validation

[cafedanslanuit]

I always wanted to marry rich || Jumin x MC (2/2)

genre; angst pairing; Jumin Han x MC notes; part two of two. read part one here. I finally wrote the last part! Honestly I had to rewrite it a couple of times because I wasn’t happy with how it ended. Now I finally do. Hope you like it! <3

~ ~ ~

“check your email”

Jumin didn’t even bother opening Seven’s text. He just read it on the notifications bar and opened his email app. He found a file with her future wife’s name and opened it. Two seconds later, his battery died out of the blue. Jumin sighed. The phone was charged, maybe it was starting to malfunction. He opened his laptop and his email. He printed the document Seven had sent so he could look over them more comfortably. Jumin poured himself a glass of wine and sat on the kitchen table.

MC’s bank account was rather small and the incomes where what he expected, savings from her last job she had told him about. She purchased small amounts in makeup stores, coffee places and other things. She had graduated top of her class at university in her homeland with a scholarship.

There were some pages about her estranged father. He was living in Spain and had remarried. He had two kids, ten and twelve. He hadn’t been in touch with MC or her mother apparently. There was a file about her mother. She was a teacher in South America and worked at a school. Jumin didn’t want to know how Seven got access to her bank account, but he had. She didn’t have much either and the purchases weren’t suspicious at all, MC seemed to send her money every chance she could.

Seven had even traced MC’s tweets back in her uni years. She had made some light-hearted jokes about being broke but nothing that made it seemed like she was planning something. Seven had been kind enough to write down some notes about those tweets not meaning a thing.

The last page was a message with Seven’s messy handwriting.

“Stop stressing! There’s nothing fishy about her”. There was a small drawing of a fish. Of course. “Happy wedding!”

Jumin sighed and crumpled the documents in his hand. Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe it was an inside joke? Tons of possibilities were roaming around his head when he heard the door opening and MC’s heels making their way into the penthouse.

She quickly appeared in the kitchen and smiled at him.

“Buenas noches, amor” she teased him with a grin.

“Why did you say you always wanted to marry rich?” Jumin blurted.

MC’s smile fell abruptly.

“What? When did I--” her eyes went sideways, trying to remember. Then she opened her mouth in realisation. “Oh, okay. You listened to me and my mom. Okay” she sighed.

She left her purse on the kitchen table and sat in front of her fiancé, who was looking at her sternly. Never before had he looked at her that way and it made her feel really small. Like she had gotten herself in trouble. She took a deep breath before she could start explaining.

“Okay. You know my mom had serious money issues when I was growing up. So, since I was little she would always tell me to find a wealthy man, seduce him and marry him. That she didn’t want me to live poor all my life, not knowing what it was to not worry about not having enough money to pay all the bills at the end of the month.”

“So, that’s what you did” grunted Jumin, crossing his arms.

“Let me finish, please” MC asked. “Jumin, I’m not marrying you for your money. Let me finish my story, but you need to understand this more than anything. That’s not why I’m marrying you. I didn’t even want to get married in the first place!”

Jumin raised his eyebrows in surprise. MC covered her face with her hands.

“Shit, I’m only making it worse. I’m sorry, I-”

“There’s nothing to discuss here, then” he said, picking up the documents from the table and getting up. MC stood up in front of him quickly, preventing him to leave the kitchen.

“No. No! You’re going to listen to me. You owe me that, at least”.

“I don’t owe you anything”.

“Listen to me!” she pleaded, raising her voice, her eyes filling with tears. “Listen to me. Yes, that was her plan for me but I turned fifteen and decided I didn’t want to become anyone’s wife or depend on anyone. I didn’t want anyone to leave me like they left my mom! So I started studying, got a scholarship to a good university, graduated with honors. I was in between jobs when I joined the RFA. I wasn’t looking for anything. So yes, I didn’t want to get married and then I met you!” she cried.

MC’s face was now full with tears, messing up her make-up. She took another deep breath and wiped her face with the back of her hand. Jumin’s expression softened and embraced her, burying his face on her hair. The soft strawberry aroma broke his heart, how could have he thought this woman, who had shown nothing but love to him was capable to feign that love because she only wanted money?

“But you changed my mind” MC kept talking, her face against his suit. “You changed my mind about wanting to spend the rest of my life with someone. It was not about they money, it was never about the money” she softly pushed Jumin away and looked up at him. “I don’t care. It’s okay, I’ll sign anything”.

“Sign?” Jumin asked, confused.

“Yes, those are from a prenup agreement, right?” she said, looking at the documents Jumin still had in his hand. “C’mon, it’s okay. I’ll sign them right now, I don’t care”.

She took the documents from Jumin before he could stop her. Right when he was about to take them back from his fiancée, her face changed drastically.

“Is this… my bank account?” she asked softly.

“MC, give them back” Jumin said, taking a step forward, but she took a step back.

Her eyes went back and forth the documents, searching through the pages she had in hand. She noticed Jumin trying to get them back, so she quickly walked to the living room. The information on them was correct, but why on Earth did he need to see all of this information? Was this about the comment he had overhead? Why did he-- Before she could comprehend what was happening, she saw a face she hadn’t seen in a long time. She didn’t recognize him at first, but after reading his first and last name -her last name-, there was no mistake.

She stopped, letting Jumin take the documents back from her. If Jumin was talking she couldn’t hear him anymore. Everything had gone silent in her head.

She startled a bit when she felt a hand on her shoulder, shaking her softly.

“MC, my love. Say something, I’m sorry, I--...”

“My dad had more kids?” she asked, in a broken voice. Jumin looked at her, furrowing his eyebrows.

“You didn’t know?”

“No, I… I haven’t heard from him since he left us. I didn’t know… He had more kids?”

MC walked to the sofa and sat down, still trying to process what she had learnt, tears falling down her cheeks in silence. Jumin sat by her side and put an arm around her shoulders, not knowing what to do. He hated himself for making herself feel like that. Her face showed how broken she was, how much weight the news had had for her.

Jumin hugged her, putting her small frame against his chest. He muttered countless apologies. Seven was right. He shouldn’t have dug up information that wasn’t his. He had hurt her more than he thought he could. MC cried in silence for a couple more minutes before she raised her head again to look at him.

“Why do you have this?” she asked, her hand grabbing his shirt and looking at him confused. “Why do you even have this information, I-- I don’t--... Was it too hard to just ask me? Would you have believed what I just said if it didn’t match up with these things?” she looked at the documents Jumin had left on the couch.

“I’m sorry” Jumin said, not counting how many times he had said that already. “I panicked. You know how many times my father has wanted me to marry someone that only wanted me for my money or my position at C&R. I… I certainly didn’t think this through. I’m sorry, I really am. There’s no excuse. I was scared, but I didn’t act like a man. I had no excuse to look into your family history, none”.

MC looked at the dark eyes of his fiancé and sighed. She pursed her lips and took his hand in hers, squeezing it softly. 

“I’m still mad at you” she said, her voice a little hoarse from crying. “And hurt. But I’ve already talked to my therapist about this thing with my dad so… I’m hurt, yes, but honestly… it’s water under the bridge, now. I don’t want to talk about him. What I really want… no, I really need my fiancé to bring me a cup of tea and stay with me tonight. You think you can do that?” she asked.

“Yes, I can” Jumin nodded and stood up quickly, grabbing the documents from Seven’s investigation and crumbling them in his hands.

“Wait, one more thing” she said and Jumin turned to her, expectantly. “You need to trust me, okay? I may not be always the best wife once we get married. But I will always tell you the truth. I meant what I said before, I will sign a prenup so please call your lawyers and tell them to prepare one for you, okay? Can we do this together?”

“No” Jumin said, turning around and making his way to the kitchen. MC felt a sharp pain on her chest.

“What do you mean no?”

“We’re not getting married with a prenup. I trust you. Even though tonight’s events may make you think otherwise, I do. And I want you and everyone to know that. So we’re not getting married with a prenup” Jumin explained from the kitchen. MC chuckled as she heard the sound of the electric water boiler starting.

“Okay” she muttered with a soft smile.

They were days away from the wedding. But somehow, instead of making her more anxious, it made her feel calmer. Jumin was going to mess up again. And someday, she would be the one to mess up. But if they could still find a way to love each other at the end of the day, maybe it was a good idea to get married after all. Honestly, she would have agreed to sign a prenup if Jumin had asked. She knew it wouldn’t have been for personal reasons, but mostly to protect C&R and all the years of work Chairman Han had given the company. But if he was willing to show her how much he trusted her by going against it and refusing the idea that she signed it, it definitely showed how much trust he was willing to show her.

MC saw Jumin coming back from the kitchen with a cup of tea and a bag of her favourite biscuits. She smiled and patted the spot next to her in the sofa.

They could do this. She knew they could.

[lifeinahole27]

CS ff: “Walking the Tightrope” (Chapter 1/10) (au)

Summary: Killian's daily routines are a matter of habit. When he wakes up late one morning, his routines all change for the better. Emma doesn't care about routines, but she does care about Killian, no matter how reluctant she is to admit it to herself. 

Rating: E (much later in the story)

Content Warnings: There will be a part where pictures are posted without permission. It happens much later in the fic but if that’s not your thing, I want to put it out there now. And, of course, sexual content will be present. I will update these warnings for each chapter to pinpoint those sections!

A Special Thank You: Oh man, how do I put my gratitude into words? There are two constants in my CS fic writing life that I am so incredibly lucky to have. Thank you @captainstudmuffin for just downright prodding me in the ass to keep me moving when I wanted to give up. You were always there in the right capacity to keep me going. You did that reverse psychology thing with me that I always do to you with “Well, if you want to give up, that’s your choice...” and it worked. And then there’s @phiralovesloki who has listened to me self-depreciate for hours on end and still keeps me moving forward. And then you both turned your attentions to helping me get this thing edited and proofread. You handled all my tantrums, all my fits, all my problems. I love you both to the moon and back. 

And of course, thank you to the @captainswanbigbang for going with this rewrite idea. All of you modding this and putting shit in line and answering questions and being awesome and informative and helpful... my eternal gratitude for helping get this, my possible magnum opus, finished and out to the fandom. Much love to you all!

A/N: I wrote a lot of notes above here to start. Because of that, I’ll keep this line brief. Enjoy!

Find it on Ao3 & FFN!

-x-

Chapter 1: The Art of Routines

September 30: Monday

Every day, Killian Jones walks from his respectable dwelling by the Storybrooke Harbor to where he works, located right off the main drag. Storybrooke is nearly the definition of small-town America, but it houses a quaint-sized office of a British publishing firm that opened a branch over here last year. Three months ago, Killian took a chance to upend his whole life and applied for a junior editing position.

From a life in the Navy to a redirection of passions towards the fine art of literature, Killian has used a rigorous set of routines to get through every major upheaval in his life, including but not limited to the aforementioned relocation from London to a small speck on the map.

He uses his daily habits from the moment his alarm sounds in the morning until he shuts his eyes at night – operating his life in a tidy way and controlling what he can control while doing his best to accept whatever tries to throw him off.

Because of his method to build up his regimens, he knows that anything that lasts beyond two weeks becomes more likely to stick.

And for six weeks, Emma Swan has been part of his routines. Monday through Friday they cross the street together. They never speak. Sometimes they’ll smile and nod in greeting, but it’s enough in Killian’s book. Or at least, they’ve come to some unspoken agreement that it’s enough. Since the middle of August, this has been his norm, and thus it is now just another thing that marks time throughout his days.

The only reason he knows her name is because of the star-shaped badge she wears on her hip. That and being the sister of the sheriff are dead-giveaways to an identity. He’d heard of Emma long before he saw her as Will Scarlet filled him in on the townies. She, on the other hand, probably doesn’t even know his name. But he’s okay with that. He’s not out to meet the love of his life – not after what he went through with his last major relationship – but to enjoy a walk across the street with an ease he doesn’t understand and doesn’t have to. 

Day after day, he continues on, never looking back to see if she’s still looking at him. He’s afraid of what he might find if he does: either she’s also glancing back and this immediately becomes something different, or she isn’t and he’s effectively found himself with some kind of rejection complex. Both ideas are ridiculous. At the mere thought, Killian snorts and picks up his pace. 

On October 1st, Killian discovers how easy it is to throw off the delicate balance of a routine as strong as his. The alarm never goes off, or if it does, Killian either doesn’t hear it or turns it off in his sleep. He wakes, instead, to the sound of his text messages going off in quick succession, followed by the phone ringing and Will’s chirpy voice alerting him as he answers that he’s going to be late. 

With that, his eyes shoot fully open and he throws himself into action, hoping to get out the door in record time. He skips the coffee and the shower, throwing on the clothes he set out last night and hoping his hair stays in place with the water he combs through it. He’s out the door fifteen minutes late. His boss, Robin, will hopefully understand - he’s one of the most easy-going people Killian has ever met. Will is going to take the piss out of him, but that’s no different from any other day. Killian knew it was a mistake to share his location with his friend but in this case, with Will able to see that he was still at home when he should already be making his journey, he wasn’t going to complain about it. 

Instead, what he’s most upset about is that he’s going to miss Deputy Swan standing at their corner. 

And he’s right: she’s not there when he gets to the intersection. He pushes the button and diligently waits until it turns before crossing, just as he always does. It’s when he gets a full view of the patio in front of Granny’s that his steps suddenly halt. There she is, checking her phone and sipping from a to-go cup, standing at the table closest to the entrance. She glances up and sees him on the other side of the small fence that surrounds the front of the patio, and her eyes go wide. 

Quickly, she jams her phone in her pocket and exits the patio with two cups in hand, heading towards the sheriff’s station and away from him until she stops just as suddenly. She turns around to where he’s still glued in spot, knowing that each extra minute is asking for more torture from Will, but she walks up to him and he wouldn’t move if a bus came careening down the sidewalk at him. 

“Hi. This might be weird but… nevermind. Forget it.” She turns again, but Killian hastens after her. 

“What seems to be the problem, love?”

She spins around to face him again, a perturbed look on her face. He doesn’t know if it’s at him or herself, though, so he waits for her response.

“I’m not…” The words trail off, but she redirects. “I thought you might need coffee. You’re always so punctual. Figured if you were running late, you didn’t have any. But that’s probably ridiculous and just…” she trails off again, turning to dump the to-go cup into the bin nearby but Killian lunges for it. 

“No no, wait!” He catches the cup just before it leaves her grip, smiling wide when he successfully rescues it. “Thank you, Deputy. I appreciate it.”

“Swan. Emma Swan.”

“Oh, I know,” he responds, surprised at the devilish tone to the words. The only time he flirts anymore is when he’s two pints in at The Rabbit Hole on a rare night out with Will, and even then it’s with no intent behind it. His watch buzzes and Killian glances down to see Will is calling him again. When he sees the time, he can understand why. “Bloody hell. I’m incredibly late,” he says quickly, moving to continue his journey to the office and forgetting all his manners. 

“Is there something else I can call you, Incredibly Late?”

“Killian Jones!” he calls out as he gets to the corner by the post office. He spins on his heels to turn back to her, lifting the coffee again in thanks.

There’s an odd little smile on her face when he says it, but he’s still moving and has no time to wonder what it’s all about. “See you tomorrow, Jones!” 

Her words follow him around the corner and he grins as he picks up the pace to the office.

He’s amazed at how quickly his day turns around after officially meeting Emma Swan. Robin isn’t even mad when he shows up late, just happy that he’s finally sitting in front of his computer working on the endless edits he’s been helping with for a new book by an established writer. One that has terrible punctuation skills, apparently. And spelling. And grammar.

It’s barely been a half hour when he finds his thoughts drifting to the woman he only knows by name and reputation, and knows that somehow, his daily routines will never look quite the same. He wonders how much this little interaction means to her, too, if she looked so out of sorts when he was late today. And startlingly, he realizes that it did turn into something.

Running a hand over his face, Killian looks back at the page he’s supposed to be proofreading. He’s read the same sentence at least three times and still can’t figure out why it doesn’t feel right. It’s too early in the day to shut his office door and start reading everything out loud, however, so instead he saves his changes and closes the file, opening up a rain app on his phone and letting the sound soothe him while he stands up and stretches. 

“If you’re playing the calming sounds, I feel like you’re ready for more coffee,” Will says from his doorway. 

“You’re probably right,” Killian says, finishing his current stretch and turning off the app. “Shall we?”

“Ask Robin what he wants. Your treat since you were so late this morning,” his friend adds as he turns from the doorway. 

Killian makes a noise of aggravation, but still walks the short length to Robin’s office to inquire. 

Robin is locked in his own work, looking back and forth between three cover mockups that Will’s department would’ve sent over when they were ready. He glances up when Killian enters but only barely. “Coffee run?” the other man asks as he nudges each design around. 

This, too, is like clockwork in his life, which is why Robin already knows why he’s standing in his doorway. “Aye. Would you like me to bring back the usual or will you need something stronger today?”

“The usual is fine. Else I’ll be tempted to add liquor to it and no one at the home office will appreciate what I think of their last company email.”

“I have that whole rant recorded. You’d better make sure I don’t have anything stronger today or else they’ll get it verbatim.”

“Remind me to have you killed later this week after that chapter is edited.”

“I’ll pass it on to your secretary to be added to your calendar,” Killian mentions offhandedly while he leaves Robin’s office. This isn’t the first time Robin has scheduled to kill him for information he has on his superior. Killian’s sure it won’t be the last, either. 

As he leaves, Killian catches sight of the pictures on the wall. There’s a few scattered around his office, mostly of Robin’s adorable son Roland and his late wife. Marian passed just after Roland was born, making Robin’s decision to head up the American branch of NeverEndings Publishing House an easy one. The reason he’s stayed so long is also evident in the pictures of Regina Mills, the mayor of Storybrooke, scattered among the others. Regina was his “diamond in the rough” - the woman he never expected to meet and fall in love with shortly after he set up shop here. 

Along with pictures, there are paintings and his degrees, an antique wall clock that matches everything else, and a vintage bow and arrow hung behind the mahogany desk he nearly lives in some days. The whole thing feels like the den of some expensive cabin in the woods, but Killian knows for a fact that Robin put most of this together on the cheap. 

He passes his own little office again, noting the blank walls, the tidy desk, the single chair on the opposite side for small one-on-one meetings. He’s never really gotten around to decorating his work area. His degrees are still in one of the boxes in his flat, as are all the pictures of his friends and family from back home. 

There’s a single frame on his desk - just a picture of him and Liam at graduation that was packed into his luggage when he moved. Liam is beaming with pride while Killian looks like he’s about to bolt from the courtyard they had all gathered in after the ceremony. His left arm is tucked close by his side, and he knows for a fact it’s because he was trying to hide the prosthetic hook he wears from being in the pictures.

“So, why were you late today?” Will asks when they reach the doors and head outside.

“Alarm malfunctions,” Killian responds, as if there could be something besides human error to blame. Will just nods as they make the short trek down the street to Granny’s. Foolishly, Killian hopes to find his favorite deputy out patrolling or stopping for her own midday caffeine, but the only blonde in the diner is Ashley, the attentive but clumsy young server. 

Well, the only blonde woman. Dr. Whale, trying his best to flirt with Ruby, doesn’t count. 

“Have you heard anything I’ve said in the last three minutes?” Will asks, a touch of exasperation in his voice but humor lighting up his eyes. Instead of answering, Killian just pushes him forward to place his order. He pulls Killian up next to him and presents him to Ruby. “Tell Jones here that he has to come out with us on Friday.”

“The only thing I have to tell Jones is to place his damn order,” Ruby responds, her expression challenging Will in the way that only Ruby can. She looks back to Killian with a sweet smile. “You paying for all three?” He nods as he hands over the cash. Ruby winks at him, processing the change and handing it back before spinning from the register to make their drinks.

“Come on, mate. Come out this Friday.”

“I still have things I’m trying to unpack.”

“You’ve been saying you were going to unpack those things for the last three months.” He throws air quotes when he says “things” as if they’re fictitious items Killian invented for the sake of an excuse. He almost invites Will over to see what he’s talking about but feels like that would somehow turn into a standing invitation for his colleague to come over whenever he pleases.

“Yeah? And now I might mean it,” Killian retorts instead. Ruby places their drinks down on the counter before Will can press any further, and Killian spends an extra moment thanking the younger Lucas for exceptional service, as always.

“Kiss ass,” Ruby says as they gather their drinks and leave. There’s a smile on her face, though, and Killian knows that her days would be infinitely less exciting without him and Will pestering her at least once an afternoon. 

When they get back, Will takes Robin his coffee without having to be asked, which Killian is grateful for. But he’s barely seated in front of his computer again before Will is popping back up in his doorway.

“You’ve been summoned to the dungeons, mate.”

Killian drops his head for a second, trying to gather the energy to just… get up and go see if suddenly his benevolent boss has had a change in heart regarding his tardiness this morning. But Robin just waves him in and motions for him to sit down. 

“As you know, we originally hired you to be a junior editor to collaborate on projects.”

“Aye, that was the explanation I was given when I interviewed.”

“Well, we’ve gotten a new project that I’d like to see you take on. This isn’t quite a promotion, but it’s a test to see if I can trust you with something bigger than just standard edits to a pompous arse that doesn’t know his p’s from his q’s… literally.”

“I’m definitely interested. What is this project?”

“A young author has written a novella that twists fairy tales. It’s short but it’s deep, and I want your best on proofreading, but also on suggesting edits. He’ll be in to discuss the project at the end of this month, so keep working on your current progress until then. I’ll send all the files your way this weekend so you can start reviewing them whenever you’d like. Sound good?”

“Sounds excellent,” Killian says, genuine enthusiasm coloring his answer. “I look forward to it.”

Another disruption to the orderly life he’s been living, but honestly, this is almost as good as meeting Emma Swan. At least this feels like his disastrous start to October is no indication on how the rest of the month will go. 

-x- October 2: Wednesday

The next morning, Killian is back to his impeccable schedule, so he’s calm and collected when he strolls up to the crosswalk. Only minutes later, Emma walks up, eyes trained on her phone, earbuds playing music that she nods her head in time with. He takes a moment before she notices him to appreciate the view, to take in the dark jeans she likes to wear instead of a uniform, with black boots up to her knees. Her red leather jacket is half-zipped. Soon the weather is going to grow colder and he wonders if she’ll be warm enough on her walks.

She looks up, then, and smiles at Killian while he raises a hand in greeting. She hesitantly waves back, moving to stand next to him while they wait. 

“Good morning, Swan,” he greets just as the light changes and they start to cross. Her response is mumbled as she pulls the earbud from one ear.

“Have a good day, Jones,” she says, dipping her head as a parting gesture. There’s a smile pulling at his cheeks, and he turns to look at where he’s going instead of risking the possibility of running into something and ruining his mood.

For the rest of the week, they get to the crosswalk and he greets her. They part ways at the diner with her sending salutations before she walks up the path. In a way, it becomes a new routine for them. It’s one of the only changes to his days that he’s accepted as a normal progression instead of an uninvited intrusion.

On Friday, hours after his daily dose of Emma, he’s in the middle of the last chapter he has to edit when Will pops into his doorway in the afternoon. He goes to save the files and start the coffee routine, but Will enters the room fully and places two coffees and a bag with lunch on the corner of his desk.

“I hear you’ve got a bigger project coming up. Figured I’d be a good mate for once and encourage hard work instead of mucking around like we usually do on Fridays.”

The times that Will has been genuinely kind to him are definitely countable on his hand, so he’s almost afraid to ask if there’s a “but” included somewhere in there. However, Will just gives him a cheeky grin and heads right back out the door. 

When he’s made the final change and checked over the whole chapter again, it’s beyond the time that he normally leaves, even when he stays late. His eyes are burning and his stomach is growling again, but there’s a sense of victory when he sends the files back to Robin and shuts down his office for the weekend. 

He’s surprised to find Will on the couch in the reception area, asleep by the looks of it, and Killian is this tempted to leave him there because he knows exactly why his friend is still there. But the man brought him lunch and still owes him a beer for repayment of some good deed or another, so he knocks into one of Will’s shoes and snorts as he startles awake. 

“Come on, then. Sorry to have kept you waiting.”

“Damn right, you are.” Will’s response is groggy and expected.

Killian makes sure the building is locked up tight before they walk the few blocks over to The Rabbit Hole. He’d rather be in bed, or watching whatever his neglected Netflix queue has in store for him. While Will obviously went home and changed into something more casual, Killian is still stuck in his suit from work. It’ll have to do.

One drink, that’s all he’s promised, and then he’s going home to get the sleep he deserves and return to his normal order of events.

They’re barely through the door when he realizes his plan is going straight into the bin. There, in all her blonde glory, is Emma Swan. She’s parked near the end of the bar waiting for Jefferson to take her order. As he moves towards her, he hears Will greeting other acquaintances, but he’s too focused on getting to interact with Emma outside of their usual crosswalk that he doesn’t veer off course. 

“Fancy meeting you here, Swan,” he greets as he props up next to her. 

She jumps a little, clearly not expecting him to be there beside her, but regains her speech far easier than he would’ve if the situation were reversed.

“I’m sorry, you’re that figment of my imagination that only lives on Main Street. What are you doing here?”

He chuckles at her description of him and rubs behind his ear in a nervous gesture. Two more sentences and this will officially be the longest he’s ever spoken with Emma, and he’s enjoying it far more than he should.

“Out for a drink with my mate Will to celebrate a project ending.”

“Scarlet? See, I always thought you had better taste than that,” she says, a smirk on her face and her eyes shifting over Killian’s shoulder to where Will must’ve come up behind him. 

“Oy, just because I’m romancing your friend doesn’t mean you have to insult me.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what it means,” Emma responds to him, but there’s lightness and sarcasm in the whole exchange. 

“Romancing? You mean you finally worked up the nerve to tell Belle you fancy her?”

“Like three weeks ago, mate. This is why I tell you to come out more often.” Will claps Killian on the shoulder with those words, accepting the beer that Jefferson deposits on the bar for him, and walking back to the large gathering of people in the middle of the room that Killian is just realizing are mostly people he knows.

“Not one for socializing very often?” Emma asks, following his line of sight and waving to her brother at the table. Killian swallows a little harder when David sizes him up, eyes scrutinizing the whole time. 

“Not as much as I used to. Will and I usually make our ventures out earlier in the evening and in the middle of the week when we do.”

“So is it the expat club or something? You and Will, Robin, Belle. I think Tink stops in and drinks with them every couple weeks or so, too.”

“Will and I work at NeverEndings with Robin. The rest is all just coincidence.”

She hums in consideration, sipping slowly from her drink. “There’s room at the table. Wanna come join us, too?”

“That depends.”

“On?”

“Is your brother going to murder me for speaking to you for longer than three and a half minutes?”

She glances back at David, who turns back to the group suddenly, clearly pretending he wasn’t watching them.

“Listen, he’s overprotective but he’s yet to kill anyone I had a conversation with. People I’ve dated, on the other hand…” she trails off, lifting her eyebrows to emphasize with a little shrug. 

He can’t help the laughter that erupts from him at that. She’s delightful. He could spend all his days having frivolous conversations with her and probably never grow tired of it.

“Come on, I promise he doesn’t bite unless you ask. Which is unfortunately more than I ever wanted to know but that’s what happens when you become best friends with your brother’s wife.”

“Thanks for sharing your pain with me. I hope it eases the burden of your knowledge,” he says low enough so only she can hear as he pulls out one of the remaining chairs for her. Her thank you is a quiet and pleased murmur, and he has to remind his heart to stop the constant drumroll so he can get through this evening with his dignity intact. He drops into the seat next to Emma and tries to bury the way his skin itches at the sudden change in his routine. 

A chorus of introductions goes around, with Emma giving names to random faces as she goes. He does know a majority of the people at the table, even if just by reputation. It’s nice to meet the kind schoolteacher that is David’s aforementioned wife, though he’s seen her in the library more than a handful of times since his arrival in town. 

“Everyone calls me Snow,” she explains after Emma calls her Mary Margaret. “Less syllables, more Disney Princess-ish.” When the topic shifts from greetings to the usual breakdown of everyone’s days, Killian seizes the moment no one is paying attention to them. 

“A Disney Princess that enjoys a little kink in the bedroom. Good to know,” Killian whispers in Emma’s ear, and her hushed laughter is music he wants to play again and again. 

When the conversation really starts flowing, he finds he’s less interested in drinking away his week and happier to engage with the people around the table. David still regards him with suspicion, but it probably helps that he doesn’t look like he’s trying to crawl into Emma’s knickers as the night continues on. He finished his singular beer ages ago but opts for water during his next trip up to the bar, along with food because Emma bursts out laughing when his stomach growls in the middle of her talking about a digital filing system they’re implementing. 

Emma nurses her one drink, and so he’s relieved to find her willingness to talk is due to genuine interest instead of alcohol’s influence. Of course, it may be because he’s supplying her in onion rings until she finally orders her own.

Their group slowly begins to break up, starting with the people who have someone home waiting on them. Then the couples start to leave, and Killian is pleasantly surprised when Emma all but shoves David out the door with Snow, insisting that she’s more than capable of taking care of herself. 

They talk of all things small: she tells him about working law enforcement in a small town, and he shares his experiences in Storybrooke since moving. She asks about his job and actually listens when he starts talking. 

“What’s this then?” Killian asks when Emma pushes up her sleeves. 

She looks down at it, scoffing a little. “A dumb symbol of youth and rebellion,” she replies. “I got it when I was sixteen because James and I got in an argument about how perfectly behaved I was.”

“James?”

“Oh, David has a twin brother. You know how people joke about having an evil twin? David actually has one.”

“Your family is delightful,” he comments, wanting to reach out and touch the heavy lines of the flower on her wrist. “Why this?”

“Buttercups are my favorite flower.” He’s learned so many new things about her so very quickly, but he files this information away in the event he has a chance to use it.

It’s when their whole group has officially departed that they realize the rest of the establishment is similarly abandoned, with only Jefferson wiping down bottles behind the bar. 

“Sorry about that, mate. Time for us to clear out?”

“I was gonna wait until I was done cleaning to see if you even noticed the place was empty,” Jefferson responds when Killian sets the last few glasses on the counter. Emma is behind him at the table still, gathering the smattering of bottles and the rest of the stuff to be washed. “Been a while since I’ve seen her talk that much to anyone she didn’t grow up with,” the other man remarks, nodding his head towards Emma. 

“My favorite bartender back home would probably say the same of me,” Killian admits, placing a few extra bills on the bar as a tip and wandering back over to help Emma get the last of the dishes from his late dinner and her ridiculously large pile of onion rings, of which she ate every last one.

“Thanks Jeff. Have a safe trip home,” Emma tells him as she hands him the items.

As they start walking, he expects anything but for Emma to fall back into casual conversation with him about the moving process he went through. He takes it in stride as they slowly amble down the street and back to their crosswalk. 

“I’m this way,” Emma says, indicating the direction she normally arrives from in the mornings. 

“I know,” Killian responds, his tone soft and content. “It was lovely getting to meet you, Emma.”

He holds out his hand, giving hers a firm shake. Once upon a time he was a lad who could court a woman without blinking an eye. It’s that thought that has him turning her hand and bringing it to his lips, eyeing her playfully from beneath his lashes as he looks up at her. This small gesture feels so foreign, but he likes the way she’s giving him a puzzled little smile.

“Goodnight, Swan.”

“See you Monday, Jones,” she almost whispers as he releases her hand. 

They head off in their separate directions, with Killian gently brushing his lips in wonder. 

Routines be damned, this is much better than a casual wave in the mornings.

-x-

Chapter 2

[dragonsateyourtoast]

Special thanks to @skylarklanding for a donation to the Emergency Release Fund!

By the way, head on over to that blog to get a taste of some of Skylark’s art; similar to what I’m doing, you can show a donation and receive a custom art as thank-you!

Original post of mine

Prompt, courtesy of @writing-prompt-s: “It is impossible to erase a curse, but it is possible to trade it with someone else. You’ve been wandering for years, searching for someone willing to trade curses with you, but never suspected it would happen like this.” 

-

Not many people are unlucky enough to get hit with a real curse. A true curse, a curse that writes itself into your bones and blood, not some surface-level scuff on your soul. Those happen all the time; little things like a higher likelihood to stub your toe, or a few extra minutes of searching when you’ve lost your keys.

To be cursed with a true curse is different. It’s something that you feel in your lungs when it hits you, which screams like static in your mind when it activates. It lies dormant like a disease, letting you forget it exists occasionally, until the time comes for it to rear its ugly head and it spits venom into your life once again.

You can’t get rid of a real curse. The little ones? You can polish them away, or pay a witch to get rid of them, or whatever. But the real ones... those are powered by something greater than just a little bit of malice. Those ones aren’t just throwaway statements of “I hope you always forget about your tea” or little sigils drawn on paper and burned to ash. These ones are borne of blood.

I used to sing at a church. I’ve long since abandoned the church, after they told me I was evil for a good number of things, including my curse. I didn’t even think it was that bad, at first.

When I speak, things come to me. Animals, mostly. Sometimes it’s plants. Insects and spiders and stuff are the biggest problem. Birds are the next worst. No matter what I do, if I utter a single syllable, I am swarmed in an instant with everything alive around me except other people. I laughed on a lakeshore once - the fish died when we were trying to shove them back into the water. I sighed too loudly once, on a wet night; I’d never seen so many worms.

There are online boards for people who want to swap curses. I know you can do it - curses don’t like to be destroyed, but they love to hop around. They’re kind of sentient; they like to see new things. Sometimes, if you don’t give them what they want, they’ll evolve, force you to carry them harder. Mine is pretty dormant; I never speak, but it doesn���t cause problems. It can feel my misery.

I’m not going to get into what got me cursed in the first place. It was an accident, and it wasn’t even my fault, and I’m marked forever in more ways than one.

July, 2014. I sat in my room, reading a book. I don’t remember what it was. One of my friends messaged me, asking about a movie that was coming out, and while I was checking movie times I saw someone had pinged me in the curse boards.

Curious, I visited. I’ve had this curse for twelve years, mind you, and never been able to find anyone willing to switch me. It’s just too inconvenient.

But, there in the board, was a message in a five year old thread I’d made. It read:

“Hi! I saw your notice. I’m a wildlife biologist in Arkansas. I’m cursed too, and I think that you would be the perfect person to switch curses with, if you’re willing. It seems like you’re an active member of the forums, but it’s been a while; do you still have the same curse you did before? I’d really like to swap you for it, if that’s still possible.”

What? I stared at it, uncomprehending, until I finally messaged her directly through the site. “Thanks for your interest,” I told her. “What curse do you have, so I can know what I might be getting into?”

“Nothing too terrible,” she wrote back. “When I speak, whatever I say comes out in a different language. I never know which language it’s going to be, either, and if I stop speaking or take a breath, well, it switches. It’s really a nuisance if I’m trying to communicate with people! Yours seems to be that you can’t make any sound at all; being able to laugh or speak without consequences would be an improvement for you, right?”

“It would,” I wrote back. “And it would mean you have a lot less freedom in what you can say. Why do you want my curse?”

“I can’t explain it,” she said, “I guess I’ll have to tell you if it works.”

We agreed to meet up about six hours from where I lived, at the halfway point between our houses. I wasn’t working at the time - it’s difficult to hold a job when you can’t speak or your building suddenly reveals how many rats are in it - so I gathered what I needed and left the next morning.

Six hours. I had six hours while driving to wonder why she would choose to make her life worse, by preventing herself from even laughing. I couldn’t fathom why. Did she want every living thing to swarm her at all times? I say swarm - I mean it. Just because the curse brought the animals to me didn’t make them friendly. I’d been bitten, stung, pecked, and scratched more times than I could count.

Whatever. It probably wasn’t my place to ask. I hadn’t asked her how she had gotten cursed, she hadn’t asked me, and I wasn’t going to ask her what she wanted it for if she wasn’t willing to tell me.

I pulled into the designated place - a restaurant on a tiny little highway exit in the middle of nowhere. I stood next to my car and waited.

About fifteen minutes after I’d arrived, a car pulled into the parking lot a few spaces away from mine and shut off. A woman got out - probably about thirty, with dark brown hair and brown skin, warm green eyes shining out from her face. She glanced over, saw me, and her face lit up. “Zdravo!” she called, and I knew it was her - that wasn’t a language I recognized. I nodded in response.

She pulled out her phone as she came over, and opened up a notes app. I opened mine too, watching, and she wrote down. “Songbird, right?”

“That’s me,” I wrote back, showing my screen to her. “Got everything we need?”

“Yeah, I visited a witch before I left home; that’s what I did with the rest of yesterday.” She set down a bag that had been slung over her shoulder and pulled out a shiny green box. She opened it, pulling out a length of white silk, and held out a hand. I held out mine, and she grasped my forearm; I took hold of hers.

Together, we wound the white silk around our hands and arms, binding us together, and tied it on the bottom, which is a lot harder than you’d expect. Then she looked me in the eye, still brimming with excitement. “Bist du so weit?” she asked, and then sighed and rolled her eyes. “Är du färdig?”

That still didn’t make sense, but I got the sense she was asking me if I was ready. I nodded sharply.

She began to speak. I didn’t understand it, of course. The language must’ve changed at least four times as she was trying to talk, and I couldn’t get a word of it, though I kind of understood some of what sounded like maybe French. I did catch her name, though: Maria Coombs. She finished, and looked up to me, expectantly.

My turn. This was going to be rough. I opened my mouth, swallowing; I really, really didn’t talk often. “My name’s Sage Lawson. I willingly take on to myself the burden this stranger bears, so that they might carry mine in turn.”

Above, I saw a flock of starlings divert swiftly in its path; a fly bounced off my face. “I give to this person the magic that has plagued me. I take upon myself the magic that has plagued her. Together, we give to each other.”

Nothing seemed to happen, but the starlings fluttered into a nearby tree and began to squawk at each other, ignoring me. I looked warily up at them.

“Is that it, then?” Maria said, and gasped, her eyes going wide. She clamped a hand over her mouth. The birds overhead hopped downwards into the branches surrounding us, eyes black and wary.

I hastily unbound our hands. I was still too nervous to talk. Maria picked up her phone. “Say something!” she tapped out, and showed it to me, grinning.

I rubbed my hands together. “Antoka,” I said, still feeling my voice rasp in my throat, and paused. I’d meant to say “sure,” but my mouth had just... said something else. The feeling was uncomfortable, to say the least. “... أعتقد أنه نجح.”

Maria clapped her hands together. She was beaming, brighter than I’d ever seen anybody smile. I ran my hand over my mouth, shaking my head. I could speak... though I wouldn’t make any sense. Whatever. I could work with this. I could work with this!

“Thank you,” Maria typed back, still beaming. “Thank you so much. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

I didn’t, really, but she was so happy, I couldn’t help but smile and even give a little breath of a laugh. That was more than I could’ve done before.

I handed Maria the silk back. She took it, replacing it in the box, and put it back in her bag. Already, she was humming.

You could hum, I remembered. You just couldn’t open your mouth and speak, or laugh, or sigh too loudly. Humming was the only thing that had saved me from despair after I’d been cursed.

“Maria,” I called, as she walked back over to her car with a bounce in her step, and she turned, eyebrows raised.

“Hmm?” she said, without opening her mouth.

“Ευχαριστούμε,” I said, with a smile.

Maria may not have known the language, but she understood a thank you when she heard one. She beamed at me, waved, and got back into her car.

Three months later, I got a message from Maria, the wildlife biologist living in Arkansas. It was an email that she’d sent after getting my email address from my account on the curse forums, where I’d been busy figuring out how to work with my new curse.

“Thanks,” it read, “for all the help. You have no idea what this means to me.”

Attached were two pictures. One was of her on a canoe, floating through some kind of forested swampy area, and the other was a photograph - in full color and perfect clarity - of an ivory-billed woodpecker.

[viktcrr]

「maxence danet-fauvel & nonbinary」⇾ samuels, viktor, the senior radcliffe student’s records show that he/they are a capricorn and 24 years old. he/they are studying visual arts, living in noland and can be observant, ingenious, reticent & dependent. when i see him/them i am reminded of a sculptor’s hands clay-ridden, the insistent hum of tv static, and a crying preacher inside a dusty funeral home.  ⇽「james & 21 & est & they/them.」

hllo !!! i’m james n here’s one of my big idiot muses <3 he’s not actually dumb he’s :/ a bit evil. bt thts okay hes still <3 beloved <3 LKDSFHLSADLKGFSHLKD anyways!

TW DEATH, HEAVY GRIEF, OVERDOSE / DRUG ADDICTION, HOSPITALIZATION, HYPERSEXUALITY, RELIGION MENTIONS, MENTAL ILLNESS

aesthetic.

old tvs and their static, worn tapes, horror movie screams, spilled ink, a sculptor’s hands, clay-stained, chicken scratch handwriting, messy notes, messy hair, scoffs and eye-rolls, bruised knuckles, sore throats, funeral homes and a crying preacher, shattered ceramics, knife fights, high ledges, vertically-striped pants, red lights, the moon shrouded in clouds, cigarette butts, graveyards and half-empty wine bottles, sitting there for hours and talking to nothing, about nothing, a god complex, gold rings adorning both hands, barbwire baseball bats, having never played baseball in your life, deep eyebags and broken mirrors, a permanent chip on one’s shoulder, yearning, longing, wishing.

basic info.

full name: viktor phillip samuels

nickname(s): icky vicky :/

b.o.d. - jan 2nd

label(s): the black hole, the crepehanger, the impious, the opaque, the tempest, etc.

height: 6′1″

hometown: rochester, new york

sexuality: pansexual uwu

pinterest

stats

inspired by: beetlejuice (beetlejuice), sid (toy story), jack sparrow (pirates of the caribbean), francis wilkerson (malcolm in the middle), azula (avatar: the last airbender), vicky (the fairly oddparents), stu macher / billy loomis (scream), marshall lee (adventure time), bojack horseman (bojack horseman), any it’s always sunny character :/

biography.

born to mama and papa (preacher) samuels in rochester, new york - fifteen minutes after his twin sister, tatiana samuels. years later, rosa samuels joined the gang.

was an awkward, quiet kid growing up, he didn’t interact well with others and preferred being left alone to dig up worms and draw on the walls of their childhood home. the only exception was his twin, really.

as he got older he grew out of this, but instead became like … sort of an asshole? maybe to compensate for years of childhood awkwardness. he’s the sort of person who will bite the hand that feeds him & developed into a full time nuisance by middle school, unlike tatiana who was much more subtle about her conniving manners.

always has been a fan of ‘darker’ materials. grim & creepy morbid shit. probably the biggest tim burton fan, ever since he was a kid … not a good look for a preacher’s son, but he never really felt ‘in’ with the rest of his family to begin with. classic black sheep syndrome.

drew disturbing pictures as a kid that probably prompted one or two or five phone calls home to assure everything was fine.

just really had a knack for art at a young age, from drawing to painting to playing with clay. it’s always been his Thing and probably is the only thing he’s good at.

being twins with tatiana was hard. they were near opposite besides both being quite mean-spirited. tatiana handled being in public better, left a better image behind - but viktor had talent, more than she did. they loved each other deeply - y’know, those unbreakable twin bonds as cliche as it sounds - but found each other as competition for their parents’ attention. a rivalry for affection.

in high school is when viktor really started to act out. it started extreme, like losing his virginity in their church and vandalism around the neighborhoods. faked being possessed in the middle of sunday service & almost had an exorcism performed on him.

his only redeemable trait was like … just his sheer talent in the arts. was in a 3D art AP course and specialized in sculptures. he could pretty much create anything he wanted with enough dedication.

because he was the problem child, the one who deserved to be disciplined for all his antics, tatiana could sneak away and get away with whatever she wanted much easier. on the bright-side, for her, i guess.

not a very motivated person - wasn’t planning on going to college, much less going to radcliffe but his parents literally wrote & sent his college application for him because they weren’t going to house a deadbeat but had too much heart to kick him out onto the streets. cool!

he’s actually pretty smart but he just doesn’t apply himself. has a minor in english because he didn’t care for an extra course-load, but he’s good at writing & analyzing literature. is going to use it to write and illustrate his own series of children books with a style similar to tim burton’s. not for the kids, but because he likes to leave a trail of terror in whatever he does.

has been experimenting with himself since high school but college is where he really had started to crack down on himself. was out as pansexual & nonbinary by his sophomore year of college just … not to his parents, who don’t really need to know.

if you asked him if he believed in twins having a psychic connection with each other - he’d tell you he wouldn’t know. it felt believable at times, but sometimes he had no idea what was going on inside of tatiana’as head. on the other hand - viktor had always felt oddly transparent to her, like she knew all of his moves before he did. the only person who could predict him accurately.

( TW DEATH, GRIEF, OVERDOSE / HOSPITALIZATION BEYOND THIS POINT )

when tatiana disappeared, viktor knew something was up. it was a twist in his gut, pure instinct that something wasn’t right. and it wasn’t right - and when she was proclaimed missing, they couldn’t find her.

and when tatiana died - viktor knew. it felt wrong, something cut so severely in him he could pinpoint her death to the second. he didn’t know how, or why, but he knew it. knew it before anybody else had.

afterwards he went on a sort of bender. he’d begun to struggle with a mild drug addiction late senior year of high school / early college, but he was managing it up until this point.

his mental health had also sunk to an all-time low, when it’d never been great to begin with. (manic & depressive episodes. once fixated on a sculpting project for six months and then knocked it off the table and destroyed it as soon as he finished it for no apparent reason.)

tatiana’s body wasn’t found immediately, and when it was … viktor went off the rails. ended up overdosing & being hospitalized. spent six months in & out of psychiatric care after that.

came back to radcliffe to finish his senior year because … for the reasons above, he hadn’t been able to complete it. just wants to get his credits and get out of here.

is still dealing with a lot of trauma & grief, especially since the one year anniversary of tatiana’s death was this month (january) - causes him to spiral and be unpredictable in regards of his mental health. he stopped taking his medication, so. :/ some days are alright, other days are pretty bad.

UPDATE: now that summer’s come n go ... viktor hs been thru <3 a lot <3 recently. switched therapists (his :/ last one got her license revoked) & started new medications, went to a treatment center briefly ‘cos .. he wasn’t doing too well :/ bt now he’s back baybey! trying to be better n trying to be sober but ... :/

personality.

the human embodiment of a gremlin that was fed after midnight. a goblin, if you will. one of those cats with a narrow head and really big ears … that’s them!

a big horror & halloween enthusiast. loves the old campy horror movies & probably has an abundance of masks from different movies. dresses like a grimy millennial beetlejuice more than they should because they just … love those black & white vertical-striped pants.

can appreciate the lore & cryptids at radcliffe and likes to feed into the fear that surrounds them. is probably the cause of a few ‘anomalies’ and ‘paranormal sightings’ because they’re just … a jerk.

fashion alternates between e-boy (they would be tiktok famous if they were 17 & didn’t think that a majorly minor based app was weird.), millennial beetlejuice, and goth in a crop top & sweatpants. big fan of crop tops and a big fan of sweatpants.

they can be really fucking mean? petty, aggressive, a major instigator. will literally spit in your face for little to no reason, you could just look at them the wrong way. the kind of person who will stick their gum into someone else’s hair. other than that? they’re like … sort of okay. they’re not always mean, just a dick about 90% of the time lmao

like okay yeah they’ll call someone a stinky bitch for no reason except they feel like it and believes it. it’s fine, they’re fine, we’re fine.

despite the fact that they’re probably getting into a fight whenever, considers themself to be a lover and not a fighter but that’a primarily because they fuck a lot. uses it as a coping mechanism, like they’re this big fancy carnival show that’s like ‘come one, come all! fuck the dead girl’s twin brother!’ and it’s … a Lot. might have a problem with hypsersexuality but they’re not fully aware of it.

the preacher’s whore son, basically :)

pansexual & nonbinary, switches between he & they pronouns often and without a pattern, but they have such a fragile grip on their identity that you could call them ‘dog-faced bitch’ and they’d turn around like. sup.

vastly impulsive … like i said, they destroy their own creations for the fun of it. spends all teir money on useless shit, will cheat on someone because they feel like it & likes the thrill, screams into the night sky frequently like a cat in heat.

will also spend months creating useless shit for no reason too. spent six of them sculpting a hollowed out tree the size of them & then took a sledgehammer to it.

they’re very super dramatic. would play the organ at church when nobody was looking after them and service was about to start. would just churn out these super haunting, creepy melodies like they were phantom of the opera. would do the same exact thing at home on their keyboard with the pipe organ setting whenever they got grounded until their parents took it away HBDSJFNGKH

will absolutely not talk about their ‘time away’ because it’s not anyone’s business, not even their own younger sister. still refuses to talk about tatiana’s death, or their mental health, or their addiction (fallen back into it but it hasn’t gotten severe … yet :/), or anything involving their own emotions.

will just change the topic abruptly, no warning. asks about the jonas brothers instead and they fucking hate the jonas brothers.

that being said they’re absolutely not over tatiana’s death & it’s to the point of obsession over it. like there’s some kind of secret that needs to be uncovered, even though there just. isn’t. tatiana was their rock and they were pretty much dependent on her. kept them grounded. could control them when nobody else could, got into their head easier than others. it’s sort of like rosa lost two siblings that day because viktor hasn’t been the same since.

emotionally unavailable while also crying twice a day. cries during their brawls but still wins. is stony-faced when they tell you they cheated on you with your much hotter best friend.

will tell you straight up what they want from you, no bullshit & no beating around the bush. just blunt. if they want to fuck, nothing else, then that’s it. if they feel deviation or developing feelings then they’ll ghost in less than a second. is awful like that but feels no shame.

but also emotional as shit and it’s confusing. will cry on a whim and then flip you off if you try to console them or ask them what’s up. will bite you.

they go to therapy but they just fuck around and wastes their therapists’ time … also is fucking their therapist, but that’s neither here nor there. so they’re not really getting the help they need.

likes to be intimidating but not … with their body or anything because they’re a TWIG but uses their love & knowledge of horror and creepy shit to their advantage. has an abundance of fake blood. has channeled the energy of jack nicholson and used it on tatiana’s boyfriends before (also is a big fan of sfx makeup & has dabbled in it)

probably chases kids around with a chainsaw without the chain on halloween every year.

generally never doing good, both mental health wise & morally. would probably steal candy from a baby for funsies.

i don’t know if there’s a good to them somewhere deep down, but they don’t see any issues with themself either. nothing really breaks through to them anymore because the only person who ever made them stop and think about their actions was tatiana, and well, y’know. :/

an introverted reclusive type who doesn’t like most people or going out, but does so anyway if it means a quick high & a cheap thrill.

pretty observant and likes to analyze people even though they’re often like … partially wrong. judgmental because they like to make people feel bad, not because they’re a righteous mighty person. because they’re not. so like, a hypocrite!

wanted connections.

a roommate… but it’s an absolute nightmare to live with him.

enemies… because viktor would have a lot of them…

familiar faces… people who knew tatiana or of her / were her friends. maybe even those who dated her, and who viktor would’ve tried to intimidate / scare at any given chance :/

pitiful glances… people who take pity on viktor and he hates it sooo much.

hooligan gremlin kids… just a friend group of grown ass adults who do drugs and fuck shit up around town like they’re edgy teenagers.

high school girlfriend… probably the one he lost his virginity to inside his family church :/

childhood acquaintances… people who knew him from his youth.

exes… good & bad terms, but mostly bad terms because viktor is an actual demon. probably cheated on them.

soft… i don’t know if he’s soft towards anyone and/or is capable of it but we can try. we can try.

unrequited… either viktor just doesn’t like them or he’s holding back because he’s :/ got issues with relationships & is self-sabotaging as one does

enemies with Tension… of the … spicy kind if you know what i mean. wink.

friends… old friends, new friends, bad friends, good friends, close friends, frenemies, etc. i don’t know how many he had but if your muse likes to cause a ruckus and fuck shit up then viktor’s your man.

hook-ups… current or old. friends with benefits, one night stands, anything and everything because he fucks around a lot.

ride or die… friendship but make it extreme.

bad influence… he’s just toxic to be around and brings out the worst in people :/

bad egg… he’s gotten into a few fights :/ maybe you witnessed it. maybe you were in it.

literally anything i wld love all sorts of plots.

[saja-star]

I have slightly less, but very similar, items in return: 1, 2, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10, 17, and 38!

Question list here.

1. Describe your comfort zone—a typical you-fic.

It’s mostly/all dialogue. The characters get in an argument about something, and during the conversation figure out where the other is coming from and come to some mutual understanding. Plot happens vaguely in the background.

2.  Is there a trope you’ve yet to try your hand at, but really want to?

I’ve been wanting to write a sickfic. I feel like that’s so suited to Venom, with healing and an awareness of the body being such a big part of things.

5. Share one of your strengths.

I like to think I’m good at humor in dialogue. I can’t like, do it on purpose? But sometimes I’m writing a scene and it just turns into banter and that’s one of my favorite parts of writing.

7. Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

From Rescue:

There was a prick of danger as they approached the boy, and they got ready to cover his mouth if he screamed—

They collapsed, writhing on the floor as noise sheared through their flesh like a razor blade, slicing right down to the core of them, to the place where they were connected, and severing it, leaving Venom to drip from Eddie’s shaking body like black blood from a poisoned wound.

The sound cut off. Venom crashed into the silence like falling from a high place into water: one second writhing and helpless and the next floating in noiseless nothing, not sure which way was up.

The warmth of Eddie was jerked away before it could slink back inside. It felt vibrations in the floor—thumping, scuffling—and crawled towards the struggle. There was a spot of bright light—it couldn’t see on its own per se, but it had a vague sense of light and darkness. It barely registered the glow before the light flared into a jet of searing heat. Venom felt its flesh sizzle and pop as it burned away. Slow, agonizing seconds ticked by as it tried to flee and the stream of fire tracked its crawl across the concrete floor. It slowed, too weak to keep moving forward—and then suddenly there was dark and cool, except for the faint burn of the oxygen atmosphere. 

With Rescue, I set myself a challenge to write something that was much more plotty than my usual fics, particularly something with action, and I feel like it turned out pretty well. This scene is a good example of the kind of flowy, stream-of-consciousness style that I ended up leaning on for fight scenes. On the other hand, working from Venom’s perspective I also got to play with its sensory differences and try to write something very tactile, which is always fun.

8. Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

From The Inspirational Symbiotic Kissing Lichen:

Eddie stood in the door to the kitchen blinking blearily. "What is that and why is it over our door?"

It is lichen.

"Are you sure? It looks like a piece of tape covered in bits of dirt."

I had a hard time scraping it off the fire escape last night.

Eddie suspected that what Venom had found on the fire escape was a patch of flaking rust, but he kept it to himself. "What happened to the mistletoe?"

I threw it out the window. Mistletoe is a parasite. Why would you celebrate love under a parasitic plant?

"What? Plants can't be parasites."

Can too, Venom said like a first grader. Mistletoe grows roots inside trees and steals their nutrients.

God it was too early in the morning for this. Eddie needed coffee. "It's got leaves. It can eat sunlight. Why would it need to do that?"

Because it is selfish and bad. Are you arguing with Wikipedia?

"No." Eddie sighed as he headed into the kitchen. "So why lichen? Was it the only plant you could find?"

It is not a plant. It is a symbiosis.

"With what, rocks?" Eddie fumbled with the coffee maker.

No, it is a symbiosis. It is algae or bacteria mixed with fungus. And possibly yeast. And possibly another fungus.

"Okay. Fun fact, I guess. Why is it hanging over our door?"

It is a four-way symbiosis, Eddie. It is inspirational. And romantic.

Eddie stopped. "...Are you trying to tell me you want a four-way?"

You are missing the point.

This exchange is, for me, the sweet spot between nerdery and humor and fluff.

9. Which fic has been the hardest to write?

Figuring Out, not even close. I wrote it, hated it, came back to it a few weeks later, edited out about a third of what I had written, begrudgingly posted it, and then came back to it a few weeks after that and edited down another third. Still not especially happy with it--I feel like it kinda wanders around without the  coherence that a really short story like that needs. 

10. Which fic has been the easiest to write?

Gestures. I sat down and wrote it in about fifteen minutes without pausing, skimmed back over it for typos, and then posted it. Most fics take me days to draft, and I edit them 3-4 times at a minimum. I have no idea what brain compartment Gestures came from, but the core ideas of it--non-verbal communication, tactile affection, Venom discovering a forgotten instinct for connection--I have rehashed in some form in every fic since.

17. Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order?

Almost always from start to finish. I don’t plan a story in advance, so I don’t know where it’s going, so there’s not really a way to skip ahead. That’s not saying much though, since all my fics are real short. There have been a few times that, as I’m falling asleep and a bit of dialogue or whatever just comes to me without context, I’ve typed it out in the notes app of my phone and then, some weeks later while I’m working on some wip, I realize that segment could fit. 

38. Talk about a review that made your day.

From transpeterparker on Venom VS. Technology:

i love this....... i love this so much....... what the fuck............... this Series. Oh My God. fuck me up. i love their relationship i love. i l o v e grbhiefwklsjehvbfiwu

Every review I’ve gotten has made my day! This stands out in my memory because was the first (and maybe still only?) keysmash I’ve had in a review and I know that feeling of reading something and just being at a loss for words with happiness and it was so exciting to see that in a comment on my work.

[manggojooz]

Take My Hands Now (Part 10)

pairing: Jungkook x reader

word count: 2,670 thereabouts

genre: drama, angst, romance 

summary: You were born with a condition that allowed you to feel the pain someone else was going through when you touched them. Jungkook, on the other hand, looked like he could not be any less bothered with other people’s feelings and was a well known playboy of the school. One night, at a party, while he attempted to turn you into his toy for the night, he grabbed your hand and pain crashed through you, making you wonder whether behind the facade of this pleasure seeker, he could also be hiding something.

warnings: none 

Song rec: She’s In The Rain - by The Rose 

Comments: There’s a random Korean line right at the end because I really wanted to include it but I have no idea what’s the best way to say it in English T.T I tried to translate but it’s not 100% to my satisfaction... if anyone can help perfect that I will be so grateful <3 

Previous Parts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6| Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 

Jungkook woke up in their practice room lair, with a fast asleep Hoseok lying next to him on the couch, hands draping over Jungkook’s body. He pushed Hoseok onto the floor, stirring him awake. As Jungkook moved to sit up, his head was pulsating, the hangover catching up to him.  

Hoseok rubbed his eyes as he sat on the cold floor. “Not the type of morning I was dreaming of... waking up beside another man”, he muttered groggily and he dragged his body back onto the couch, lying stomach flat on top of the pillows.  

Jungkook got up to make space for him. He walked out to the bathroom, splashing a handful of water on his face to sober up.  

---

He recalls storming out of his house, with his mind consumed in a complete vacuum from the conversation he just overheard. His parents had both saw him at the door when Hoseok let out a tiny gasp behind him. Jungkook paused outside the giant metal gates of his house. Waiting.  

But the voice that came was not what he waited for. “Jungkook!”, shouted Hoseok.  

Jungkook clenches his jaws, deeply inhales and closes his eyes out of torment. When his eyes fluttered opened again, he stalks off towards nowhere.  

“Hey, wait for me!”

They ended up in a posh club in town. Jungkook downing shots after shots, partying harder than he usually would. He entertained almost every single girl who approached him. Luring them in, taking what he needed from them, be it attention or affection, and then throwing them away.  

“Jungkook!”, a girl’s shrill voice pierced through the music as she landed herself next to him on the sofa he was resting on. Was she the third one tonight? Or the fourth? He was sure he had lost count.  

Jungkook doesn’t recognise her, “You know me?”

“Of course I know you, the famous Jeon Jungkook”, she laughed.  

“At least you know me...”, his smile at her, although drunken, would have made every heart in that place flutter.  

Hoseok who had been watching him worriedly the whole night decided that this was enough; Jungkook was either way too drunk or on the verge of losing his mind.  

“That’s enough for tonight Jungkook, let’s go”, he demanded as he dragged his friend away from the woman still clinging onto him.  

“Where are we going? I just found someone who knows me!”  

“I know you too buddy! Come on, let’s go!”, Hoseok yelled at a struggling and staggering Jungkook.

“Heyyy Hoseokkkk, get me another shot... I want one more...”, Jungkook was whining like a spoilt kid.

“Alright, ok ok, I'll get you everything you want, let’s just get out of here first.”, Hoseok tried to pacify him while taking his uncontrollable friend back to the school lair.  

---

Jungkook stared into the mirror at himself for a long time, he looked at himself up and down a few times. What should he do now? Since his mind was no longer working, he’ll let his heart dictate – his heart which must already have started to decay.  

---

A few days have passed since you had the conversation with Jungkook at the bus stop near Yunsu’s place. He never came to find you again. Well, to be fair, you did tell him to leave you alone and never retracted it. For the past few days, you couldn’t stop thinking about what he said.  

It was true that you could feel someone’s pain, but that does not always mean you understood the meaning of it all. You always thought your condition allowed yourself to stand in someone else’s shoes when it came to the hurtful things in life. But it was far from it.  

Even if you know how it felt like, you would still never truly know what those feelings mean to that person.  

---

Hoseok walked into the book store and spotted you at the counter in your daze.  

“Y/N”, he solemnly approached you.  

You jumped up from behind the counter. “What are you doing here?”, you asked cautiously, reminiscing the last time he came to find you here to satisfy his ulterior motives.  

He frowned in response to your tone, choosing to ignore your hostility. “I haven’t been able to contact Jungkook for quite a few days. Just came to check if he appeared around here? Although the chances are pretty low... but I have tried looking everywhere”, he murmured listlessly.  

“You guys fought?”, you asked.  

He looked up in slight irritation. “We did... that night after you left his birthday party. Not this time though. So, I guess you haven’t seen him either?”

You shook your head and he nodded, turning towards the door. He walked a few steps away but then he turned around, marching back towards you again.  

Staring closely into your eyes, he decided to tell you, “Something happened to him. He's definitely not alright. He turned off his phone for the past three days and I haven’t seen him around in school or anywhere which we would usually go.”

Concern started to grow within you as well, “Maybe he’s just at home? Have you checked?”

“That’s the last place he would be... I was there with him when it happened... at his house... he won’t be going back there any time soon.”  

So... something happened to him at home?  

“Whether you still wish to believe me this time, that’s up to you. As much as I hate to admit it, between the two of us now, he might want to see you more than me. But he’s still my best friend, and if he comes to look for you, or if you find him anywhere... just let me know whether he’s ok”, he relented. You were stunned as you watched him leave for real this time.  

Good thing your mind was still operating though, “Hey Hoseok!”, you shouted after him. “I don't have your phone number yet... if I see him I'll let you know.”  

---

You tried calling Jungkook and messaging him a few times after Hoseok left, as expected to no avail. Where could he have gone?  

The next day you waited and waited to see if he would appear at the lecture. “Are you possessed by a meerkat?”, Namjoon wrote on a piece of paper and slid it over your lecture notes.  

You side-eyed him with the best death glare you could pull off and he leaned over saying, “Your neck’s gonna break at this rate. He's not here and it doesn’t seem like he’s coming at all, the lecture’s ending in fifteen minutes.” Namjoon was probably right.  

---

Your phone buzzed in your pocket as you were arranging a new row of books, you threw everything down instantaneously to check who it was, but it was just an advertisement from the ice cream place up on the second level of the mall.  

As you were putting your phone away in disappointment, this brought back a memory to you. When Jungkook was talking about his father once, he had told you about how he fancied this one ice cream place near his elementary school, because his father used to fetch him from school and then they would hang out there. You mind flashes back to the conversation:  

“Remember I told you he became the CEO after I turned eight years old? And he never came to fetch me again. But I still go there from time to time, whenever I feel like being reminded of those times.”  

“Can’t imagine a guy like you just sitting around having ice cream. Isn't your heart already cold enough?”, you joked.  

“Very funny Y/N.”, he replied, cocking up an eyebrow at you.  

You texted Hoseok, asking him if he knew where Jungkook’s elementary school is. He replied you almost immediately with the answer and questioned why you were asking.  

“I have a hunch on where he may be... but I'm not exactly sure where it is, I'll just give it a shot. Let you know if I find him”, you replied to Hoseok.  

---

You clocked out early and headed down to the vicinity of the school address Hoseok sent to you. You searched for a list of all the ice cream parlours nearby and there were about eight of them pinned onto your map app.  

It’s going to take a while to get to all of them, so you hurried on your way, hoping none of them would close before you reached them.  

The first one you got to had a bright pink interior, it was filled with school kids, mostly girls. The second and the third places were close by, but none of them had any signs of the man you were hunting for. You ploughed through another three stores, glancing inside quickly through the huge glass windows and leaving whenever you failed to spot him.  

It was the second last shop on the list, and you saw that they were supposedly closing for the daygiven that it was almost 10pm. You ran towards it and through the glass door, ignoring the greeting of the girl at the counter, frantically scanning the place.  

Even you were shocked by yourself when you saw the familiar silhouette you had been searching for the whole day. There he was, sitting at the far end, by himself in a corner. Amazing that your guess was actually right.  

You walked over to him, and stood next to the table he sat at, really minded to yell at him for turning off his phone and disappearing for so many days. The bowl of ice cream sitting in front of him looked untouched, it had already melted into a puddle of mint green goo peppered with brown chocolate flakes.  

His eyes widened to see you there. How did you find him here? Or was he just hallucinating now? He reached out his hand wanting to test whether you were really there but his finger hovered just a centimetre away from touching you.  

“I’m sorry, we are closing for the day, is there anything else you need?”, a young girl wearing the shop’s uniform asked politely from behind you.  

"No, it’s fine. Thanks”, you turned to reply to her.  

Before you managed to spin back to look at Jungkook again, he had gotten out of the chair and was blazing out the door. You ran after him, hopping down the short flight of steps outside the shop.

“Where are you going?”, you shouted towards his back view.

He turned around to face you and the way he looked at you, in the dusk of the orangey street lights, had you stopping a few feet away from him. “Where do you think I'd be going? You should know by now what kind of person I am, so stay out of my business.”  

His eyes were reminiscent of someone you knew not too long ago – you were watching him transform back to that same guy you met the first time.  

“You know that that’s a lie”, you snapped at him.  

“Do I? What do I know anymore? I don’t even know... so, don't pretend like you know me either”, his voice brewed over with annoyance and disdain.  

He turned to walk off again and you ran up to him this time, grabbing hold of his arm to stop him. He flung you off immediately and you stumbled back almost falling. He belatedly realised what he just did, but he did not apologise, he showed no emotions in fact, he had to keep it up.  

Yet he just couldn’t bring himself to walk away again without making sure that you were alright.

Once you regained your balance you quickly went back up to him, your eyes boring a hole into his face given the intensity you were staring at him.

“What happened? What's wrong with you? Why are you doing this again? Hoseok told me something happened to you at home. I’m guessing it has to do with your Dad, seeing that you are here brooding over ice cream. Right? You are not going anywhere until you answer at least one of my questions.”  

“The club, I’m going to the club. You asked where I was going just now, so I've answered one of your questions. Happy now?”, he said begrudgingly.  

You gaped at his attempt to escape, and you could already start to feel the pain quaking your heart from watching him put up his defences again.  

“Is this how it’s going to be? Fine, then I'll try to figure this out myself”, you declared as you took two steps closer to him, bringing your face so close to his chest that he could feel your breathing. You took his left hand in both of yours. Surprisingly you didn’t feel that much worse, your heart still hurt that much but your body hurt a little more than your heart did.  

He froze for two seconds, perhaps three, because he wanted to feel your hands holding his just that much longer. But eventually he tried to hurl your hands off.  

You were relentless, however, gripping onto his hand tightly. You lifted your head to look him right in his eyes, and he froze again. He knows you must be feeling it too, and he knows how horrible it feels. But he wants to hold onto you, he wants you to hold him like that. That is selfish of him, right?  

As time trickled, the feelings within you also built up; a feeling that reminded you of the times he first touched you but so much worse, like it was now piercing and clawing holes into you. Only this time you were certain – you couldn’t tell the difference anymore, which feeling was his, and which was your own. Which feelings came from you grasping his hand and which you felt just by seeing him broken like this.

You didn’t even realise that a tear was rolling down the corner of your eye. All you could see was the depths of hollowness in his. Even then you wanted to know, what this feeling truly meant to him.  

But he couldn’t bear to watch you any longer and with one forceful jolt, he yanked his hands out of yours finally. You staggered from the force and he fought hard to stop himself from reaching out to you again.  

“Leave me alone, Y/N. You of all people don’t need someone like me around. Ignore me like you said you would. Don’t come looking for me like this again”, he didn’t think he was capable of feeling any worse up until this moment. Pushing you away like this made him hate everything even more, the darkness pooling inside his mind overwhelming himself.  

“Stop telling me to leave, I’m not leaving until you tell me what is wrong!”, you rebuked with such determination.  

“I need you to leave!”, he suddenly shouted, “I would rather all of you leave me when I tell you to, at least then... I can tell myself...”, he paused, covering his face with his hand, trying to maintain his façade. He closes his eyes, swallows hard and inhales harshly as he tries to push all his emotions back inside.  

“Just leave, Y/N. If you are hurt too... I hate it...*”

(*너까지 아프면 싫어...)

And it dawns on you now. He was pushing you away. He didn’t want to have anybody. He was afraid of losing them. That feeling – it was not sorrow or anger. It was the trauma of abandonment, the feeling of loneliness, the pain of desolation.  

You walked up to him yet another time, unyieldingly. Just like the benign wind of the night, your arms wrapped around him. You slowly pulled yourself close to him, resting your forehead on his shoulder.  

“Even if it hurts, I’m not leaving.”  

---

♫ “You wanna hurt yourself, I’ll stay with you.  

You wanna make yourself go through the pain,

It’s better to be held than holding on...” ♫

[onedirectionfanfics]

The Shamrock Social Club by @harryonstage​

Somehow you land a consultation with Harry Styles, one of the most renowned tattoo artists on the west coast. He agrees to design your first tattoo and ink it on you himself, but over the course of your sessions together, mischief ensues… 

This month’s featured story, The Shamrock Social Club, brought together avid Tumblr fic readers and Twitter stans alike in excitement and anticipation for each update. It tells the story of a girl determined to get a tattoo and her wildly attractive tattoo artist, Harry—fondly known as “tattoorry” among readers. Check out our amazing interview with the brilliant author behind this masterpiece below!

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How long have you been writing for?

God, as long as I can remember. I have memories of being in middle school, feverishly writing stories in my composition notebook when I was supposed to be paying attention to the lesson. I was conjuring up elaborate worlds and characters long before I ever planned on sharing them with anybody—before I even realized what I was doing.

Do you have certain habits or rituals you have to do while writing?

A lot of my followers joke about this, but I do a lot of writing in the bath. I turn off all my notifications and commit not to check my texts for awhile, and I cannot write without a giant warm beverage, usually coffee or rooibos tea with honey. I put rainstorm sounds on my bluetooth speaker. The thesaurus app and google dictionary are open at all times. Also, part of the creative process definitely happens long before I ever actually sit down to write—I’m constantly jotting stuff down in the notes app on my phone if I’m out and about when I think of a line to work into a scene later. I have all these sticky notes with like cryptic, half-baked ideas all over my desk at work… I’ll pick one up and all it says is like “The clicks a skateboard makes rolling down the sidewalk” or “The feeling of having an orange peel beneath your fingernails.” And I refuse to throw them away, even if I have no idea what I was thinking at the time. I think most people who write do that to some degree, though.

The ever famous question: how did you come up with this idea?

Honestly I was on tumblr and saw a collage of women with dragon and snake tattoos. I began thinking about the type of person who would want that symbol on them forever, and why. Minutes later, I wrote that “Tattoo You, 1981” blurb on my masterlist—of course named after the Rolling Stones album released that year—and then that became the preliminary blueprint for what is now The Shamrock Social Club. I literally thought it was going to be a one shot at most, but here we are nearly fifty-two thousand words later.

Throughout your writing in this fic, you show a great deal of knowledge about the process of getting a tattoo. Is this from experience or something you learned from researching?

Both! I have a few tattoos. One of them is a stick-and-poke. It’s been awhile since I got my last one though, so I had to refresh myself on the aftercare process. I called the actual Shamrock Social Club a few times to gauge what a master tattoo artist there would charge for something as large as the snake. I also wanted to be sure it was possible for an artist to fill in a tattoo as they work through the outline the way Harry does in the story. The researching process of a fic writer is so funny to me… I wish my readers could see me alone in my room at 2:00 AM eating dry cereal, deeply invested in a fifteen minute Youtube video comparing different types of tattoo inks.

When does a story go from an idea in your mind to paper? Is there a process you go through before writing it out, or do you just get straight in it?

I have so much respect for the writers who can just like, wing it. I personally need to have a story mapped out in bullet points beginning to end before I even open up a new document on my computer. That way, I get more time to sit with it and meditate on how close to reality it seems, and it helps me finagle the order of events and decide if there’s any room for improvement. Also, if I think of a detail or subplot that’s not in my original outline, it’s easier to pop it in and visualize how it synthetically fits with the story.

In all four parts (51k words), not once do you give a name for the main character or call her ‘Y/N’. Was this a difficult task? What was the reason for it?

This is a hot topic right now in the fan fiction community! Sometimes it’s difficult, but I think it helped make the prose in this story more seamless to read. As someone who has written original characters as well as self-insert fics, I think a strong enough writer can make a character feel personable and unique and real without an elaborate backstory, and I don’t feel that it takes anything integral away from the creative process for me. If you can get an audience to root for a protagonist in a couple of chapters through their choices, dialogue, hopes, and motivations alone, to me that’s a much more successful story… I deeply respect writers who are like “write for yourself, not for others!” but that notion doesn’t really keep me up at night. To me, it’s obvious that I’m writing for myself if I’m writing at all, and I’m very comfortable with that fact. Imagine that you’re in school for creative writing and your professor gives you an exercise with a few simple parameters… it’s a bit like that. I still only write about exactly what I want, but undergoing the challenge of writing for an audience has 100% made me a better, more versatile writer. To me that does not feel like a loss, or a compromise. Plus, I think it’s such an interesting way to engage with a story—you are explicitly the protagonist, actively steering your own trajectory with every choice you make.

Was the character ‘AJ’ inspired by anyone you know in real life, AJ?

Guilty as charged. I do tend to Stan Lee myself and my friends into my fics. Aijia, Iz, Steph, Ellen… all of those characters are based on my actual friends. It started out as a joke—I literally just needed a name for the roommate character, but someone suggested I name her AJ and I was like… why not? I love having fun that costs nothing and hurts nobody! Annie and I wrote ourselves into Under the Same Roof, too.

This fic very delicately tells the story of a girl who’s been sexually abused in the past in some way and is on a determined mission to self-healing. A topic not many will brave, but you did. Why?

This is such a good question. Honestly I was on the fence at first. As I was drafting the first installment, Nobody Fucks with a Snake, I knew I wanted Harry’s character to turn her away from the shop at first before he decided to take a chance on her, but I needed a reason why. Like, I needed him to see a glimmer of something in her, and simply him being attracted to her didn’t feel compelling enough to me. I thought it would be really meaningful and it would raise the stakes a little if Harry saw this like… tenacity and determination in her. One of my favorite scenes in the whole story is that pivotal moment in his office when we see Harry really start to understand the gravity of her predicament and how much this snake means to her. He’s so affected by her vulnerability, and it speaks volumes about both of them.

In the drafting process, I was talking with my friend Tanvi who also writes fic, and she wanted to know if there was some reason why Harry’s character feels such a strong urge to help this young woman, and why he goes to such great lengths to respect consent throughout the story. Like, does he have a loved one who was sexually assaulted? Is this a more personal issue for him? I considered this, but truthfully, I thought this story would be so much more poignant and effective if there like, wasn’t some special reason. Consent is necessary. Sexual assault is inexcusable and wrong. It is as simple and as complicated as that.

What was it like writing on an issue that makes a lot of people uncomfortable (but is still so important)? Did you feel like you had a responsibility to fulfil?

As a writer, it’s an enormous responsibility to parse trauma and heaviness and sorrow in a way that doesn’t glorify the pain, especially if you have a younger audience. Most of my readers are in their twenties, like me. I read something recently about how it’s true that writers shouldn’t cover topics such as sexual trauma, eating disorders, or major depression as to avoid romanticizing any of these terrible, life-altering experiences, but that doesn’t necessarily apply to people who have been through these hardships and turn to art or writing as an outlet.

I have an eating disorder. It’s something I talk about openly on my blog—as an aside, you should definitely browse my recovery tag! Through fic, I’ve written about what it’s like to have an ED. I’ve also used fic to write about having a stalker, and in The Shamrock Social Club, of course I write about the complex relationship one has with sex and romance and dating in the aftermath of being sexually assaulted. I write to focus on the triumphs instead of the pain, and I always try to make these experiences awkward, ugly, and honestly gross when they need to be. Without divulging too much of myself online, I’m well equipped to know what all of those hardships feel like. In fact, I’ve read many stories, fan fiction and novels alike, that portray eating disorders, stalkers, and surviving sexual assault in a really misleading light, and I wanted to create something I felt like accurately represented how insidious and terrifying all of that actually is. Most of all, for me, writing this story was so much more about the main character overcoming her strife, and finally feeling like she has agency and control over her own body again. At its core, the Shamrock Social Club is really just the story of a fiercely determined young woman on her own path to healing, who happens to meet a boy along the way. The writing process was very, very cathartic.

Your story got popular not only on Tumblr but across Twitter as well in a short period of time—an amazing accomplishment. How did you react to your (well-deserving) popularity?

Jesus, the memes that have been born out of this story on twitter and tumblr are… beyond hilarious. And trust me, nobody lurks on twitter more than me. I don’t know if I would use the word “popular” about this story or even about myself though. To put things in perspective, suddenly being under a magnifying glass is still super strange and new to me. I literally had about 500 followers for most of the eight years I’ve been on tumblr until the end of 2018, which is when I started posting fic. I think about this all the time, I could write a dissertation on how baffling it is that people suddenly seem to give me heaps of attention and put me on this pedestal when deep down I know who I am and I know how tumblr works and I know it’s just as likely that people could be sending messages and giving praise to literally anyone else. Everybody has something to offer, I just got lucky. In the grand scheme of things, this story has only reached a very small pocket of the internet and there really isn’t anything about me that makes me more special than anyone else, I’m just a person who had a few people’s attention for a little while because I wrote a story. I’m very proud and grateful to have people reading my writing and it isn’t lost on me how fortunate I am that anyone does in the first place.

The one thing I will say though, is that it’s profoundly moving to me the amount of sexual assault survivors who have come forward in the wake of this story. Anonymously or not, people have been so open, and have shared so much of themselves with me. It’s amazing how alone you can be made to feel when you don’t have an example of someone who has been through the same struggle as you and come out the other side, even if it’s a fictional character, and I think this story ended up meaning a lot more to people than I ever expected it to. I can’t wrap my brain around how special it is that something I wrote could offer some small comfort to another person who has survived something so awful. The response this story has gotten blows me out of the water to this day.

Who came up with the name ’tattoorry’?

Honestly I don’t remember but “tattoorry” is shorthand for “tattoo artist Harry.”

Lastly, anything you’d like to say to anyone who read your fic?

Thank you for reading my writing. On principal, I think that if you find something that makes you happy and it’s not hurting anyone, then that’s worth celebrating. The people who have engaged with this story made into into something so much bigger and more special than I could’ve ever accomplished on my own. 

Thank you very much, this was a lot of fun!

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Thank you, AJ, for your time and dedication to these questions! Check out more of her work here! 

***If you would like to send in recommendations for next months featured story, please do so here.