#clicking a chisel like a pen

[tomicscomics]

03/01/2024

Fo' chisel.

___

JOKE-OGRAPHY: 1. In this Bible story, God gives Moses the Ten Commandments, which will guide the basic morality of His people.  The Commandments aren't clearly numbered in the story, so the Jews, Catholics, and Protestants all split them up differently.  Despite the slight differences in numbering, we all use the same verses and end up with the same general rules.  In this cartoon, I use the Catholic method of numbering them, so the First Commandment is made up of verses 2-6. 2. In the Bible, the first set of tablets were inscribed by God Himself.  In this cartoon, God tries to have Moses write them first, but Moses isn't able to keep up, only finishing the first letter of God's speech by the time He's done.

[cowboybeepboop]

I'm not too sure if you're still taking requests but I was wondering if you can do a Scott from twisters and a super shy reader one? Like it could be Scott is her boss or something and he notices that she's super timid and shy and takes care of her. It could be fluff or smut but mostly leaning towards smut lol

I absolutely love all your work and you are such a talented writer!

Pairing: Scott Miller x fem! Reader

Genre: Romantic smut with fluff at the end

Word count: 5 k

Warnings: a little bit of roughness, p in v sex, fingering, semi public sex

a/n: Omg, I’m actually so excited you requested this bc I’ve been thinking of writing something similar for a bit. I’m always happy to take requests as well 😝 Also thank you so much! I hope this lives up to what you were expecting <3

You’ve been working at a small publishing company for the past couple months. It’s all been great, aside from the *strange* interest your boss Mr. Miller has taken in you. He seems to thrive on pushing your boundaries and putting you in situations that you would usually try and avoid. But at least he doesn’t yell at you or get on your ass about every small detail like he does with the rest of his crew.

The office buzzed with the usual cacophony of clicking keyboards and hushed conversations, but your desk remained a bubble of relative calm. That was, until James, the office chatterbox, perched himself on the edge of your table, his elbow propping up a paperback novel and his legs swinging carelessly.

He had a way of invading personal spaces without so much as a knock. "Hey, could you just...?" he began, dangling a manuscript in the air expectantly. It was the third time that week he'd asked you to cover for him. His eyes sparkled with the hope that you’d once again take the bait.

Your heart sank, knowing you couldn't refuse him without causing a scene or damaging the precarious office dynamics. But before you could utter a word, Mr. Miller's sharp voice sliced through the air like a hot knife through butter. "James," he barked, his stern gaze sweeping over the room and landing on the manuscript in James' hand, "this is the third time I've caught you offloading your work. Do it yourself or face the consequences."

The room fell silent, and James, caught in the act, had the decency to look sheepish. He scurried away, muttering something about deadlines and coffee. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of gratitude towards Mr. Miller, despite his mysterious intentions.

Your eyes brightened as you smiled up at your boss, giving him a silent “thank you”. Mr. Miller's gruff expression did little to hide the smug satisfaction that briefly flashed across his face before he turned away, the tension in the room dissipating as swiftly as it had appeared.

He marched back to his office, the heavy door swinging shut behind him with a decisive thud. You watched him go, feeling a mix of relief and curiosity about the enigmatic man who had just come to your aid. The silence was broken by the resumption of whispers and the shuffling of papers, but your thoughts remained fixed on the peculiar exchange.

You chew on the cap of your pen as your mind continues to wander to your boss. The tall and buff man who never lets a single hair get out of place. You couldn't deny the undeniable attraction you felt towards Mr. Miller, despite his brusque demeanor. His piercing blue eyes, chiseled jawline, and the way his tailored suits hugged his broad shoulders had not gone unnoticed by the female staff, or anyone with a pulse for that matter.

Yet, his rough around the edges personality kept everyone at bay, except for you. The way he'd occasionally drop a curse word in the middle of a meeting or roll up his sleeves to reveal strong muscles was oddly charming. You found yourself eager to learn more about the man behind the stern facade, hoping that there was a softer, more approachable side to him that the office hadn't yet discovered.

As the lunch hour begins, Mr. Miller steps out of his office, his gaze sweeping over the bustling office. He spots you, diligently working at your desk, and saunters over. He leans against your cubicle, arms crossed, emanating a mix of authority and nonchalance. His eyes lock onto yours, a subtle smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“So,” he drawls, his gruff voice a contrast to the ambient office chatter, “busy day, huh?” Your gaze meets his.

“Yeah, I guess so.” You give him a soft smile before looking back at your computer screen, trying to ignore the way your heart rate picks up in his presence.

“Uh-huh.” He lets out a low, contemplative hum, his eyes studying you, making you feel almost exposed. His gaze lingers a beat longer than necessary before he glances away.

“You look... stressed,” he comments, his tone casual but his observation astute. He leans in just a bit closer than what would be considered appropriate for coworkers.

You gulp as you lean back in your seat, trying to create distance between the two of you. “I’m not stressed.” Your pitch becomes slightly higher as a soft flush paints your cheeks.

Mr. Miller notices your shift backwards and the subtle rise in your voice, his smirk growing as he pushes himself off the cubicle wall and stands tall over you. He towers over your sitting form, the intensity in his gaze increasing.

“You sure about that, sweetheart?” he drawls, the last word rolling off his tongue in that way that always makes your heart skip a beat.

“Uh, Mr. Miller?” Your voice cracks a little as you shoot out of your chair. “I’ve got to go grab some things from the storage room.” you mumble as you slide past him.

Scott watches as you dart out of your seat, his smirk still firmly in place. He allows you to brush past him, his eyes following your every step. He waits a beat, letting you gain a small lead, before he slowly starts to follow you, his footsteps nearly silent. His eyes never leave your form as he continues to walk a few feet behind, his hands shoved into his pockets.

You open the door to the storage closet, taking a deep breath as you walk inside. An annoyed sigh leaves your lips as you notice the stapler you need is on the top shelf. You stand on your tippy toes, which doesn’t get you close enough so you begin to jump, not noticing your boss standing against the closed door.

Mr. Miller stays back, silently leaning against the door as he watches you attempt to reach the stapler on the top shelf. A hint of amusement dances in his eyes and a slight smirk tugs at the corners of his lips. He remains quiet, a silent observer of your struggle.

He lets you jump for a few moments, enjoying the way your body rises up and down, before he finally makes a sound. “Need some help there, sweetheart?”

“Oh shit!” Your eyes widen as you turn around, startled by his voice. He chuckles, the sound low and rough, as you inadvertently collide with his chest. He leans down, reaching easily over you and plucks the stapler from the top shelf. His other hand lands on your hip to steady you, his grip firm but not unwelcome.

“You’re a bit jumpy, aren’t you?” he teases, his voice a low rumble. He looks down at you, his eyes glinting with amusement.

You clear your throat as your eyes fall to the floor. “I didn’t expect you to be in here,” you fix your skirt as you shift awkwardly.

Mr. Miller takes a step closer, closing the distance between the two of you, effectively trapping you between his body and the wall. He looks down at you, his eyes darkened with something you can’t quite place.

“You didn’t expect someone to walk into the storage closet?” he asks, his smirk turning into a small, sly smile. He raises the stapler in his hand, still grasping it just above your head, his forearm mere inches from your face.

“Well,” you look up at him, chewing on your bottom lip. “Everyone else went to lunch, so I didn’t expect anyone to come in…” your voice trails off as you glance past him at the closed door.

Mr. Miller notices your gaze flicker to the door, his smirk widening as he leans closer, his free hand bracing against the wall beside you, effectively caging you in.

“So you thought you’d be all alone in here, did you?” he drawls, his voice lower and more intimate, the scent of his cologne filling your nostrils. He shifts his foot, his legs now bracket yours, trapping you even more effectively.

“Mr. Miller?” You press your hand against his chest, pushing his body slightly. A dark blush paints your skin as you gaze up at him.

Scott feels your hand push against his chest, but he doesn't budge. Instead, he leans in closer, his body practically flush against yours. His eyes roam over you, taking in the way the blush colors your skin.

“Yes, sweetheart?” he responds, his voice a deep rumble. His hand on the wall moves to your waist, his fingers splaying out across the thin material of your blouse.

“What are.. are you doing?” You gulp as he pulls you closer to him. Scott lets out a low chuckle, his smirk still firmly in place. He continues to press you against the wall, his body almost enveloping you completely.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he drawls, his hand on your waist shifting slightly, his thumb starting to trace small, infuriating patterns across your hip bone.

You lean into his chest with a soft gasp at his touch. “This isn’t very, uh, professional…” you groan out as his hands trail over your skin.

Scott lets out another deep chuckle, his touch growing more purposeful as his hand continues its maddening journey across your skin. He can feel your body responding to his touch, your gasp of pleasure feeding his growing desire.

“Professional…” he echoes, his voice a low rumble in his throat. “It’s lunch break, sweetheart. There’s no one here but you and me.” He leans closer, his lips hovering just above yours, his breath hot against your skin. “And I don’t feel like being professional right now.”

Scott’s smirk turns into a full-fledged smile as he reads the clear invitation in your eyes. Before you can fully process his intentions, he pulls you into a passionate kiss, his hands sliding your skirt up as he does so. Your body responds instinctively, your arms wrapping around his neck as his lips claim yours.

His touch is surprisingly gentle, yet firm, leaving no room for doubt or denial. You can feel the heat from his palms as they graze the bare skin of your thighs, sending shivers down your spine. His kiss is demanding but not aggressive, a silent declaration of his desire that you find yourself unable to resist.

The sound of your breath mingling with his fills the small space as your hearts race in tandem, the line between professionalism and passion blurring like the ink on a freshly edited manuscript.

Mr. Miller's hand slides down further, slipping under the hem of your skirt and brushing against the silk of your panties. His touch sends a jolt of excitement through your body, making you squirm against the wall. He chuckles against your lips, feeling your wetness through the thin fabric.

His fingers trace the edge of your panties, teasing the sensitive skin before hooking them and sliding them down your thighs. His palm flattens against your bare mound, the heat of his hand sending a rush of pleasure through your core. You gasp into his mouth as he massages you, his thumb circling your clit with a masterful pressure that leaves you trembling and desperate for more.

The storage room suddenly feels much smaller as your world narrows to the feel of his body pressing against yours and the sensations he's coaxing from your body. Your thighs instinctively squeeze around his arm as he expertly works his thumb against your clit, his movements growing more insistent and deliberate.

His other hand moves to the small of your back, pressing you harder against the wall, his body pinning yours in place as his kiss deepens. His tongue delves into your mouth, mimicking the rhythm of his thumb, and you can't help but moan softly. The pressure builds within you, your breaths coming in short, sharp gasps as you feel the beginnings of an orgasm coil in your belly.

Your hands grasp his shoulders, nails digging in as you try to anchor yourself against the overwhelming sensations. The room is filled with the muffled sounds of your moans and his groans, the only music to the illicit dance of your bodies. His fingers continue to explore, slipping one inside of you, stretching and filling you with a delicious fullness that makes your knees weak.

Your hips buck against his hand, desperately seeking more friction as he whispers dirty words into your ear, his breath hot and heavy. The walls seem to close in around you, and all you can focus on is the exquisite torment he's inflicting, the promise of a climax that seems just out of reach.

You pull away from the kiss, moaning out his name. “Scott..” you bury your face in his neck. Mr. Miller's thumb continues its relentless circles around your clit, his hand curling into a fist as he feels your wetness soaking his fingers. His other hand squeezes your ass, pulling you even closer to his growing erection, which presses against your stomach.

He seems to enjoy the way you're responding to him, the way your body moves with his touch. His teeth graze your neck, eliciting a shiver that runs down your spine, as he whispers in your ear, "You're so fucking wet for me, aren't you?" His voice is thick with lust, his breath warm and heavy against your skin.

Your moans become louder, muffled by his mouth, as he brings you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy. The storage room feels like it's spinning around you, your body a taut bowstring ready to snap. And just when you think you can't take it anymore, Mr. Miller's thumb presses down hard on your clit, and you shatter in his arms, your orgasm ripping through you like a wildfire, leaving you boneless and panting against the wall.

As the intensity of your climax subsides, Scott’s kisses turn tender, pressing against your cheeks and neck as he supports your trembling body. He gently sets you on your feet, his strong arms keeping you upright as your legs wobble like jelly.

With a satisfied smirk, he withdraws his hand from beneath your skirt and brings it to his mouth, licking his fingers clean with a wolfish gaze that sends another wave of heat through your core. His eyes never leave yours as he tastes you, savoring the sweetness of your arousal.

The intimacy of the moment is almost overwhelming, leaving you breathless and utterly exposed in the dingy office storage closet. You stand there, panting and flushed, unable to look away from the raw hunger in his gaze. The air around you feels thick with unspoken desire, the silence only broken by the distant hum of the office outside the door, a stark contrast to the passionate scene playing out in the shadowy confines of the room.

Your body feels alive, every nerve ending still singing from his touch, and your mind is racing with the implications of what just happened between you. His fingers move to pull the hem of your skirt down, fixing your clothes as he pulls away from you.

He runs a hand through his tousled hair, a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his lips as his eyes roam over your disheveled form. The sight of you, leaning against the wall, looking utterly spent, fuels his inner dominance, his primal desire to possess and claim.

He takes a step back, putting some distance between you, but his gaze remains fixed on you like a predator studying its prey. He runs a hand along his jaw. "You taste even sweeter than I imagined," he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly.

Your skin turns a deep red as you cover your face in embarrassment. “We should probably go back to work now…” You mutter while trying to change the subject.

Scott lets out a throaty chuckle at your sudden change of topic, his gaze still locked onto every move you make. He can tell you’re feeling embarrassed, flustered by what just took place between you, and he can’t help but find it amusing and adorable.

He takes another step back and leans against the door, arms crossed over his chest now. "That’s the last thing on my mind right now," he responds with a smirk, his eyes raking over your body.

Your hand grasps his arm as you push him away gently. “Mr. Miller,” you bite your lip, “We *should* go get back to work before…” your voice trails off.

Scott’s smirk deepens as you push him gently, his eyes darkening with a mixture of desire and dominance. He doesn’t budge, his body tense and unyielding under your touch. His arms remain crossed over his chest, his muscles corded and taut.

"Before what, sweetheart?" he murmurs, his voice a low rumble in his throat. He takes a step closer, invading your personal space again. "You want to act like nothing just happened in here?“

“No. That’s not what I meant,” your tone is soft as you gaze up at him. “But, we have to go back to work before anyone notices..”

Scott’s smirk softens, his expression gentling a bit as you gaze up at him. He can see the genuine concern in your eyes, and he understands the logical reason behind your words. It’s true that you can’t stay in this storage closet forever, not without the risk of someone discovering what just happened.

He uncrosses his arms and reaches out, taking your chin gently between his fingers. “You’re right,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing a lazy path along your lower lip. “We do need to go back eventually.”

Standing on your tippy toes you pull him into a gentle kiss. Your hand trailing down his muscular chest. Scott melts into the kiss, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you flush against his body. He returns the kiss with equal gentle passion, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips, seeking entrance.

His hands move over your body, pulling you even closer, his muscles tense and taut beneath your touch, as if he’s holding himself back from losing control.

When the kiss breaks, he rests his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as he tries to regain his bearings. "We should really go back, sweetheart."

“Mhm..” you murmur, “We really should.” You step away with a sigh not willing to leave his embrace. Scott lets out a small huff of laughter at your reluctance to leave.

He understands the feeling, the desire to remain in this intimate bubble you’ve created together, away from the outside world. But he knows just as well as you do that it’s inevitable, you have to go back to work eventually.

"Come on," he says, his voice gruff but gentle. "Let’s get out of here, before we get ourselves into more trouble.” You follow close behind him groaning when you sit back down at your desk, your eyes following him as he returns to his office.

Scott returns to his office, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. He can feel your eyes on him as he walks away, and it takes everything in him to resist the urge to turn around and pull you back into that small storage closet.

He takes a seat behind his desk and lets out a deep breath, trying to focus on the paperwork in front of him, but his mind keeps wandering back to the taste of you and the feel of your body against his.

The rest of the work day drones on endlessly, your eyes constantly flicking between your boss and the clock. You spin in your chair while chewing on your pen again. As the day comes to an end, James finds his way back to your desk this time with a sweet smile as he grabs the back of your chair, turning you to face him.

James approaches your desk, a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of his lips. He gently grabs the back of your chair, spinning it around to face him.

"Hey there," he greets, his smile widening at the sight of you. "Got any plans for tonight?" You gaze up at him with an awkward smile.

“Uh, actually I need to stay late tonight..” you turn your attention back to your computer, fumbling with a few scattered papers on your desk.

James tilts his head as he watches you mess with the papers on your desk, a small frown creasing his forehead.

"Stay late?" he repeats, taking a small step closer to your desk. "Why do you need to stay late tonight?"

Just as you're trying to come up with a response to James' question, Scott's deep voice calls out from his office.

"Ms. Y/N, can I see you in here for a moment?" he calls out, sounding casual but firm. You hurry towards Scott's office, your heart pounding in your chest as you step through the door, Scott is seated behind his desk, papers spread out before him, but his eyes are fixed on you as you enter.

"Close the door," he instructs, his voice low and commanding. The door shuts with a soft click, enclosing you and Scott in the quiet solitude of his office. He watches you move towards him, his gaze intently fixed on you.

"Come here," he commands, beckoning you forward with a crook of his finger. You bite down on your lip as you walk to him, sitting on the desk in front of him.

As you perch yourself on the desk in front of him, Scott's hands come to rest on your thighs, his palms hot even through the fabric of your skirt. He leans back in his chair, his gaze roaming over your body, taking in every detail.

"We need to talk," he murmurs, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your thighs. Your feet hook into the arms of his chair as you pull him closer to you, your arms wrapping around his neck.

“Mhm, we need to talk.” You look at him with eyes full of desire. Scott's lips curl into a smirk as you pull him closer, his hands sliding up your thighs to rest on your waist. He lets you pull him in, his chair rolling easily as he comes to a stop right in between your legs.

Scott chuckles lowly at your brazen move, a sly smirk tugging at the corner of his lip. His hands slide up your thighs, pushing your skirt higher up your legs until they're resting on your hips.

He looks up at you with a dark, smoldering gaze, his hands squeezing your hips tightly. "Is this how we talk now, sweetheart?"

You pull him into a passionate kiss, Scott grins against your mouth, his hands sliding around to cup your ass as he kisses you back with a fervor that takes your breath away. He stands up from his chair, pressing you back against the desk as he deepens the kiss, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth.

You wrap your legs around his body pulling him tight against you. Scott groans into the kiss, his body molded perfectly against yours. His hands grip your thighs, holding you in place as he rocks his hips into you, his hard length pressing against the thin fabric of your panties.

He breaks the kiss and moves to your neck, his teeth and tongue nipping and soothing the sensitive skin. "You have no idea how badly I've been wanting to do this all day," he whispers hoarsely.

“Show me how bad,” you moan out, your hands moving to his belt as you fumble with the buckle. Scott grins at your demand, watching as your shaky hands struggle with his belt.

"Impatient, are we?" he teases, his hands covering yours, aiding you in undoing his belt and the button of his pants.

He presses you back against the desk, pinning your hands above your head as his hips grind against yours, his teeth nipping at your earlobe. "I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this eager before, sweetheart."

“Scott I need you,” you moan quietly, “please.” Scott's smirk turns into a full-blown smile at your needy whimper, his eyes darkening with desire. He quickly pulls your panties aside, revealing your wet, swollen sex to his hungry gaze.

His own arousal is palpable, his cock straining against his briefs. With a swift motion, he releases himself and sheaths it with a condom he's had in his pocket, anticipation making his hands shake slightly. He lines himself up with your entrance and with one powerful thrust, he's inside you, filling you completely.

You gasp into his mouth as he starts to move, his strokes deep and measured, his hands holding you down on the desk as he takes you over and over again. Each thrust sends waves of pleasure crashing through your body, making you arch into him, desperate for more.

The sound of your moans mingles with the rustle of paper and the slap of skin on skin, creating a symphony of passion that echoes through the otherwise silent office. The urgency in his movements grows, his hips slamming into yours with a rhythm that matches the racing of your heart.

You can feel yourself getting closer to the edge, your muscles tightening around him as you whisper his name like a prayer. His grip on your wrists tightens, his hips moving faster, more insistent. You know it won't be long before you both succumb to the overwhelming desire that's been building between you all day.

As the tension between you reaches a fever pitch, Scott's hips begin to move with an erratic rhythm, his breathing heavy and ragged against your neck. You can feel the head of his cock hitting that perfect spot deep within you, sending shudders of pleasure through your body with every stroke. His grip on your wrists tightens even more, his movements becoming more forceful as he nears his own climax.

Your eyes flutter closed as you lean back, arching your body into him, silently begging for more. His teeth graze your skin, his tongue tracing a wet path up to your ear, where he whispers a string of filthy words that only serve to stoke the fire burning within you.

You tighten your legs around his waist, urging him deeper, faster, the pressure building until it's almost unbearable. And then, with one final, powerful thrust, he groans deeply, his body tensing as he releases inside the condom. The wave of your own orgasm follows almost immediately, a powerful crescendo that leaves you gasping for air. Your bodies remain intertwined for a moment, both of you panting and trembling from the intensity of your shared release.

As the tremors of your shared climax subside, Scott pulls out of you gently, the feeling of emptiness making you whimper. He quickly disposes of the condom in a nearby trash bin, his movements swift and practiced, not wanting to break the spell that's woven around the two of you. He then presses soft, delicate kisses along your neck and collarbone, his breathing still heavy with desire.

Each kiss feels like a whispered promise of more to come, a silent apology for the roughness of his earlier touch. His hands glide over your body, smoothing out your rumpled clothes, his eyes never leaving yours. The air in the office is thick with the scent of sex and the unspoken understanding that everything has changed between you. You watch him, your heart racing, as he takes a step back, his gaze lingering on your swollen lips and flushed cheeks.

He helps you down from the desk, his hands lingering on your waist as you stand unsteadily on wobbly legs. He pulls his pants up, his eyes never leaving yours, as he tucks in his shirt and re-buckles his belt. With a soft smile, he leans in to kiss you, his hands moving to fix your skirt and panties. His touch is gentle, almost reverent, as he ensures you’re put back together properly.

You watch him, still dizzy from the passionate encounter, as he straightens his tie and runs a hand through his hair. The smell of sex lingers in the air, a potent reminder of what just transpired. He pulls you into his arms, pressing sweet kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, and finally your lips, his breath warm and comforting against your skin.

Scott wraps you in his arms, pressing gentle kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, finally your lips. You shiver slightly, still a bit flushed and breathless from the passionate encounter. "You alright, sweetheart?" he murmurs, his voice gruff yet gentle.

“Yes, more than alright.” A soft smile paints your lips as you press your face into his chest, breathing in his cologne.

Scott grins as you bury your face in his chest, his arms holding you close. He revels in the feel of your body against his, the warmth and softness of your skin.

"Good," he murmurs, running a soothing hand down your back. "Because I have a question for you." You hug his waist cuddling into his warm and muscular body.

“What is it?” You pull back a bit, looking up at him. Scott keeps you snug against him, enjoying the feel of your body cuddled into his. His arms tighten around you, reluctant to let you go just yet.

"I was wondering," he begins, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. "If you'd like to go out to dinner with me tonight?" You smile at him sweetly.

“I’d love to.” Scott's smile widens into a full-blown grin at your acceptance. He gently cups your chin with his thumb and forefinger, looking down at you with a gaze that holds a hint of possessive intent.

"Good," he says, his voice low and husky. "Because I can't stand the thought of letting you out of my sight for too long."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Know Your Place 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, power dynamic, age gap, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Walter Marshall, destroyer!Chris [for the purposes of this AU, I will give him the last name Jackson] (Professor AU)

Summary: after a life time of home schooling, you finally get to experience the real world in college. (petite reader)

Part of the Bad Professors AU

Note: Please leave some feedback and reblog <3 As always, I love to chat with you all. 

The noise all around has you reeling. You’re not used to so many people. So many voices and smells and sights. The frantic action of it all reminds you of a mid-00s movie about a high school. The coeds are like animals milling about in groups with the odd single body rushing between with a mission stitched between their brows. 

You sit with your thermos of tea and try to focus on your schedule. You have a campus map from the Student Support Centre next to it, trying to map out your route for each day. Momma said you should try to get ahead, figure out where you’re going. She’s always right. 

You have two classes that day. As you find the buildings on the map, planting a finger on each, you find that they are on completely different ends of the campus. Of course. Well, momma didn’t know that where they would be, did she? She said you have to balance your load; if you’re going to be an English major, make sure you take some math and science for your electives. 

You circle the two buildings and put lets beside them denoting which day you need to be there, numbering them in the order the classes occur. A burst of laughter breaks your concentration and you look around, trying to find the source. You almost miss the calm isolation of your childhood living room. 

No, you’re grown now and you begged Momma to let you go to college. Not online, but in person. You even worked all summer at the deli so you could live in a dorm. She was proud but worried. She’s never been good at letting go. She’s already called three times today and it’s not even noon. 

As the crowd blurs around you, a sudden gust blows over the table as someone sits across from you. You stare back at them with a gasp. They must’ve mistaken you for someone else. You blink as the man tugs on the front of his letterman jacket and smiles. He doesn’t seem mistaken. 

“Hey,” he leans forward on an elbow, “you waitin’ for someone? Got some cute girlfriends on their way?” 

He’s so forward, he has your brows as high as they can go and your cheeks are on fire. It’s not much of an introduction. 

“Excuse me?” You eke out. 

“Ah, I’m sorry, hon, I’m getting ahead of myself,” he smirks as he crosses both his arms on the table. “I’m Colin. You looked lonely.” 

“Oh, uh, I’m just... figuring out my schedule,” you utter dumbly. Yor brain isn’t clicking. Why is he talking to you? 

Your ears tweak and you notice a group in similar jackets, sitting just across the dining area, gabbing loudly, snickering. You wonder why he isn’t over there with them. You wiggle your pen anxiously. 

“Ah, you’re not gonna give me a name for that pretty face?” He says. 

“Huh?” Your brows drop, “what?” 

Your momma’s voice echoes in your head. ‘Be careful of those college boys. They only want one thing.’ You didn’t believe her. They don’t want that from you. You were sure once you saw the other girls in their tight leggings and short tops. 

“Your name, baby? Gotta be something sweet, huh?” 

Your face ripples as you wade through surprise, confusion, then something else. You’re almost giddy. This man, with his mussed blond hair and bright blue eyes, and his chiseled features, is asking you your name. It’s flattering. 

“Mauve,” you can’t help but smile as you answer. 

“Oh, yeah? That’s pretty, well, Mauve,” he takes out his phone, “me and my buddies are having a party tonight and we’re supposed to find a hottie to bring with us. I’m having no luck but if I show up alone, well... I might not get to stay in the frat. You get it?” 

You stare at him. You're confused. You don’t really understand frats and whatnot. They just seem like clubs people join so they can drink. 

“You wanna do me a favour? Come with me?” He asks. 

He’s bold. Bolder than any one you’ve ever met. You sputter but can’t come up with any words. 

“Please,” he pouts, “promise, I won’t try anything, I just gotta get these guys off my back.” 

He looks over his shoulder at the table of rowdy guys. You squirm in your seat, uncertain. You’ve never been to a party. Wow. 

“Here, I’ll get your number,” he taps on his phone screen, “I’ll send you the details--” 

“Leave her alone,” a grizzly voice undercuts the frat across from you. 

A thick man stands behind him. He has a cardboard cup in his hand as he glares down at the coed. His burly figure is swathed in a dark green sweater and grey slacks. He’s older and his dark curls are threaded with subtle twinkles of silver. 

“Huh? Who the hell are you?” 

“Why don’t you show her those pictures you were snapping of her? The ones you and your pals were laughing about?” The other man growls.  

You frown. What? You don’t understand what’s going on. You look from one to the other. The younger man sat across from your sighs and rolls his eyes. 

“Fuck it. Whatever. Lots of pigs to go around,” he shakes his head and stands, facing the other man. “You know, bro, just cause you’re too old to get with any ass around here, doesn’t mean you gotta ruin it for others.” 

“Get out of here,” the thicker man snarls. The other winces just slightly before puffing up his chest and stomping away. 

You remain as you are, aghast and lost. The man with the dark curls looks at you. You shrug at him. 

“I’m sorry, sir, did I do something wrong?” You ask. 

The harsh angles of his scowl ease and he lets out a long breath, “uh, no, not you. That boy, you know, any one that wears one of those jackets, they’re no good. Just some advice.” 

“Oh, right,” you look over at that guy, Colin, “sorry, I didn’t know. He just started talking to me. I was being polite.” 

“Seem like a nice girl. Just tryna look out for you.” 

“Yeah, thanks,” you chew your lip and sniff. “Are you... are you teacher?” 

“I’m a professor,” he confirms as he holds his cup close to his chest. He's one of the biggest men you’ve ever seen. And his eyes are as blue as the ocean. “Professor Marshall but unless you’re a psych student, you can call me Walter.” 

“Walter? My neighbour is Walter. At home. He’s eighty-one and he collects baseball cards,” you let yourself smile. You always felt more comfortable around older people. You never had many friends your own age. 

“Don’t mind some baseball myself,” he dips his chin. “Well, you look out for yourself and avoid the Greeks.” 

“Greeks?” You make a face. 

“Fraternities,” he says. “And sororities, if you can help it.” 

“Oh, okay. Thank you, sir,” you feel a little better. You think he’s right and he is a professor. He would know. “I’ll do that.” 

“Sir? It’s Walter,” he corrects you. 

“Oh, sorry, Walter,” you smile. “I’m Mauve.” 

He nods and shifts his cup, “Mauve,” he repeats, “well, nice to meet you.” 

“You too, sir, er, Walter. Thank you,” you say. 

He hesitates then steps back on his heel, “yeah, no problem.” 

He slowly retreats and you watch him, your heart playing like a drum. You did it. You spoke to strangers and you didn’t melt. Things are getting easier. If you could get through that, you’re sure you’ll make lots of friends in your classes. 

[sleep-i-ness]

5 Midnight Conversations (Anthony Lockwood x reader)

SERIES MASTERLIST | LOCKWOOD & CO MASTERLIST | GENERAL MASTERLIST

You wake with a start, heart pounding, the feeling of too many hands on your skin, and you press a hand to your side, expecting to feel the warmth of blood seeping through your borrowed pyjamas. When it comes away clean, you are still breathing far too fast to be able to calm down, but at least your brain is slowly starting to register where you are. You haven’t screamed, so there are some small mercies at least.

Patting the air beside the sofa, your hand lands on the small table and fumbles around for the switch to the little lamp you assured them you wouldn’t need during the night. As warm light caresses your face, you force yourself to just breathe, inhaling and exhaling slowly and ignoring the adrenaline simmering beneath your skin. Until you get your heart rate down, there’s no way you’re falling back asleep. Your fingers close around your phone, taking comfort in the familiar weight in your hand, until the screen flickers on and you see the time. 3 a.m.

Fuck.

You wrinkle your nose. A meagre four hours will hardly last you through the next day, and you aren’t going to call in sick to Arif for just some bad dreams, which means that for the next few hours, you are at least going to have to try and sleep. Close your eyes and hope that the sensation of cold fingers bruising your skin fades if you wait it out.

Perhaps a nice cup of tea might do the trick. And maybe a couple of doodles added to the Thinking Cloth, just to provide some entertainment for when they next look at it. You’ve been itching to add Kipps’ face onto it, even if you don’t get to see either of their reactions—it’s the mere thought of it that brings you joy. You can hardly imagine that Lockwood will derive any pleasure from seeing his face all the time, anyway.

You swing your legs off the sofa, hissing at the cold seeping up from the floor before braving a stand. You should have asked for slippers as well, but you haven’t wanted to take advantage of their hospitality, even if Lockwood is the one to suggest your overnight stay.

You make your way to the door, feeling around in the darkness to avoid bumping into anything, and then creep through the moonlit hallway to the kitchen, frowning when you see the door lit up with an amber glow.

The door creaks open as you gently push it, bringing you face-to-face with a half-asleep Lockwood, hair awry and eyes half-closed. He seems softened by the lamplight, chiselled features blurred in the half-light, in his pyjamas, body relaxed into the chair.

You cough, and he jolts upright, fixing a smile onto his face at the sight of you in the doorway. You frown.

“Can’t sleep?” he murmurs.

You nod. “I thought a cup of tea might help.”

“You sit down; I’ll make us both some.” He stands despite your protests, so you just close the door with a gentle click and settle into the seat at the head of the table. Picking up an already uncapped pen, you take a look at some new additions and grimace at curling handwriting in the shape of your name.

“Peppermint work for you?” Lockwood asks from where he’s rifling through the cupboards.

“…Yeah,” you respond, too focused on the Cloth to really answer. He glances over at you and frowns. “Hey Lockwood, why’s my name on this?”

“We were trying to think of ways to get more information for this case. Kipps suggested you, which is why we brought you in, but Lucy had already mentioned your name, so we just jotted it down.”

“Hm.”

Lockwood sets a mug down in front of you, and you force a smile. His eyebrows furrow, mouth twisting slightly. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend that you’re fine.”

You scowl. Hypocrite. “I’m sorry, what do you want me to do? Mope around and act like a dark gloomy cloud in the corner of every room?”

Lockwood winces.

“I don’t mean it like that,” he murmurs softly, and you feel a little pinch of guilt. Not huge, but he doesn’t really deserve you biting his head off, especially after apologising. “I…”

He hesitates, and you raise an eyebrow, eyes narrowing slightly as he runs a hand through his hair. You hate to admit that the strand flopping into his face, disrupting that carefully sculpted poise, makes him far more endearing than he has ever seemed before.

“I didn’t want you to do the thing earlier.”

You frown. That is the last thing you are expecting him to say. “I could’ve just said no.”

“But you wouldn’t have. It was obvious you did it for Kipps.”

You shrug. He is right, but you owe Kipps. You can’t count the number of times he has saved your life, has held you as you cried after every mission, has helped you get out of there. You would do anything for Kipps because nothing can repay what he has done for you.

“I’m sorry, anyway.”

You purse your lips. “Don’t apologise. I wouldn’t have done it, and Kipps wouldn’t have asked me if it wasn’t going to be okay. I’ll just take sleeping pills until the nightmares are gone.”

Lockwood’s face twitches, an unreadable expression flashing across his features. And then it is gone. “Why did you do it for Kipps?”

“I owe him. He’s saved my life far too many times, and I don’t like seeing him stressed.”

Lockwood frowns. “Are you two—”

There is an odd sort of pinch to his mouth as he speaks, something strange behind his eyes, and you grimace. “God, no. He’s like a brother.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“I just…” Lockwood shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing for a second before his expression smooths over again. “I was just curious.”

You take a sip of your tea. “Well, you know what they say.”

Lockwood blinks at you, lips pressing together as he tilts his head.

“Curiosity killed the cat.”

A grin breaks across his face. “And satisfaction brought it back.”

You roll your eyes, huffing out a laugh. “Curiosity satisfied then?”

Lockwood taps his spoon against the side of his mug, laying it flat on the Thinking Cloth before picking up a pen to fiddle with. “Somewhat.”

Steam curls upward from your mug, and you stare at it, uncomfortably aware of his eyes still on you. Out of the corner of your eye, Lockwood tilts his head, pursing his lips.

“Go on then. Ask away,” you lean back in your chair, feeling it wobble on two legs and quickly steadying yourself.

A sheepish expression flits onto Lockwood’s face, and he scratches the back of his neck. “Uh, who did you work for?”

“Fittes,” your nose wrinkles, lips pursing together as if you have tasted something sour. You, of all people, are not blind to the reputation your previous agency holds; it has been an unpleasant working environment, both with the cases and the people assigned to them.

“Is that how you came to know Kipps?”

You nod. “Yeah, he always kept me under his wing. People like me don’t tend to last very long in agencies.”

“Why did you leave?”

You take a deep breath. “Bad case. Really bad case. I don’t really want to talk about it. You can ask Kipps in the morning, if you have to.”

He nods, face softening as his eyes search you. Looking for something. You aren’t sure what, but it is disconcerting to be read so intently. Heat creeps up to the tips of your ears, tinging them pink, and you feel yourself cringing away from the intensity of his gaze.

“What?” Your words come out harsher than you intend, and Lockwood smirks.

“Nothing. It’s just… interesting.”

“What’s interesting?”

Lockwood leans forward slightly, fiddling absentmindedly with the pen you left on the Thinking Cloth. His smirk deepens as he tilts his head.

“You.”

You frown, the heat at your ears creeping down your neck. “Me?”

He hums, swirling his spoon through his tea before taking a slow sip. “You’re an enigma.”

A snort escapes before you can help it. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

Lockwood rakes his fingers through the hair falling over his eyes and shoots you another easy grin. “Perhaps. But I’m an open book compared to you. Do you make it a point to not tell anyone anything?”

You roll your eyes, taking another sip of your tea to avoid responding immediately. There’s something about the way he looks at you, so earnestly and so deeply, that makes you want to squirm. Besides, he hasn’t earned an answer to his question.

He leans back in his chair, stretching out his legs, and you have to fight the urge to watch the fabric tighten around his legs, how comfortably he seemed to take up space, even in the quiet light of the night. “Do you think it’s worth it?”

You blink, whiplashed by the change of topic. It isn’t like Lockwood to give up so easily, and so you narrow your eyes. “What?”

“This job. The ghosts. The nightmares.”

You sigh, looking down at the swirling steam of your tea. “No. But who else is there to do it? I had the chance to leave, but some people aren’t quite so lucky.”

For once, Lockwood doesn’t have a quip ready. He just nods, something unreadable flickering across his face before he drains the rest of his tea.

The silence that settles isn’t uncomfortable, not really. It’s heavy but not suffocating. Just… there. Shared.

You trace a lazy swirl onto the Thinking Cloth with your fingertip, the ink beneath smudging slightly. Lockwood watches, quiet.

“Would you do it all over again?” he asks eventually.

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you tap the side of your mug, considering. “Would you?”

Lockwood exhales a soft chuckle, shaking his head as he sets his empty mug down. “You really hate answering questions.”

You huff, rolling your eyes again, but the corners of your lips twitch despite yourself.

The clock on the wall ticks, the sound blending with the soft hum of the city outside. You have a feeling sleep would still evade you tonight. But, oddly enough, sitting here, bathed in warm lamplight, with Lockwood’s steady presence across from you, it doesn’t seem so bad.

[thegettingbyp2]

Extra Credit

A/N: This was from the request I got with three different ideas so this is the request where Austin is the readers teacher

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You rolled your eyes as the two girls sitting in front of you in the lecture hall giggled whilst your Professor was talking. Ever since Professor Butler took over your Theatre Studies lectures, every single lecture was filled with girls trying to get his attention and it annoyed you. It didn’t annoy you because he wasn’t attractive, he was stupidly attractive with his blonde hair, chiselled jawline and bright blue eyes. It annoyed you because he was your boyfriend and you didn’t appreciate all of your classmates fawning over him.

When Austin began working as your Professor, you were instantly struck by how attractive he was but you didn’t want to group yourself in with the girls who began acting like fools around him. That seemed to grab his attention when he noticed that you were the only girl in the class who didn’t look phased by him, leading to him calling you out in class, eventually, asking you to stay behind after class to talk to him about your essays. It was after one of your lectures that he kissed you for the first time and your relationship bloomed. Since then, the two of you took every opportunity to spend time together and you were hoping that he’d see your request you’d sent through on the College’s online platform before the end of class.

You were impatiently tapping your pen against your desk, zoning out slightly when Austin’s voice brought you back into the moment. ‘Miss (Y/L/N), do you mind staying behind for a couple of minutes? To discuss the extra credit request you submitted earlier?’ you looked up to see Austin watching you from the front of the class, a smirk so small playing on his lips as he looked at you that you could only tell it was there because of how well you knew him. You nodded in response and murmured a quiet ‘thank you’ before looking back at the notes you’d made this lecture, knowing that Austin would let you borrow his lecture cards if you needed them.

As everyone packed away their things at the end of the lecture, you went at a much slower pace before slowly making your way down the stairs and walking over to Austins desk, setting your bag down next to it and waiting while Austin saw everyone else out. Once the last student had left the classroom, Austin closed the door and the click of the lock was all you needed to hear.

Austin cleared the space between you in a few strides and took your face in his hands, crashing your lips together. Your hands came out to twist in his jacket, pulling his body even closer to yours as he tilted your heads to deepen the kiss. His hands moved from your face, down to your waist as he hummed happily against your lips.

‘Hi,’ he murmured quietly, a smile growing on his lips as he broke the kiss, still keeping his face close to yours.

‘Hi,’ you replied, smiling back at him as you draped your arms around his neck, leaning in to peck his lips once more. ‘Great lecture today, you had all the girls giggling and vying for your attention,’ you teased, and even you could hear the tinge of bitterness in your voice.

‘Yeah? From the sound of it someone’s jealous,’ he said, pulling back and grinning at you.

‘I’m not jealous,’ you protested, refusing to meet his eyes and playing with the lapels of his jacket, ‘I just don’t like them thinking that they have a chance with you. It’d be so much easier if we could tell everyone. Just think about how great it would be to be able to walk around Campus, holding hands, taking about anything and not having to come up with different reasons to stay behind after class. I mean, the amount of extra credit requests I’ve put through, I probably should have graduated last year or something.’

Austin laughed softly, his eyes sad as he looked at you. ‘Baby, you know we can’t do that. I want that too, you think I don’t want to be able to take you out on a date without having to drive at least an hour away from Campus. I want to be able to walk down the street holding your hand and to be able to kiss you without having to make sure that the doors are locked and there’s no one around. But we both know that, until you graduate, we can’t do that.’

‘I know,’ you sighed, feeling your body slump slightly. Austin stepped closer to you, letting you rest your body against his. You stayed like that for a while, content to just sit in Austin’s arms, breathing him in for however long you could before you’d inevitably have to go back to pretending that you weren’t in love with him whenever you saw him in the hallway.

‘Do you still want to go on a date tonight?’ he asked softly, smoothing his hand along your hair gently.

‘Of course, what’s the plan?’ you asked, feeling yourself perk up slightly at the thought of having him to yourself for the whole evening.

‘How about, instead of driving for God knows how long, you come to mine and we’ll order take-out and have a movie night and I’ll be able to hold you all night. How does that sound?’

‘Amazing.’

[mystic-rox]

Glass Between Us

Master List

Pairings: Aaron Hotchner x Arden Morvant (OC)

WC: 1.2k

9. The Blood in the Marble

The BAU’s temporary Seattle field office had grown silent by mid-afternoon, like the air itself was bracing for impact. The team had scattered into focused motion, Garcia chasing digital shadows from Quantico, Prentiss tracking the leasing agent tied to the studio, JJ on the phone with a witness in Munich, and Reid reviewing handwriting samples like he could translate madness into a science.

Aaron stood in the hallway just outside the glass briefing room. Behind the tinted panes, Arden sat alone, head bowed over his sketchbook, the same red pen tucked between his fingers like a fuse waiting to be lit. He hadn’t spoken since closing the laptop. Not even to Reid, who’d stayed longer than the rest. Not even to Aaron.

He had every reason to be silent. But it wasn’t silence that troubled Aaron, it was stillness. Arden, for all his cryptic calm, was rarely still. There was always a hum beneath his skin, a nervous rhythm, a kinetic static that seemed to resist stasis. But now, there was only that rigid, upright posture. And the red ink.

Aaron stepped inside. He didn’t knock.

Arden didn’t look up. “She carved out all the mirrors,” he murmured. “And then left one behind just to watch me break.”

Aaron moved to the table but didn’t sit. “You’re not breaking.”

“No?” He tapped the pen once. “How would I know? She curated me, Aaron. Like a sculptor with too many chisels and too much time. Maybe this—” he gestured vaguely to himself, to the room, to the case, “maybe it was always her finale. Maybe this is the marble she chose to leave standing.”

“You still think you’re just what she made you?”

“I think I’m what I made from what she left behind.”

Aaron leaned forward, hands braced on the edge of the table. “No. You’re what she couldn’t kill. That’s different.”

That made Arden finally look up. The light hit his face at an angle that made the bruises under his eyes stand out darker, older. “You always want to believe there’s a difference. You always did. Even when we were kids. Like if we just held on hard enough to the right word, the right rule, we could rewrite the parts we lost.”

Aaron didn’t deny it. “I still believe in rewriting.”

Arden’s smile was thin. “And I’m the story you want to rewrite.”

“No. You’re the one who deserves to write his own ending.”

The door opened then, just a crack, and Reid leaned in. “Garcia found something.”

Arden stood immediately. And the red pen dropped, unnoticed, onto the open page of the sketchbook where the queen had once stood, now eclipsed by a pawn, crudely drawn, blackened and defaced, halfway torn from the paper.

Garcia’s voice filtered through the speaker in the conference room again, sharp with disbelief. “You are not going to like this, but we have another alias, one Delia used to purchase biometric cloaking software six months ago. Same encryption string she applied to Arden’s old recordings.”

Morgan swore under his breath. “She was planning this before Hale ever pulled a trigger.”

“She was building it like a stage,” Reid said. “Everything down to the false exits.”

Garcia clicked another tab. “And here’s the kicker. Facial match confirmed, someone was at the studio three nights ago. Same time as the final video upload. And it wasn’t Delia.”

Prentiss stepped forward. “Then who?”

Garcia’s voice dropped. “Mallory Quinn’s sister. Elise.”

JJ stepped forward, brows drawn tight. “She died. That fire—”

“DNA confirmed at the scene, yes. But Elise was a transplant patient. Bone marrow donation a year before the fire. She had a medical ID number the hospital never deactivated. Someone used it. In Berlin. A month ago.”

Arden whispered it like a curse. “She’s not dead.”

Aaron’s jaw clenched. “Delia wanted us to think she burned the queen. But it was the knight. Arden was never the final piece. He was just the lure.”

“She used Arden to build the game,” Reid said slowly. “But Elise? Elise is how she’ll survive it.”

“Not if we find her first,” Morgan muttered, already reaching for his phone.

“Wait,” Arden said. “Let me.” They all looked at him. He stared at the board, not the team. “Delia wanted a myth. I say we give her one.”

The safe house was tucked behind a shuttered café in the industrial district, high windows and peeling walls, a forgotten place with too many exits and only one good lock. It was JJ’s find, neutral, cold, impossible to trace.

Arden stood in the center of the bare floor, a single bulb swinging above. He was unarmed, unguarded, a match dropped in gasoline. Aaron stood outside the room, earpiece in, voice sharp in Morgan’s ear as they coordinated the surveillance vans parked three blocks away.

“Are you sure about this?” Prentiss had asked earlier.

Arden had just smiled, the smallest one yet. “I was created at seventeen in the middle of someone else’s war. I’ve spent twenty years surviving in ruins. I think I know how to make ghosts come home.” And now they waited for whatever Delia had buried in her final move.

The door opened at 11:03 p.m. She didn’t knock. Didn’t flinch. Elise Quinn walked in like she had never been gone. Her hair was shorter now, dyed dark, but the curve of her jaw, the careful eyes, they hadn’t changed.

She saw Arden and stopped. “So you’re the myth.”

He didn’t move. “And you’re the girl in the fire.”

“You look older than your stories.”

“You look exactly like your sister.”

She smirked. “Funny. That’s what she said.”

Outside, Aaron moved. “We have her. Stand by.”

Inside, Arden didn’t flinch. “Why come back?”

Elise stepped closer, barefoot. “Because I know how it ends. And so do you.”

“I’m not playing anymore.”

“That’s what makes it a fair game now.”

Arden’s voice dropped. “She taught you well.”

“No,” Elise said quietly. “Little Wolf did." The silence between them wasn’t empty. It was sharp.

Arden took a slow breath. “Then let’s finish the lesson.”

The takedown was clean. Elise moved like she didn’t care anymore, like Delia’s shadow had stopped being a shield and started being a cage. She surrendered without resistance. Morgan cuffed her. Prentiss read her rights. JJ bagged the burner phone she’d tucked in her waistband, full of messages from an untraceable sender. Arden stood against the wall and didn’t speak.

Aaron came to him when it was over. “You okay?”

“No.”

Aaron nodded once. “Fair.”

Arden glanced sideways. “She wasn’t the queen. Delia wasn’t either.”

“Then who was?”

Arden turned his face back toward the sky, toward the rain that still hadn’t stopped. “The queen isn’t a person. It’s the idea that power can’t be taken back once it’s given.”

Aaron stepped closer. “And the idea now?”

“I’m not giving anything else away.”

He held out the red pen, uncapped, then dropped it into the nearest storm drain. Aaron watched it disappear.

“Then we build something else,” he said.

Arden looked at him, for a long, long time. “Together?”

“If you want.”

A long silence. Then Arden nodded, just once. “I do.”

Tag List: @paintemars | @pkg4mumtown | @rensswritess | @skeletonfrogs

[hekademia]

Journaling

Why journal? I am pretty sure by now, you have heard a thousand influencers tell you that you SHOULD journal because it is magically going to clean up the mess that is your brain, organize your life, make you happier, richer, prettier, and solve world hunger. And if you are not journaling, there's probably something wrong with you.

And they're right. Not the world hunger part, unfortunately. There is prolly something wrong with you and that something is Being A Human Being. It is a the most widespread condition with a 100% of the population being chronically affected and the only available cure is Death. But let me not digress. 

Unless you are one of those gifted people blessed with mounds of motivation and crates of consistency, it can be very difficult to start and even more difficult to continue a habit such as journaling. 

I am definitely not one of the chosen ones and Heaven knows I have more dead unfinished projects than I have pages of New Year Resolutions but allow me to audaciously claim that I have cracked the code! The trick is....Just Journal. 

 Hold on hold on, do not click away yet even though Yes I am going to say the exact same thing all the ‘motivators’ before me have said. Seriously, JUST DO IT! What stops us is the thought that it is not going to be 'perfect' or 'aesthetic' enough but puhleeeezeee, Life is Not a Pinterest board, even though I sure wish it was. Just write something. Anything! My first journal entry ( just like this article I am currently writing ) was written in the middle of a boring class. It went something like this ;

25 March 2019

I'm bored.......I could cry or die srsly. Should I just sleep?? What are they gonna serve in the dining hall today?

How original eh?

I was in boarding school then, thus the strange reference to a dining hall. That was all I needed to get started.I realized I did not need to make every sentence perfect and pretty and I could use abbreviations and unconventional punctuation. I was not accountable to anyone but myself!! I just put all my rambling messy unconnected thoughts as they came into my head. No one is going to check your spelling or punctuation or if you are using enough active verbs, whatever those are. So seriously just write. 

You find out stuff you did not even know about yourself. For example I found out that I do not hate writing, as much I thought I did. What I hate is the physical activity of moving my hand. It makes my hand hurt, not that I'm lazy, although that could also be true, don’t judge me......

So please, just write. It really is an interesting pastime and writing is such a useful skill. I could talk for days on end how useful writing is for your brain, your social life, your development both personal and intellectual. Pick up a pen ( one that doesn’t make your wrist hurt, please ) and scribble awayyyyy !!!! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

PS: I just got the greatest idea. Reblog with your first journal entry! It doesn’t have to be a physical journal. It could be on your phone; a notes app. Google docs, A journal app. Heck you can chisel your entry on a piece of rock, just make sure to write something!!

[gerudoevernight]

Do Not Call Demo

Alright, @watcheraurora requested something from Do Not Call Any That You Cannot Put down, so below (under the cut because LONG and I don't want to scroll through that and probably neither do you!) is an excerpt from one of the demos I did of Joel and Etho! Warning because this fic is M-Rated and it CERTAINLY earns it and part of the reason why is on full display in this demo. It's not super graphic but I'm letting you know. BE WARNED. Very SmallEtho.

Also, for those who are interested in my Do Not Call AU in general - a lot of things have been changed since this demo was written. It should still be accurate to the most current version of the AU (since it's in a relatively untouched spot), but the finer details and things being referenced are probably not exactly the same.

(Suggestive content, depiction of trauma, flashbacks to situations of graphic violence)

It was a quiet morning for once, though part of Joel wasn’t sure if that was still just in his head or if it actually was quiet. Gunshots from last night’s fight still banged around his memory, and he had to stop and listen for a moment, wondering if there actually were gunshots.

              There weren’t.

              But there was another sound: small, almost-imperceptible clicks of a pen on a tablet. Joel knew this sound and located the source as he emerged into the main room of his and Etho’s apartment. Sitting at the desk, turned away from the dawn’s glare, Etho sat, his drawing tablet on his lap and pen in hand, working at…something. Joel paused for a moment to observe him, which might’ve been blummin’ creepy if not for the tingling on his lips, a memory from last night. Better than the gunshots, he supposed.

              And the blood.

              Joel shook his head. Etho hadn’t looked up yet, though for why, Joel couldn’t guess. And he was a vision; the morning sun streamed in the window, lighting up Etho’s perfect white hair, perfectly braided as Etho did every morning. His black eyes were focused, and there was a furrow in his brow. For once, Etho had his mask off, the black fabric pooling around his neck looking like a scarf and exposing his perfectly-chiseled night-black lips. The forest green tank hugged his form perfectly, pride welling up inside Joel. He’d bought that tank. It was almost maddening, to see his wonderful – friend? Partner? Lover? Whatever they were – in clothes Joel had bought for him. And looking so hot, Joel wanted to kiss him. Again.

              Etho looked up.

              A blush sprang to Joel’s face. “Are-are you really so obsessed with me that you’re wearing my colors after…” oh gods he did not think this through.

              After all that.

              “You did buy it for me,” Etho said. He licked his lips, the black tongue running over foxlike fangs – “are you sure I’m the one who’s obsessed?”

              “Gods, we’re a mess,” Joel breathed before he could stop. He laughed. "Hot blummin' mess."

              “Our whole life is a mess,” Etho said, clicking something on his tablet and putting it on the table. Joel could see what he’d been drawing; a scene from several years ago, back when the two had barely met.

              And a demonic laugh dragged Joel down memory lane.

Chaos.

              That was fine, though. Lore could deal with chaos. What was not fine was the screams from people who could only run. That was why Lore twisted, putting himself between another blast of fire and some civilians biking away.

              Why was Impulse so destructive lately? Normally he didn’t fire at civilians so much.

              “Brave,” Impulse’s dark, almost demonic voice chuckled. “But you’re alone.”

              He was.

              But so was Impulse. And Lore would take advantage.

              Why –

“…you need to breathe, love, you’re fine, we’re safe,” a soft, comforting voice filtered through the fire and acrid tang of smoke in Lore’s lungs. He lay on something soft, but firm, no lights except the sunlight filtered in through a window.

              Etho.

              And he wasn’t Lore, right. Not here. That was what they agreed to. In these walls, they were just Etho and Joel.

              Joel took a deep breath.

              …and the fire was green, why was it green, what was Impulse burning…

              “Joel. Joel!”

              Etho.

              Joel reached out for Etho and clung. The man in the green tank top paused for a moment, and fear bolted through Joel. He clung tighter, and Etho clung back.

              The sounds of crackling green flames and gunshots slowly faded back amidst Etho’s calming voice and heartbeat, the in-out of his breath, the cool minty floral scent of his laundry detergent.

              Etho, Etho, Etho, his mind chanted.

              Gods, I’m obsessed.

              Last night slowly filtered in as his mind reminded him that, yes, he was obsessed. Two bodies flush together, the other man’s fangs against his own searching tongue, the taste of Etho’s skin, the feel of his mouth and hands on bare skin, all bare, nothing to hide and nothing to feel ashamed for.

              Gods, he wanted this man.

              “You back?” Etho’s voice broke into his awareness, a starburst against the black hole of his mind.

              “Yeah,” Joel breathed.

              “Do you want to tell me about it?” Etho asked gently. They hadn’t moved yet, Joel’s face still tucked against Etho’s chest, the other man’s arms around him as they lay on the sofa.

              “Green fire.” Joel didn’t need to say any more.

              Etho went quiet. Under Joel’s ear, his heart rate picked up.

              That was not a good day.

              “What were you drawing?” Joel asked quietly.

              “That day,” Etho sighed. “Getting it out of my head.” Etho does that. They’re alike in that manner. If they don’t get things out of their heads, they’ll obsess over them and spiral.

              “What was even up with Impulse?” Joel asked to nobody in particular.

              “I don’t know,” Etho sighed.

              Words spilled from Joel’s mouth, tumbling over the coffee table and their mango-colored rug. “And all the villains in this city – has the world gone mad? What’s even going through their blummin’ minds? The only one I can even understand is Doc, and that’s because the guy’s obsessed with trying to hurt me. You remember that time he dropped me in lava, right? Did I tell you that Impulse made the lava? Blummin’ lava. As if he weren’t already bad enough, apparently the guy can make lava. Freaking melted the stone TFC yanked from the ground. And for a while there he made so much green fire, what was even up with that? I don’t like it. I don’t like that I don’t know why. This world is mad and I’m mad and I just wish those stupid gunshots would stop ringing in the back of my head – ”

              In one swift movement, Joel found himself sitting up and black lips on his. The kiss was chaste, with something soft Joel didn’t know how to process behind it – and brief. Etho ended the kiss after only a few seconds.

              Silence. Joel realized the gunshots had faded, too.

              “Are you okay? After last night?” Etho asked slowly, hesitantly.

              Right. Last night. When they’d slept together.

“I’m freaking amazing,” Joel said. “Are you?” Etho nodded. Joel recognized that nod. It was Etho’s ‘genuine’ nod, with a sparkle in his eyes. Joel reached a hand back to caress Etho’s cheek. The man leaned into the touch, and Joel ran his thumb over Etho’s scar. “I would love if that weren’t the last time,” he whispered in a voice he hoped was sultry but was probably actually raspy.

[xxsycamore]

I. Somewhere in Southern Italy

A book lover through and through, and especially one that craves people's stories; memoirs and biographies alike lined up on his bookshelf back at the mansion, Napoleon had already painted a vivid painting in his mind of Southern Italy. Through, as many eyes are out there to behold, as many ways there are to see it.

As for the sight locked in the irises of Napoleon, no one has ever written about it. That's what he thinks, trying to remember if he was thoughtful enough to pack anything that can make a temporary travelogue. He's... not exactly good at these things. But maybe he can try. Right now, starting today.

"I see your seasickness is all in the past now!"

MC exclaims, still holding onto her hat by habit even if the winds aren't as strong here as they were on board. One last teasing about Napoleon's seasickness won't hurt now that he doesn't have to worry about it. He deserves it for trying - and failing miserably - to hide his malaise during their travel on the sea. Because he was the first to bring up the chances of having to deal with seasickness, but of course, he was talking about a certain Nunuche likely to experience it. And while she was perfectly okay much to his surprise, it's him that turned out to suffer. Quietly. It's one part ego and one part hating to worry her, an old story, nothing MC hasn't seen in the duration of their relationship.

Shifting his gaze to MC where she stands with the sea and the distant rocks becoming a background to her portrait, Napoleon is offended no one and nothing prepared him for the beauty of this sight.

What's more, had he gone far enough to fetch a pen, he'd be breaking it in two right now - because there's no use for him even trying to capture this in words alone.

Thus his journey as a travel writer concludes.

"I'm not sure. I think I need one more dose of the medicine to feel better."

The beauty of the scenery around them shakes Napoleon's pretend seriousness for good, and MC laughs at how he fights back a smile. The medicine he is referring to, and the reason why he finally broke and confessed about his troubles, is of course nothing more than a kiss.

Pushing herself up on her tip-toes, MC purposedly misses Napoleon's parted lips in favor of meeting her own with his sharp, chiseled jaw. It's nothing like the welcoming softness of his mouth, but she likes it. He clicks his tongue.

"I get it. You'll wait until we're alone because you're planning to give me a waaay bigger kiss than that. Am I right, amore?"

"Hmmm... partly."

Napoleon gives her a dangerous look that is just dying to know which part she means. Instead of gazing away to keep him on edge, MC lingers more on those blue eyes. Blue, yes, so very blue. With the sky kissing the sea in the perfectly cloudless midday weather, there's light blue all around them. Like twin mirrors, under this light, Napoleon's eyes abandon their familiar traces of jade green in favor of capturing the surrounding sight.

"I'm so mad about not having a modern camera once again."

Napoleon huffs out a teasing laughter, breathing in anew just as sharply while bracing himself to take hold of their luggage once again for the last leg of their moving to the destination of their holiday.

The house of someone that now goes under the name Gaetano Domenico Carullo and his big family. Napoleon has only seen the man once, on his short visit to Paris to talk with Saint Germain, an old friend. And fellow pureblood vampire. A series of events saw the youngest son of Signor Carullo saved heroically by Napoleon on the streets of Paris... and the overly thankful father offered a number of gifts to repay his old friend's resident, all of which Napoleon rejected. It was only when the little kid begged MC to come visit them at their family home somewhere in Apulia that the initially absurd vacation idea came into existence.

And now they're actually here, just a few days before Napoleon's birthday. Due to his selfless nature, the soldier had to strictly warn MC to not tell anyone of the hosts about it, as he can't accept more of their generosity than they're already offering.

"You're already wanting to capture the sights, Nunuche? You're excited like a child. We've only just set foot in here. Come on, let's go."

[legendsofmyriad]

Legends of Myriad: Arc One - Chapter 24: Sanguine

Chapter 23 | Chapter 25

Arc One Masterlist

-- -- -- -- --

Jade smoke crawled within the centre of the diamond-shaped clock above the mantlepiece, pointed hands striving through the dewy light to chart the passing seconds. One low tick. Then another. Rotating time while outside, clouds of blue hazed fog pressed wisps and dewy droplets against the window. 

The shadows of smog created a captivating spectacle on the chiselled walls as shaded oval beads raced down the unfurling petals. Oscar could almost hear the rhythmic knock of the slender tool on the wood in the pulses of rain, each discrete bump in the patterns revealing the craftsmanship that forged the magnificent design. 

“Why is it that historians have to disagree so much?” Demetrius commented with a grumbled sigh as he flipped the page of the musty text in his lap. “This one is convinced it is purified necromancy that sustains the gateways, and the one over there believes it is the power of an outer-world being. And don’t even bother with this gibberish.” He picked up the hefty tome in question and flung it over his shoulder, the sofa exhaling a displeased huff as it landed on the plush fabric. “I swear he must have been drinking concoctions aplenty when he wrote that.” 

“There has to be something that links them all,” Lysander reasoned. 

“Professor Spark told me that the gateways on Solgarde use Eventide crystals to power them,” Oscar explained, rolling up the cuff of his shirt to reveal the silver bracelet and the accompanying suspended crystal. “Many other places do too, but Lucarian definitely doesn’t. I tried to charge the one in the demon stronghold, but it wouldn’t respond. The magic here is different. I can feel it.”

“So,” the Phoenix guard mulled, clicking his tongue in thought, “that rules out the practice Eventide magic and necromancy since that has not been common in Lucarian for some time, and Oscar was able to travel through an active gateway.” Pen in hand, he scratched out a couple of items in the notebook beside him. “Discount everything that has not been around for the past three hundred years.” More ideas met with a scribbled line. “Whatever we are looking for, it has to hold a substantial power. Perhaps something waning?”

“Could be anything,” Demetrius shrugged. “Magic here dwindles and rises all the time. It is going to be a tricky task figuring out which is linked to the gateways.”

“No,” Lysander said, “the solution is here, we just need to figure it out.” His eyebrows knitted, and he quietly murmured to himself as he reorganised the volumes until he had a specific selection in front of him. 

“Maybe it isn’t magic that powers it,” Demetrius aired. Stretching out his long, slender legs, he propped his elbows on the sofa behind him. 

“Which would make our endeavour more difficult.” 

As Lysander shifted to trace a line of text, Oscar glimpsed the golden etchings encircling his bicep. The candelabra glare drenched the metallic lines and seeped warmth into the ring of alternating symbols. “The tattoo on your arm,” he said, unable to squash his curiosity, “what is it? I saw a woman with something similar at dinner, but she didn’t look like a vampyre.” 

“Adelaide?” Demetrius replied. “She isn’t, she’s an Attendant of Sanguine.”

“Most beings of Lucarian have lived in relative peace for centuries and are understanding of each other’s conditions,” Lysander quickly explained. “Vampyres can feed off of energy, but sometimes they need blood. They refuse to take it unwillingly, so they have attendants, people brought into the clan who allow their lord or lady to drink from them. They are held in high regard, and once their five years of service are completed, they are granted land and a generous sum of money. Some chose to remain within their clan to help where they can.”

“You serve one of the nobles here?” Oscar asked. 

Lysander’s gaze slipped along the towering stacks of books with their dusty smells until it settled on the vampiric lord seated by his side, fingertip ghosting his smooth cheek. “Not just any.” Demetrius pushed into his touch, relishing the sensation and brushing a gentle kiss to his palm. “Our situation is unique. My body is different to a typical human attendant, and I plan to serve Demetrius for life.” Bound in blood, they had vowed after countless arguments about the agreement with both his guardian and Demetrius’s father. 

“The style is incredibly intricate,” the mage said. “I think there are tapestries with a similar theme near the ballroom, aren’t there?”

“That’s right,” Lysander confirmed. “Demetrius designed the tattoo to combine the Volkar style with that of Bertram’s emblem. The tapestries are personal family trees, which is where he got the idea.” 

In the silence of Oscar’s observation, the flames beneath the mantlepiece crackled behind their cage to compete with the relentless downpour hammering the manor. He turned to the rest of the room, taking in the eclectic artwork, the complex trinkets, and the mesmerising engravings that climbed the feature wall. He wondered how it connected them, if it weaved through their personal histories all the way back to the founders of that ancient bloodline. 

How many of his own ancestors had he walked past in Mora every single day, oblivious to their accomplishments and how they had shaped the world he knew? Never once acknowledging the blood rushing within him. Never even knowing their names. 

“Why does this floor have to be so hard?” Demetrius grumbled, his palms flat on the unyielding surface as he wriggled and squirmed in his irked search for any relief from his discomfort. 

“It’s a floor, not a four-poster bed,” Lysander reminded him, tossing him a satisfied smirk. Demetrius poked at his arm. Scowling, he rubbed at the prodded spot. “When you have quite finished flicking me, will you pass me that book?” He gestured to a worn, hardback tome close to him.

“This?”

“No.” Lysander pointed again.

“Oh, this one.”

“I’m pointing to it.” 

Directing a well-manicured nail at a leather-bound collection, Demetrius tilted his head. 

“I’ll get it myself if you’re going to be silly,” Lysander huffed. He reached across the clutter and snatched the silver-edged volume, setting it in his lap and leafing through the crinkled pages. 

“I thought you found it endearing when I acted silly,” the mischievous lord whispered, shuffling closer and resting his chin on his shoulder. Their eyes locked in a clash of ruby red and unimpressed gold, the metallic glimmer subsiding when he pouted. 

“Stop getting distracted,” Lysander told him, a soft edge tinging his tone. “Right now, we don’t have time to waste.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

The Phoenix guard bit his tongue, suppressing the retort that threatened to escape, and pointedly cleared his throat. 

The candles had melted into a sticky, smouldering mess on the bronze plates, tendrils bathing the sitting room with the waxy scent, and the rain outside had hushed. As time ticked, the stack of books they examined expanded into a futile effort as they continued to find nothing worth noting. 

There had to be something. The Phoenix library held all information known to Lucarian. Or so Bertram had claimed. He had been drunk when he made the bold statement, stumbling around the aisles and clumsily bumping into the shelves, but Lysander took in the vast selection and believed every word. 

Now his confidence faltered.

“I’ve been thinking,” Oscar said, lowering his legs down from the bay windowsill and his cushioned seat, “perhaps we’re looking at this with too much of a literal lense. My tablet is still working, so maybe I just need to connect it to something else to power the signal. Once I have contacted Professor Spark, he can tell me how to sort the gateway.”

“Is that a straightforward thing to do?” Demetrius questioned. 

“I’m not sure,” the mage admitted. “If I take it apart, I could risk destroying it, and then I’ll have no way of contacting anybody.” 

“Then I would leave that as a last resort.”

With a gasp loud enough to startle the others, Lysander vaulted up and grabbed a book from the discarded pile. He held it out to them and tapped the inlaid crest on the front cover. 

“That’s the Clan of the Banshee emblem,” Demetrius said, eking out his response. “What have they got to do with anything?” 

“They’re experts on this kind of thing,” he answered, rejoining them. 

“Granted, they understand a lot, but they are seers. They only warn about bad things to come.” 

“If the magic that sustains the gateway is failing, it may point to a bleak future,” Oscar speculated. 

Lysander’s hopeful smile grew. “Indeed. This isn’t just a matter of getting Oscar home, but ensuring the safety of Lucarian.”

Throwing his hands over his face and temporarily blocking out the muted glow of the room, Demetrius groaned, muffled mumbles leaking through long fingers. “Why can’t it be as simple as flipping a switch?”

“Where is the fun in that?” the Phoenix guard replied, adventure tugging at the hem of his shirt. 

“You and I have a very different idea of fun.”

Lysander pushed himself to his feet and arranged the used books on the side table, keeping the more useful ones separate. He counted the chalky tomes to ensure none were missing. “That’s all of them,” he confirmed. “I’ll start taking them back.” 

“Let me help,” Demetrius said, balancing the second stack in his arms. 

As Oscar made to aid them in tidying their mess, Lysander stopped him short. 

“We can manage. You should get some sleep,” the guard suggested. “With all the respect in the world, you look dead on your feet.”

“And we should know,” Demetrius added with a chortle, earning himself an elbow to the ribs from his partner.

“Go rest, Oscar,” Lysander said kindly. “We will continue our investigations tomorrow.” 

* * *

Night unfurled to clear a path for the stars. Every supernatural being felt the magnetic pull and their blood coursed with awakened power. 

The longer Oscar stayed with the Phoenix clan, the less daunting it became. He grasped the variation in aura, the bloom of undead energy around him, and it brought its own warm familiarity. He had even begun to outline the differences for his research, documenting how not only the people altered, but how the buildings transformed too, as though their own structures sipped the essence of the night. 

With a hushed exhale, he sank into the silk sheets and feather-filled pillows of his bed, but rest evaded him. Every time he reached out to catch it, it zipped away like a firebeam bug, trilling its whining little noise to taunt him. He took one step towards sleep and it retreated fifty until he couldn’t see that relaxed, blissful state through the darkness behind his eyelids. 

Giving up on the notion of rest entirely, he draped a cosy blanket over his shoulders and tiptoed across the creaking floorboards. Midnight air rushed in as he pushed open the top window. Rustles in the courtyard several storeys below livened the quiet bedroom, pursued by a trickle of laughter and a distant howl from the mountains.

With a wind of inspiration, Oscar retrieved his sketchbook from his satchel and flipped open the next empty page. His hand floated above the sheet, the tips of his fingers making meticulous movements to craft an outline. His eyes flitted between the silhouetted scene outside and his canvas as he composed the image of harmonious rolling hills and the smattering of villages with their pinpricks of light and smoking chimneys. In the daytime, Phoenix territory lacked any sort of charm, but as night fell, it transformed into an ethereal wonderland that roused the souls of the undead. 

As the picture came together, his mind reeled back to the countless hours he had devoted to honing his skills at the academy. His friends had watched in reverent, fascinated awe whenever he allowed. While some artists found people to be a distraction, he blossomed in their company, finding an inspiring warmth that ignited the creator within him. It flourished in his blood like a birth gift, an innate inclination that he could neither resist nor stave off. The desire to create was bound to him, and him to it. They existed as one to bring artistry and magic to life. 

Putting himself forward for the Cyrogen Academy had been as natural as the wind. His parents had ecstatically embraced his pursuits and revelled in the joy of seeing what he had achieved. He considered himself fortunate to have the freedom to forge his own path, relying on his intuition to lead him to his goals. And despite being stuck, he reasoned Lucarian was where he needed to be in that moment. 

Little by little, the landscape unfolded on the page, and he admired the grandeur of the distant peaks, with their gentle slopes and dramatic cliffs. Muttering to himself, he carefully positioned them amidst the backdrop and cast shadows on their rocky forms. 

Throughout his late-night sketching, his thoughts fixed on his friends and the vacant place within his soul that they usually occupied. I hope they’re okay, he pondered. I hope wherever they are, they’re safe.

A few worried speculations rushed to the surface before he firmly shoved them back down. Esther and Alek were both accomplished mages and were more than capable of taking care of themselves. Yet for years they had been a team, ready to lend a hand at a moment’s notice, and the prospect of not being there to assist them in their troubles unsettled any ease he may have felt amongst his gracious hosts. 

By the time he had completed his piece, the pastel horizon began to sprout with the first glimpse of dawn. Tilting the sketchpad, the magic inside glittered from silvery night to radiant day. Crinkles drove into the side of his eyes as he smiled at his creation, and he rested it in his lap to add one final detail.

He passed his index finger over the bottom corner of the sketch. In neat, curved lettering beside the drying tear splotches, shimmered the words ‘For Esther and Alek.’ 

-- -- -- -- --

If you enjoyed this chapter, please consider reblogging. Reblogging helps to get work out there and seen.

[thisisabsolutelystudying]

2025 Student Must-Haves

Everything you need for the semester you want!

This bundle includes:

The Syllabus Study Planner

The Pomodoro Planner

A Confidence Tracker

A Q&A planner

The “Get Organized Checklist”

and more!

This workbook is full of super useful resources that can be applied to every aspect of your day.

* Disclaimer * Some of the posted links may be affiliate programs. By clicking these links, I may receive monetary compensation. This will not alter the price or change the buyer's experience.

As I reflect on this past year, I can honestly say that 2024 has been one of immense growth, change, and, yes, plenty of challenges. Like many of you, I’ve struggled to stay motivated, keep pushing forward, and balance the ever-growing demands of life, family, work, and academics. It hasn’t been easy, and I know that so many students are feeling the same way—navigating university life while juggling personal responsibilities and adapting to a constantly shifting world.

But the beautiful thing about a new year is that it’s brimming with possibility. 2025 is your chance to reset, refocus, and redefine your goals. It’s a fresh start. Your opportunity to create better habits, improve your study routine, and finally feel in control of your academic life. This is your time to shine!

That’s why I’ve put together this 2025 Student Gift Guide. A collection of tools, gadgets, and little luxuries that can make all the difference in your academic journey. These are the must-haves that helped me and countless other students stay organized, productive, and motivated, even when things felt overwhelming.

So, whether you’re treating yourself or searching for the perfect gift for a fellow student, this guide is here to help you start the year on the right foot. Let’s dive in and make 2025 your most successful and fulfilling year yet!

Study Essentials

A Planner You’ll Actually Use

A good planner isn’t just about keeping track of deadlines—it’s a tool that helps you stay organized, set goals, and take control of your academic life. If you’re new to planners or looking for something customizable, the Happy Planner is the perfect starting point.

Why I Love It: I started my own planning journey with the Happy Planner, and it’s still one of my favourites. Its disc-bound system makes it incredibly flexible—you can easily add, remove, or rearrange pages to suit your needs. Plus, the endless variety of stickers and accessories allows you to personalize it in ways that make planning feel fun and creative.

Ready to get started? The Happy Planner is perfect for beginners and experienced planners alike. Once you’ve mastered the basics, you can even mix and match inserts from other brands to create a system that’s entirely your own.

Highlighters That Spark Joy

When it comes to studying, the right tools can make even the most daunting tasks feel a little more enjoyable. Enter Zebra Mildliners, my absolute favorite highlighters. These aren’t just any highlighters; they’re designed with both form and function in mind.

Why I Love Them: Zebra Mildliners glide beautifully across the page, making every highlight feel smooth and effortless. They come in a variety of tones—from dusty neutrals to earthy shades—allowing you to keep your notes colour-coded without sticking to the same old neon palette. This versatility makes them perfect for anyone who wants their notes to be both organized and visually pleasing.

Plus, they’re double-sided, so you can underline in a textbook with the fine tip or fully highlight with the chisel end. Whether you’re creating a study guide or adding some flair to your planner, these highlighters will quickly become your go-to.

A Desk Organizer That Keeps You Focused

Let’s be real—desks can get cluttered so easily, especially when you’re juggling notebooks, pens, highlighters, and other essentials. But staying productive starts with staying organized, and that’s where a great desk organizer comes in.

Why I Love It: This adjustable desk organizer takes full advantage of vertical space, giving all your study tools a dedicated home without taking over your workspace. It’s perfect for keeping everything you need close by while still maintaining a clean, clutter-free desk.

From sticky notes to textbooks, this organizer can handle it all, and its expandable design means it grows with your needs. Whether you’re tackling essays, revising notes, or simply trying to stay on top of your schedule, having a tidy desk can make all the difference in how productive (and stress-free) you feel.

A Drawer Organizer for Effortless Organization

Keeping drawers neat and tidy is a constant battle. Without proper dividers, items shift every time you open or close them, turning what should be an organized space into chaos. That’s why a good drawer organizer is a total game-changer.

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The secret to long-term organization is making your system as easy as possible to maintain, and this organizer does just that. It’s adjustable to fit any drawer, so you can create a layout that works for you. Whether you’re organizing supplies at your desk or stationery in your dorm, this is a must-have for keeping your space clutter-free.

A Portable Charger to Keep You Powered Up

In today’s world, everything we rely on—our phones, tablets, and even some study tools—is electronic. And let’s be real: running out of battery in the middle of the day is frustrating, especially during a crucial study session. That’s why a portable charger is one of the most convenient tools you can have on hand.

Why I Love It: This sleek and compact portable charger ensures you’re always powered up, no matter where you are. Whether you’re studying at the library, attending back-to-back lectures, or working from your favourite coffee shop, it’s got your back. With a high-capacity battery, it charges multiple devices quickly, keeping your phone, earbuds, or tablet ready to go when you need them most.

Convenience is key, and this portable charger delivers. It’s lightweight, fits easily into your bag, and takes the stress out of managing battery life.

A Desk Lamp That Sets the Mood

Lighting can make or break your study space. Too bright, and it feels harsh; too dim, and it’s hard to stay focused. That’s why this dimmable desk lamp is a must-have for creating the perfect ambiance, no matter what you’re working on.

Why I Love It: I have a similar lamp on my desk, and it’s an absolute game-changer. The dimmable light lets me adjust the brightness to match my task—whether I’m zoning in on focused work with a brighter setting or winding down for a cozy review session with softer lighting.

What makes this lamp even better is the customizable color-changing base. It’s not just practical; it’s a little slice of self-care. I love using warm tones when I’m wrapped up in a blanket with a cup of tea or switching to vibrant colors when I need a mood boost to tackle a big project.

And the built-in pen holder? Genius! It’s the perfect spot to keep your favorite pens or highlighters within reach while keeping your desk neat and organized.

Productivity Tools

A Pomodoro Timer for Focused Study Sessions

Staying focused during study sessions can be challenging, but the Pomodoro Technique is a game-changer. By breaking your work into manageable intervals with scheduled breaks, you can boost productivity and avoid burnout—and having a reliable timer makes all the difference.

Why I Love It: This Pomodoro Timer is the ultimate productivity companion. With adjustable time settings, it’s perfect for tailoring your study sessions to suit your needs. Whether you stick to the classic 25-minute focus intervals or customize it for shorter or longer tasks, this timer keeps you on track.

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Ready to stay on track and take effective breaks? This timer is the tool to help you study smarter, not harder.

Noise-Canceling Headphones for Distraction-Free Study

Whether you’re in a noisy coffee shop, a busy dorm room, or just need to block out the world, a good pair of noise-cancelling headphones can be a lifesaver. They’re a must-have for any student looking to stay focused and productive.

Why I Love Them: These Bluetooth Noise-Canceling Headphones combine crystal-clear sound with advanced noise-cancelling technology, creating the perfect environment for studying. Slip them on, and it’s like stepping into your own quiet study zone, no matter where you are.

They’re lightweight and comfortable for long wear, with waterproof durability that makes them great for life on the go. Plus, with wireless Bluetooth connectivity, you can listen to focus playlists, podcasts, or even white noise without getting tangled in cords.

If you’ve been struggling to focus in noisy environments, these headphones are the ultimate productivity booster—and an investment in your peace of mind.

An Adjustable Laptop Stand for Comfort and Productivity

Long hours of studying can take a toll on your posture and comfort, but the right tools can make a world of difference. This adjustable laptop stand is perfect for creating an ergonomic study setup that keeps you comfortable and focused.

Why I Love It: This aluminum laptop stand is lightweight, durable, and designed with your productivity in mind. Its adjustable angles help you elevate your laptop to the perfect height, reducing neck and eye strain during long study sessions. Plus, the open design improves ventilation, keeping your device cool and performing at its best.

Whether you’re working at your desk or setting up a study spot in the library, this stand folds flat for easy portability. It’s compatible with most laptops and notebooks, making it a versatile addition to any student’s toolkit.

If you’re ready to take your productivity (and comfort) to the next level, this laptop stand is an absolute must-have!

A Wireless Keyboard and Mouse Set for Effortless Productivity

If you’re looking to streamline your workspace and boost efficiency, a wireless keyboard and mouse set is a must-have. Perfect for creating a clutter-free setup, this combo helps you stay focused and comfortable during even the longest study sessions.

Why I Love It: This sleek and compact wireless set combines style with functionality. The keyboard is designed for quiet, responsive typing, making it ideal for late-night study marathons or shared spaces. The ergonomic mouse is smooth and precise, allowing you to navigate your tasks with ease.

With its wireless design, you’ll enjoy the freedom to work without tangled cords cluttering your desk. Plus, its long battery life ensures it’s ready whenever you are—whether you’re jotting down notes, editing essays, or organizing your calendar.

If you’re ready to upgrade your study setup, this wireless keyboard and mouse set is the perfect addition to any workspace.

Wellness and Comfort

A Tumbler That Makes Staying Hydrated Effortless

We all know hydration is key to staying energized and focused, but finding the right bottle or tumbler can be a challenge. That’s why the Stanley Quencher Tumbler is an absolute game-changer.

Why I Love It: Do I own a Stanley? Yes. My first one was gifted to me, and it instantly became my favourite tumbler. With its generous size, it helps me drink enough water throughout the day without constant refills, perfect for long study sessions or busy days on the go.

But what truly sets it apart is how easy it is to clean. I can switch between water, juice, and iced coffee without worrying about lingering flavours or odours, which is a lifesaver. The durable, stainless-steel design keeps drinks cold for hours, and the sturdy handle makes it easy to carry around campus or at home.

Let’s just say I now own several—and while that’s part of my personal organizational strategy, this is one tumbler every student needs in their lineup!

A Cozy Blanket for Comfort and Warmth

Late-night study sessions and quiet reading moments are so much better when you’re wrapped up in the perfect blanket. The Samiah Luxe Chunky Knit Blanket is not just warm—it’s an absolute vibe.

Why I Love It: There’s something incredibly comforting about curling up with a chunky knit blanket. This one is buttery soft, luxurious, and big enough to keep you cozy while you tackle your assignments, plan your week, or take a much-needed Netflix break.

I love how it adds a stylish touch to my study space while being functional. Whether you’re having a chill review session with tea or zoning in on work, this blanket is perfect for keeping warm without feeling weighed down. Plus, it’s versatile—great for your bed, couch, or favorite study chair.

Every student needs a go-to blanket like this in their corner. Trust me, it’s worth it.

An Aromatherapy Diffuser to Elevate Your Study Space

Your study environment plays a huge role in how focused and relaxed you feel. The Salking Essential Oil Diffuser is the perfect addition to any workspace, creating a calming atmosphere while boosting your mood and focus.

Why I Love It: This ultrasonic diffuser not only looks sleek but also fills your space with the soothing scents of your favourite essential oils. Add lavender to unwind during late-night sessions, eucalyptus for a refreshing boost, or citrus to stay energized during long study days.

It’s quiet, easy to use, and doubles as a humidifier—perfect for dry dorms or home offices. The adjustable mist settings let you control how much fragrance fills the room, making it as subtle or invigorating as you like.

My personal favourite essential oil for a study session is lemongrass. It helps me to feel energized and ready to take on a to-do list of any size.

Fun and Motivation

A Customizable Whiteboard for Endless Inspiration

Whether you’re brainstorming ideas, tracking your to-dos, or jotting down motivational quotes, a magnetic acrylic whiteboard is a fun and functional addition to any study space.

Why I Love It: This sleek magnetic whiteboard combines style and practicality. Its transparent design fits seamlessly into any aesthetic, while the magnetic surface allows you to pin notes, reminders, or even photos for a personalized touch.

Perfect for planning your week, mapping out goals, or practicing diagrams, this whiteboard is easy to clean and endlessly reusable. Plus, the included markers and magnetic accessories make it ready to use right out of the box.

If you’re looking to stay organized and inspired, this whiteboard is the perfect tool to bring your ideas to life!

A Corkboard for Visual Inspiration and Organization

Sometimes, staying motivated is all about having your goals, ideas, and inspiration in front of you. This Emfogo Corkboard Display is the perfect way to keep track of what matters most in your academic journey.

Why I Love It: This stylish corkboard isn’t just functional—it’s a canvas for your creativity. Use it to pin reminders, class schedules, study plans, or even motivational quotes and photos that inspire you. The wooden frame adds a touch of warmth and elegance, making it a great addition to any study space.

With its included pushpins and hanging hardware, it’s easy to set up and customize. Whether you’re organizing your to-dos or creating a vision board to stay inspired, this corkboard is a simple yet powerful tool for motivation and productivity.

Make your study space your own with this versatile corkboard!

Tombow Brush Pens for Beautiful and Creative Notes

Studying doesn’t have to be dull—sometimes, adding a little creativity to your notes can make the process so much more enjoyable. These Tombow Brush Pens are perfect for adding style and personality to your study materials.

Why I Love Them: These dual-tip brush pens make it easy to create beautiful, eye-catching notes. The flexible brush tip is perfect for bold strokes, calligraphy, or highlighting key points, while the fine tip is great for adding details and precision.

I love using these pens to stylize my notes—it’s not just about making them look pretty (though that’s a bonus!). Adding colour and creativity helps me stay engaged and even remember information better. Plus, the Galaxy palette offers stunning shades that give your notes a unique and vibrant look.

Whether you’re journaling, doodling, or organizing your study guides, these brush pens make studying feel like an art form.

2024 was a year of growth, challenges, and learning to adapt—and as we step into 2025, the possibilities are endless. The right tools can make all the difference in your journey, whether you’re tackling coursework, building better habits, or finding moments of calm amidst the chaos.

This gift guide isn’t just about the items—it’s about creating a study environment that supports your goals, inspires motivation, and helps you stay on track. From practical essentials to cozy comforts and tools for creativity, these picks are here to set you up for success.

So whether you’re treating yourself or shopping for a fellow student, let this guide be your starting point for a productive, organized, and inspiring 2025.

Ready to get started? Click the links to explore these must-haves and take the first step toward your best academic year yet. Let’s make 2025 a year to remember!

I would like to be transparent so that there are no misunderstandings. As an affiliate, I may earn a small commission from any products linked in this post. This is not a sponsored post, and I was not asked to recommend these products. These are products that I genuinely love and want to share with my audience.

[luvnami]

shinazugawa sanemi is NOT the love interest of my dream office romcom! - chapter 1 (kill me)

ɞ an | yay!! the first chapter :3 i'm still working on this fic, so updates won't be super fast. i hope you enjoy it, likes/comments/rb are appreciated. do let me know what you think about the fic! find the masterlist here ɞ cw / wc | second hand embarrassment, office!au, manager!sanemi, masachika is your work bff, mdni (18+), 1.8k+

“I’m sorry” is a phrase that practically lives on the tip of your tongue. The last meeting minutes were botched by the intern? I’m sorry. You’re this old already, and you still don’t have a boyfriend? I’m sorry. Christ, don’t you have a single working brain cell in your head? I’m sorry. 

Though, the last one wasn’t exactly all your fault, you swear. It’s that white haired, purple eyed, exceedingly handsome - Scratch that, annoyingly handsome, coworker of yours. Shinazugawa Sanemi enters stage left. He’s exactly five feet and ten and a half inches tall – not quite tall enough to round it up to six feet –  something you insist is terribly insulting for a man of his ego. 

You cling desperately to this useless piece of information, as if it evens out the score of everything horrible that man’s ever said to you. After all, all you do is piss His Royal Majesty Shinazugawa off. Hell, you breathing next to him was enough to make his eyebrow twitch that one time.

You’re not quite sure why Shinazugawa was born with a pretty face but an awful personality. Seriously. If god plays favourites, Shinazugawa must be their favourite child, with a jawline so sharp that it must have been chiselled out painstakingly by hand. Maybe he was better off working as a con artist, sucking money out of desperately lonely ladies, rather than slaving away at a boring nine to five. Especially when he’s your manager, and especially when he has a knack for yelling at you for any damn reason. 

A roar of your name makes you wince. 

“Ah, there he goes again.” Your cubicle neighbour, Masachika Kumeno, peeks over the table divider at you. “Didn’t you send him the documents he needed before the deadline?”

“Yeah. He probably found some other stupid thing that wasn’t perfect,” you grumble. “I made sure to use the right margin space this time, too.”

“Well, you know him.”

“Sure, sure.”

You barely have time to get out of your office chair before Shinazugawa shouts for you one more time. 

“Jeez. Impatient fuckhead,” you mutter.

Masachika chuckles under his breath. You hurry to lock your laptop, push your chair in, and race to Shinazugawa’s office next door before he screams for you a third time. You knock on his door tentatively. 

“Shinazugawa? You called for me?”

Yeah, right. As if he hadn’t nearly brought down the entire office building with the sheer power of his lungs. 

You open the door to see him with a cloud over his face. A thunderous, dark cloud, you might add. You try to keep your own face impassive as you close the door behind you silently. It clicks shut and you shuffle over to the front of Shinazugawa’s desk, a neat stack of papers on the tabletop. 

There’s a metal plaque with ‘Shinazugawa Sanemi’ printed in black serif font, then ‘Department Manager’ underneath his name. His table barely has anything on it. No pictures of family, no vacation souvenir, just a single pen in a metal holder, and his desktop monitor setup. All prim and proper (and pathetic, you think). Just how Shinazugawa likes things. 

You shift your weight between your feet nervously. Shinazugawa is easier to predict when he’s loud and ruthless, with insult after insult raining from his mouth and a pointed index finger that seeks out every wrongdoing you have ever committed. Silence feels like treading on a glass bridge; your legs tremble with every step, aware of the non-zero chance of a life-threatening fall. 

Despite the knowledge that Shinazugawa’s upset at you (though the reason remains unknown for now), you can’t help but appreciate the white hair that falls perfectly over his eyes, framing his equally perfect face. Even with the scars that stand out against his skin, you’re no idiot to admit that Shinazugawa’s handsome.

Damn it. Not everyone’s just as lucky.

Shinazugawa never wears a tie. Not at your job interview, not at the meeting with the CEO, and definitely not today. His white dress shirt is rolled above the elbows and his unbuttoned collar reveals the gentle notch between his collarbones. Utterly disgusting. Or so you try to convince yourself, because admitting that Shinazugawa’s handsome is one thing, and confessing he’s hot is another.

“Did you read through the documents before you sent them to me?” 

Ah. The glass bridge cracks and you falter. 

“Yes, I did.”

“Are you sure?”

The nerve. You resist the urge to say Yes, Princess Shinazugawa, I did in fact check my work before I submitted it. 

“Yes, I’m sure I did,” you manage to get out through gritted teeth. “Then why are all your references for the second quarter of 2022 wrong? Also, what the hell does ‘The client has decided to…’” 

The glass shatters and you freefall into Shinazugawa’s daily tirade. You wonder if there’s a slim chance that you can go home on time this week. You miss getting an actual night of sleep for once. 

“Do you hear me, or are your ears too blocked?”

“I’m sorry. I hear you, I’ll make the amendments right away.”

“That’s what I thought,” Shinazugawa huffs, then chases you out of his office with a dismissive flap of his hand.

Oh well. You guess it’ll be a long time till you see your bed again.  

You spend the rest of your day working on the documents that Shinazugawa rejected. By the time 5pm rolls around and the office has cleared out, you still have a long way to go. 

“Good luck on the grind,” an oddly cheerful voice startles you.

Only then do you realise that you had been slouched over your desk, shoulders caved in to the point that you look like a curled up shrimp. You sit up straight with a heavy sigh. 

“At this rate, Shinazugawa’s gonna have to rot in hell for the amount of overtime I’ve done,” you groan, stretching your arms far above your head with a ‘pop’ of your joints. 

Masachika places a plastic bag next to your keyboard. 

“Here’s your dinner, on me.”

“Masachika! Oh, bless you,” you cry out.

With a wave and another ‘good luck’, he turns to leave the office. You wish that was you, that got to head home on time. Oh well. The work isn’t going to finish itself, and you would sure like to avoid getting grilled by Shinazugawa for once. 

Despite your commendable work ethic, your beloved manager will have to pay in blood if he wants to stand between you and dinnertime. You eagerly unwrap the bento box Masachika bought from the convenience store below the office, as well as the one, two, three cans of coffee. 

“Thank you for the food, Lord Masachika,” you mutter gratefully. 

You begin to dig into your food eagerly, savouring each and every last bite of room temperature rice and karaage. On your work laptop, you change windows to a personal document, something you had been writing for a while. 

On days that you weren’t being treated as a workhorse, you had a hobby of writing fiction. Nothing crazy – just short bits about daily life, or a character from a show you watched recently. It’s pleasant, something that keeps you from going absolutely insane from job-related stress. Sure, maybe you have written about your own… personal encounters once or twice, and maybe that includes your absolute devil of a manager. 

Who cares? Your blog has little to no traction, and likes or comments are few and far between. As mentioned, it’s just a hobby to let off some steam. If that comes in the form of writing a fic about how you hate to love your hot- sorry, handsome superior, then so be it. 

You scrutinise your choice of words, absentmindedly shoving another bite of rice into your mouth. Maybe you should change that adjective. Swap the sentence structure around, add a little more detail about that scene…

“‘Admitting that your manager is handsome is one thing, and confessing he’s hot is another’. Huh. Interesting.”

You don’t even want to turn around. You know exactly who crept behind you and read those words that were meant for you and your three consistent readers alone. 

The rice falls from your chopstick, landing on the desk and scattering into individual grains. You have enough sense to slam your laptop shut so quickly that a dull thud resounds through the empty office. Your face burns with pure embarrassment and you wish the carpet floor would open up and swallow you whole, because anything would be better than Shinazugawa Sanemi knowing you were writing fanfiction about him. 

Silence descends on you like a heavy blanket, except you aren’t cold and the thickness is making you sweat uncomfortably. You don’t know if you want Shinazugawa to be horrified, to call you a ‘weird fucking loser’ and escalate the case to human resources, firing you on account of harrassment; or be smug about it and label you as the ‘writing freak’ of the office. Either way, you just want Shinazugawa to have some sort of over the top, mind blowing reaction, because that would be so much better than silence. 

What follows is exactly ten seconds of pure silence, broken only by the hum of the office’s air conditioning system. You want to die. 

“I expect the documents by 9am tomorrow morning. No mistakes this time, got it?” 

Your relief is visible by the way your shoulders sag. You swallow the lump in your throat and nod, moving to clean up the dropped rice to hopefully distract Shinazugawa from the awful situation at hand.

“Got it,” you reply nervously. 

You hear him walk away from your cubicle, but don’t fully relax till the door to your department’s office shuts fully with a thunk. 

Oh god. You’re so fucking dead. Seriously, what sane person writes fanfiction about their manager? Forget it, you never want to see Shinazugawa Sanemi ever again. You need to quit your job immediately. Where’s that resignation letter template? Shit. It would take HR two weeks to process your resignation, and that’s two weeks too long. Maybe you should stage an accident, fake your death, fly to another country, and live the rest of your life under a fake identity. 

As the delusion of you living on an unknown island with a comically large sun hat and fake moustache fades away, the realisation of adulthood hits you. Despite the utterly, despicably horrendous fact that Shinazugawa has seen your fanfiction of him, you still have to finish your work before you go home. 

You clean up the rest of the rice with a tissue, wrapping an extra piece around the ball twice before tossing it in the bin under your table. You open your laptop again and close the window of your fanfiction with a heavy sigh. 

“God damn it.”

[s-talking]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐁𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆. the glow from the nearby wall lamp sculptures his chiselled face in sharp strokes & dark edges, conferring him a striking resemblance to the oil painting that's hanging just across the room; la jeune fille et la mort; a painting of death whom visits a dying maiden. ❝ dr. raphael dupont, ❞ he mutters flatly with a smile. ❝ we've been expecting you... mr. hyun. ❞ slowly moving away from the office door, the serial killer passes by eun & the second he does, the height difference between them is imminent. the pale man is like a dark tower which completely overshadows the investigator for a second before walking up to a different door. ❝ do follow me please, if you may... ❞

placing a black nailed hand 'pon the curled handle, a gentle tug is given, only for the iron lock to give a loud & defiant ' click. ' ohh, envy muses, ever so slightly tilting his head at the unforeseen event; so he actually locked it... hm... ? trying not to act too surprised, the serial killer promptly reaches into one of the coat pockets & quickly searches around with his free hand. tissues, coins, a pen &── ...what's this? withdrawing a small ring of silver keys, a little scoff escapes him.

classic.

he doesn't waste any time before separating the very first from many, throwing eun a brief, nonchalant look. ❝ would you perhaps like some coffee before we get started.... ? ❞ might as well start this little charade, avoiding the more obvious questions with his own.

Eun only had exchanged emails with the therapist, explaining false desires of needing to explore his own traumas. He tried to remain as vague as possible. There were abundant details that his client had neglected to give him about the therapist. It was explained to Eun that he simply could not remember anything and that there were sparse mental images of distressing abuse. For all the P.I was concerned he was chasing a delusion, but this delusioned other paid cash. So he will happily chase fantasies.

His own client who employed his skills of deduction was a stuttering fool who seemed to undergo a series of abusive experiments at the hands of a healthcare professional. Eun did not know what this man looked like, what he specialized in, or anything of substance. This meant it was a broad search.

All he did know was that his own client was in this town, and remembered waking up in the woods ten kilometers away.

His shaggy-haired face was framed with thick-rimmed glasses, and he wore a dark coat larger than himself. A dreary and lanky-looking guy. He was going for the appearance of a Hikikomori, it was not hard.

Turning the knob of the office door he looks quietly at the Doctor. There is no smile, no eccentric greeting that is typical of Eun. Just a soft nod in confirmation.

" I am. I forgot your name, Doctor I'm sorry. I'm .. just used to these kinds of things not working out. " He stands awkwardly in the door, unable to move unless ushered.

@s-talking

[random-imagines-blog]

The Room {Jonathan Crane x Reader}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 2603 Summary: An encounter with Bats leaves Jonathan seeing red - or rather, isn’t jealousy supposed to be green?

You had gone into the medical profession to take care of people. It was something that Gotham sorely needed. But it had turned into a profession nearly as dangerous as being a policeman in this town. Especially at your place of work. Arkham Asylum was far from the safest place in the city, but it was one of the few places where you might be able to do some good. And damn, you were good at your job as a doctor. You didn’t play into any of the things that the patients said unless it was directly to do with their physical health. You didn’t play any of their mind games despite how much they tried. You would give them their medical treatments and then would move onto the next, giving you the reputation of being like a stone. Rock hard exterior that they couldn’t chip away at, which of course caused them to think of it like a challenge. But around your boss and co-workers? You had the sweetest smile that most of them had ever seen. Even if they were used to ones such as The Joker’s and The Riddler’s. It had even caught the attention of the most stony-faced of them all. Jonathan Crane. He’d be looking at you constantly from behind his glasses. His bright blue eyes more fascinating than any of the patients.

“Good morning,” You said cheerfully to the Doctor as he walked past your office. Just like he did every morning. Usually he would walk by but today felt different. Today was different. Just nobody knew it yet. He had his cup of coffee in hand, mug steaming, the thick bitter scent of it filling the hallway. He drank it black. It kept the sleep away. It kept the nightmares away.

“Good morning," He said, stopping in your doorway. You were going through your files, your appointment book, seeing who you had to see today. It was flu shot day, an extraordinarily tough one because it meant that it was going to be a busy one. Even if each shot only took a minute, the patients made it stretch on and on with their behavior. Some of them could not help it, fear made them paralyzed when it came to needles. Others just wanted to play around with your mind, trying to chisel their way through. “Busy day today.”

“Indeed,” You sighed, looking at all of the paperwork for each patient you would have to fill out. “At least it’s pizza day in the cafeteria. Something to look forward to.”

Right, lunch, Something that Jonathan often forgot about. Skipping meals had become a habit. Probably why he was so tall, so thin, so lanky. “Right,” He nodded.

There was a silence in the air, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. He was just watching you as you started to make the checklist for the day. He sipped at his coffee. He adjusted his glasses. You looked over at him again and smiled. “Is there anything I can do for you, Mister Crane?”

Mister Crane, fuck, that was almost enough for him to start to feel like he was going insane. A little weakness in his knees. A trembling in his stomach. A few beads of sweat rose up under the hair which covered his forehead. He was well aware of the chemicals that made up love. The different things which clicked in the brain to make that feeling grow. It wasn’t something that was real. Not like fear. Love took thinking about. And he was doing his best not to think about it but when he looked at you, it was all that his mind would dwell on.

“No,” He would say after a full moment’s pause. “Get on with your work, Doctor.”

You nodded, and gave him another smile then went back to your paperwork. He lingered for a moment longer, feeling the warmth of the coffee mug in his hands, wondered if your hands were that warm. He was focused on them. The way that they held the pen between them. The scrawl of your signature on the bottom of the page. He left, the memory of it in his hands. He wondered what they would like if you had been using a feather and inkwell, like old days. A crow feather. He wondered what would scare you enough to make your hands tremble. He wondered if he was capable of that. So many thoughts, but he would leave them at the door of his office, and would concentrate fully on his work.

-

Alarms were ringing. One of the patients had managed to escape. You were following the safety protocol, preparing the locks inside of your office, ready to trap yourself in when there was a skinny, familiar form right by it. Rather than deal with the patient, Jonathan had gone to you. To make sure that you were alright. He didn’t mind the chaos that these people, these monsters, brought to the city. He just liked to study them under a microscope. See how they think. How they ... how they make people fear them. “Let me in,” He said to you quickly through the door and you opened it just for him, and he heard it slam as soon as he was safe in there. He heard you engage the locks. The deadbolts that would keep even Killer Croc from being able to come inside. “Are you alright?” He asked, adjusting his glasses on his face.

“I will be,” You breathed out, stress wrinkles showing above your forehead. He had missed you looking scared. In fact, you looked more frustrated than anything else. A shame. He wanted to see what you looked like with fear in your eyes. But perhaps that was for the best. He might get addicted to such a sight. Might want to put the look in there yourself. “Are you? Where were you?”

“I was in an appointment,” Jonathan said, simply. “And then the alarms went off. I wasn’t sure if I could get to my office before the lockdown started.”

You nodded, and sat down on the examination table. You reached for the remote, turned on the television to see how things were going. The media would have been all over this by now. There was probably a van on site twenty-four seven in case it happened again. People were always coming in and out of Arkham, and not usually by legal means. A pretty woman in a pantsuit was talking into a microphone, and you turned up the volume.

“Basil Karlo, a former actor who now is known as Clayface, was said to escape from here twenty-minutes ago. Police are on the scene and are doing a search of the grounds, and all cars leaving the area are to be stopped and inspected. And - Yes, I can confirm, Batman is now here.” She looked in amazement around her. A black shadow far in the background. The bat himself, driving in one of his fancy cars. Ran out. Into the Asylum. Jonathan tore his eyes away from the television and looked at you, taking in your reaction. You had hopped off of the table, and were at the door, ear pressed against it, trying to hear what was going on out there.

“Do you know Mr. Karlo?” Jonathan asked, sitting on your chair. He was making himself at home in your office, not that you minded. He was the big boss after all. He could even go through your files if he so wished. But he didn’t. He was more preoccupied with how you were trying to listen to what was going on outside of the sturdy door. He would be surprised if you heard anything. He had picked those himself for how thick they were. Bulletproof.

“I gave him the flu shot this morning,” You muttered. “He didn’t seem any different than usual. But I suppose that’s normal. They’re always like that.”

“What do you think you’re going to hear?”

“Batman,” You said, your eyes lighting up. His heart felt like it sunk with the excitement that you showed. Over Batman. Over someone who did not deserve the fear that he got. Or the respect. He didn’t even use sonar, what good of a bat could he really be? “We’ll be out of here within the hour, if all goes right.”

“Perhaps,” Jonathan said. It finally hit him that he was alone, in an office with you. For a prolonged amount of time. He cleared his throat. He straightened his tie. He fixed his glasses. He smoothed down his hair. He tried to make himself look presentable. “What intrigues you about the Batman?”

“Everything,” You admitted. That feeling of jealousy like tendrils in his stomach. He felt it rising up in his throat. He choked it back. It actually felt sick. He felt a flash of fear - actual fear - that he was going to throw up in your wastebasket just with one word. It felt familiar despite it being for a new reason. “I’ve seen him once before. He drove past me and I caught a glimpse of him. I’ve never been in a situation where he had to save me, thankfully.”

“You are no villain,” Jonathan said, eyes glinting. “So you will never be anything to him.”

“That’s true,” You frowned, standing up, not being able to hear a thing, he guessed, a disappointed look on your face. “But you never know what the future holds."

He managed to catch your eye. You both were just looking at each other. There was a bit of fear in yours, which excited him greatly, and a calculating look in his. He should be outraged, but he was loving the fact that there was terror in his halls. That a prisoner was running amuck. The only thing he wasn’t happy about was the caped crusader. Batman. Stupid Batman. But at least he had you alone. He was very much aware of that, and trying to forget about the hero out there.

“We may be here a while,” Jonathan said, lowering himself into your chair since you seemed to adamant about staying near the door. “We’ve never had a proper chat. What made you want to go into the medical profession?”

As you spoke, not seeming to realize that he had just played you in with easy psychiatrist tricks, he was looking for any little cigarette burns in your story. Any little traces of fear in your childhood. But he couldn’t find any. It sounded as if you had a perfectly boring childhood. Just with a strong sense of wanting to help people. He wished that turned him off the way that it did in others but in you - it was just admirable. Disgusting.

A knock at the door made you stop talking. You stood quiet, your ears perked like a dogs at hearing a sudden sound. It was an endearing expression. Jonathan got to his feet, and he, well, he touched you for the first time. His hand was lightly on your shoulder, guiding you out of the way. He was the one that turned the lock on your door, and opened it just a crack, shielding your body with his. He was expecting an orderly. He was not expecting Batman.

“Doctor?” He asked. Jonathan stared. He didn’t answer, which made you nudge his thin frame out of the way, only to look up at the Batman in shock with wide eyes.

“I - I’m a Doctor,” You said, and you introduced yourself to him. The eyes behind the mask took you in with a glance that Jonathan read as ... something close to lust. Not as greedy as lust, but lusty nonetheless. A feeling overtook him. Anger. He opened the door wider, stayed by your side.

“As am I. Dr. Jonathan Crane. Can I help you?”

“I’ve caught your patient. But he’ll be needing some medical care. A couple of broken bones,” The Batman’s harsh voice came out. You instantly turned heel and went further into your office and grabbed your to go bag, the one full of emergency materials that you sometimes had to bring into a cell when the inmates were hurting one another. It would have to do until you were able to get him to a hospital bed.

“Show me,” You said, eagerly, your eyes on the Batman’s dark ones. Jonathan was still staring at him. A very new feeling bubbling up in his stomach. He had heard about it from his patients before. Jealousy. The way that he was looking at you. And the way that you were looking at him.

You followed after the cape, and Jonathan followed after you. He had visions of shooting the Batman down. Of drugging him with his special fear toxin and scaring him silly with his scarecrow mask. Of making him suffer. No, only Jonathan knew the true meaning of suffering. Of fear. He got to see it every day when he did his therapy with certain patients. Driving them more, and more insane, to the point where they were useless lumps of flesh, quivering at shadows. Yes, he wanted to do that to Batman. And to make you see - yes, make you see who was superior. Jonathan overcame fear. He was fear. He was above it. He became it. Batman? He would feel it. Jonathan would make sure of that.

The patient came into view, hoisted up by two of the orderlies. Already sedated. That was a shame. Jonathan would have loved to see the look in his eyes when he realized he was defeated. You immediately went up to him and started to check on his arm, which looked quite swollen. Bruises were over his face. His lip was cut. He was in a right state.

“Bring him to my surgery,” You said quickly to the orderlies. “Keep him sedated, I’ll be in there in a moment.” You then turned towards the Batman. “Thank you. For sedating him, and for not killing him when I know that the police would have.”

Jonathan nearly scoffed. Instead he just removed his glasses, polished them with the specialty rag he had in his pocket. Rolled his eyes.

“I never kill,” Batman said in that husky, growly voice. “Fix him up, keep him safe.”

“There’s only so much that we can do to keep him safe within his own mind,” You explained, looking up to Jonathan. “But on the outside, yes, I’ll do all that I can.”

“The city could use more doctors like you,” Batman said, and Jonathan’s hands turned into fists. He couldn’t handle this anymore. Just a couple of short sentences and he was seeing red.

“We must attend to Mr Karlo, y/n,” Jonathan said, being sure to use your first name. Because he was special enough to know that. Was Batman? No. He wasn’t. The little pleasures. “I’ll assist as much as I can. Thank you for your help,” He gave a curt nod at the Superhero, and lightly took your shoulders and turned you around. You didn’t try to turn back to look over your shoulder, to his delight.

“You’re acting a little strange, Dr. Crane. Or should I call you Jonathan?” You asked, having noticed his use of your name. “Are you feeling alright? I can book you in for a check up before I leave for the day. Your cheeks are looking a bit flushed-”

“It’s from the excitement, darling,” Jonathan said, keeping close behind you. If you so much as slowed the littlest bit,he would have bumped against you. “Just the excitement.”

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

bb / gg, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Jeon Jungkook is the lead singer in a rock band and failed his Biology class last semester, so he has to take remedial classes over the summer. You're the Biology TA, double major in Psychology and Biology, watching him freak out over his make-up exam because he had overslept. Both of you are surrounded by rumors. Does the title stand for bad boy / good girl or bad bitch / good guy? Who knows.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; not the healthiest dynamic tbh; slight angst due to perceived unrequited love; smut (fem reader, D/s dynamics, begging, scratching / marking, choking, handjob (he is still wearing underwear), multiple orgasms, cowgirl, hair pulling, edging / orgasm denial, cock ring usage, m-masturbation, cum-eating); non-idol!BTS – rock singer, sub!Jungkook x studious, dom!reader

yes, it's SOWOOZOO JK, both the first yellow tropical look and the shredded black shirt look; for those who wanted him to be dom!JK, there is a moment when he is but not in the way you think because that's how I operate

--

Jeon Jungkook was a bad boy.

Wore too much black, dyed his hair too much, had tattoos, always had girls hanging around him. Sang in a rock band on the weekends, played electric guitar, played the game of how-many-numbers-can-I-get tonight? Never gave a girl his leather jacket to wear but was happy to buy her a drink and flirt with her until she got hot with arousal.

You were a good girl.

Always wore a blazer. Crisp white dress shirt and pleated skirt underneath, usually in a dark color. Sensible heels, but always heels. Did too many units a semester because you were double majoring in psychology and biology. Always arrived to class early, always turned in your assignments on time, always turned in your tests early and aced that shit. Took physics with calculus even though you didn’t have to because it was the harder one and you wanted a challenge.

-

Against the wall, shoving a fist into the neck, lips to lips, teeth snapping, hand travelling down, whimpering pleas and harsh growls, keep crying, I like it, ecstasy and pain, nails to skin. Tearing clothes off, biting, marking, I own you, and then, yes, you do, mouth and tongue, aching pleasure, cocked eyebrow, mocking the pathetic whines and cries, stopping right before the end, no, please, I’ve been good, and, you take what you get, hand fitting onto the neck, squeezing the sides, eyes rolling back, skin to skin, bruising slaps that would be seen tomorrow in the mirror, traced with shaking fingers and pants of an open mouth, moaning at the memory of sky-high pleasure while lightheaded and thoughtless, desperate to do it again.

-

There was a rumor.

Everyone liked Jeon Jungkook. He had two smiles, an endearing one and a teasing one. Both encapsulated the kind of person he was, honest and playful. He always sang with conviction, he rapped with savagery, and his lyrics were always from the heart. He always hung out with his bandmates after their performances at bars and interacted with those that came up to him. No one ever said Jungkook was mean or rude in any way.

And yet.

There was a rumor.

A rumor that Jeon Jungkook was taken.

He was the kind of guy that always made sure a drunk girl got home safe even though he didn’t know them. Paid for their taxi and everything. He focused a lot on his music and writing lyrics he thought would connect with others while taking into account his band members. He always told the truth if a girl confessed to him, saying he wasn’t looking right now, that he was very sorry if she thought otherwise, that there was someone he was already interested in.

-

“Oi.”

You slammed a hand onto the tabletop and Jeon Jungkook jumped, the shredded black shirt he was wearing falling down his shoulder, revealing his ink black tattoos on his tan skin. He was wearing a black tank top underneath.

“What’s with you? You missed the exam for your remedial class and you’ve spent the past ten minutes spacing out at your make-up exam,” you barked, pointing to his empty exam sheet. “You haven’t even filled out you name.”

Jungkook swallowed hard. “S… Sorry.”

You frowned. Why was he apologizing to you? Honestly, why did you sign up for this summer TA position again? Oh, right, money and credits. Hmph. It was really just an excuse for the professor to slack off while you did the tedious things like grading and watching over idiots that skipped class. Sorry, overslept. Hung over, probably, since this was the Jeon Jungkook. Rockstar, hottie, famous in his own way.

Whatever.

He could be Jesus Christ and you would still be scolding him for missing his remedial Biology exam.

“Fill out your name so at least I can fail you properly.”

Not that it mattered, since you knew who he was. He didn’t know you knew who he was, and you had zero incentive to inform him that you were indeed aware of the existence of black-haired, tattooed, chiseled-jaw, sparkly-eyed Jeon Jungkook, all due to the constant snide remarks that followed you in your wake.

You wouldn’t be such a bitch if a guy like Jeon Jungkook put you in your place.

Who the fuck was Jeon Jungkook?

This guy, this weirdo about to fail his fucking Biology exam in front of your face.

Impatiently, you rolled up the sleeves of your gray blazer and grabbed a chair, dragging it up to the table. You snapped the chair down and sat in it, smoothing your skirt. You liked to be neat. Even though university didn’t have a uniform, you liked to keep some sort of uniform for yourself. There was a sense of security in knowing you didn’t have to select an outfit every morning. Today, white dress shirt, gray blazer, pleated black skirt that hit slightly higher than mid-thigh. Every other outfit was some variation of this and, in the winter, you wore thick stockings.

You clicked your heels together under the table sharply.

He flinched at the sound.

Jungkook wasn’t looking at you. He was mumbling at his paper.

“I… I think I studied the wrong chapters…”

You clicked your tongue. Jeez.

His hand was shaking so bad that his pen was practically vibrating. You leaned over the table, grabbing his fist to still it.

“Stop.”

Your bare knees hit his bare knees, mostly because he was wearing black jeans with giant holes in them. Jungkook froze, head snapping up, silver earrings jangling, black hair flying, undercut visible for a second.

“You want to pass this class or what?”

He nodded quickly in response.

“Good. I want to get out of here. Keep your mouth shut. Answer to the first question is A.”

His eyes widened.

“Are you… helping me cheat?” he whispered, terrified.

You cocked your head, letting go of his hand. “You said you studied the wrong chapters. I’m not spending forty-five minutes of my life to watch you panic and then ten minutes more failing you,” you replied lowly, dangerous edge to your voice.

“I… couldn’t… I mean…”

You shoved his knees open with yours, narrowing your eyes as he yelped, pleading look in those brown doe eyes. You pressed your knees on the inside of his thighs, keeping them open.

“Answer to the second question is C.”

When Jungkook didn’t move, you reached over and cupped his chin. Felt his racing heartbeat pounding through his veins, coursing through your fingertips. Stared deep into those eyes, lowering the octave of your voice, keeping his thighs spread for you under the table.

“Listen to me,” you murmured softly. “Okay, Jungkook?”

“O… Okay…”

And he did.

-

There was a rumor.

Nobody liked you. Maybe it was because of your high scores ruining the class test average. Maybe it was the dismissive way you spoke to people, almost demeaning. Most likely it was a combination of the two. Students talked behind your back all the time, spreading rumors. Friends? What friends? You had an average of twenty class credits a semester. You didn’t have time to make friends. And besides, why try to make friends when clearly nobody wanted to be your friend?

And yet.

There was a rumor.

You ignored such things. You didn’t need such distractions.

-

“It would be too suspicious if you got full marks. This score is high enough.”

“O… Okay…”

“Get on the table.”

Jungkook scrambled on the wooden tabletop as you pushed his exam aside. You were still sitting in your chair. Your head tilted, eyebrow lifting at his speedy response to your rather suspicious request.

“You listened.”

He blinked at you. “Uh… yeah?”

Silence.

“Why?” you finally said.

Jungkook gulped. “Be… because you asked,” he mumbled, knees on the table, hands clutching his knees.

“You can just walk out and report me.”

He shook his head quickly, black hair flying everywhere. “I don’t want to.”

Your other eyebrow raised. He chewed on his lip, a flash of pink tongue in his movement.

“Tell me what you want. I’ll do it.”

Well.

You decided to test his conviction.

“Edge of the table. Spread your legs for me.”

Instantly, obediently, Jeon Jungkook surprised you by doing it, putting each leg on either side of you, chunky black sneakers hanging down. Shredded black shirt open, hands behind his ass, towering over you, and yet his eyes were watching you, waiting for more, begging for instruction.

“Hm.”

You raised your chin, seeing his impressively muscular thighs and body displayed for you to take. He was so close you could smell his clean, dreamy scent, like a meadow in summer dusk, surrounded by peeking stars and blinking fireflies. Interesting.

But you didn’t need the distraction.

“That’s it. You can go now,” you said dismissively, about to push your chair back.

His legs closed in, pressing firmly into your upper arms. Your eyes flickered up to him.

Jungkook shook his head very slowly.

“Do what you want.”

You saw his chest rise and fall, his silvery voice deepening, pupils expanding.

“I know you want to do something to me.”

His erection was bulging against the zipper of his black jeans. Your eyes went back to his face. He shivered at your sharp stare. All of this was happening in an otherwise empty lecture hall, with you and Jungkook at the very bottom.

Just you and him.

You placed your hands on his thighs. He jumped a little, but scooted closer to you. You slid your hands up. You undid the button of his jeans, scrutinizing those brown eyes. He raised his hips to help you as you pulled the zipper down.

“You don’t know me,” you finally said, no inflection in your voice.

He didn’t look away. “I don’t care.”

“Hmm.” You smirked. “Bad boy, aren’t you?”

Jungkook shook his head slightly, but didn’t break eye contact as you pulled his pants to his knees and reached for his black boxer briefs. “No. I’m a good guy. I want to give you what you want.” You hooked your fingers over the waistband and nicked his skin with your nails, making him gasp, the pleasure evident in his tone. He did not try to hide it from you. “I want to be good for you.”

“Why is that?”

He hung his head a little.

“Something about… how you make me feel…” he muttered. His gaze finally faltered. You reached up and righted his chin, forcing him to look at you. Saw that Jungkook had a mole under his mouth, perfectly in the center. He had a nice shape to his pink lips. You tapped his cheek, nudging him to elaborate. “You… You’re so pretty… and smart… Everyone looks up to you because you have such good grades…”

You doubted that.

Jungkook probably had no idea that most of the school hated your guts.

You didn’t have classes with Jungkook, but you were sure he knew your name because your name was posted on the Dean’s List of the highest-ranking students of the university every semester. Also, you weren’t hard to miss. Every student moved out of your way when you walked through the halls, whispering behind their hands.

Jungkook brought you back to the present.

“I feel,” he whispered, voice trembling, gaze locking with yours. “I feel like I want to be on my knees for you.”

His skin was warm under your nails.

“Like this is where I belong, in your hands.”

You stood up.

Jungkook started, turning into a tight squeak as you placed your hand on his chest and pushed him down.

“Lift up your shirt with both hands.”

He did was he was told, revealing his toned abs and the lower half of his pecs, biting his lip, clutching onto his tank top, ears turning red as he craned his head to look down at you. You didn’t give him any satisfying response. His tan skin seemed to glow under the overhead lights. You studied his face.

Reached up and began to rub his erection through his underwear.

“A… ah…”

“Gonna make you cum like this.”

He shook his head quickly. “P… Please, no…”

You felt him swell and twitch under your hand. He was pretty big. Thick. Pretty boy with a pretty dick, probably. You rubbed the head with your palm, feeling his pre-cum leaking through the thin fabric. He wasn’t kidding when he said you made him feel some kind of way.

“Why not? Make you cum in your underwear and then you have to go all the way home covered in it. All dirty, just for me.”

His handsome face twisted with sinful pleasure at your suggestion, whimpers in his throat. His cock jerked with need, wanting it.

“O… Okay. Whatever you want.”

So obedient.

“So obedient, Jungkook,” you purred, rubbing faster.

He nodded. “For you. Only for you. Just for you.”

Was it just saying those things because he thought that was what you wanted to hear? Or was that how he actually felt? Surely not the latter, considering he didn’t really know you. You leaned over him, placing your free elbow on the table to stabilize yourself. You hadn’t even kissed him.

“You’re so hard for me,” your drawled, lowering your head, letting your warm breath float down onto his skin. “You want to cum for me, don’t you?”

“Y… yes, please…”

“You want to be my toy?”

You pressed your lips to his bellybutton, feeling the smoothness of his skin, tasting it. He moaned at your kiss, your swift tongue flickering out to that delicious skin, whining when your teeth nipped at the softness. Fuck, he tasted so good that you wanted to mark him. Looked so fucking good that you wanted to mess him up, mar him with temporary imperfections on the perfection that was Jeon Jungkook.

“Yes…”

With breathless, lustful conviction.

You licked up his abs, increasing the intensity and speed of rubbing the engorged head of his cock, the pre-cum already soaked through and creating a slippery surface, turning Jungkook’s pitched whines to deep moans, a melody that filled up the entire lecture hall until was the only thing you could hear, Jungkook’s moans as you bit his skin, his moans as you sucked on his skin, moans as you kissed the hard muscle, cries for more at you left marks, pleading for you, sweet and beautiful, clutching his shirt so tight that his knuckles were white, the black tattoos of his right hand standing out, his cock throbbing in your hand, his hips rising to hump your palm, your name on his lips, over and over and over.

“Gonna… gonna cum…” he panted, sniffing slightly, cheeks flushing pink. “Gonna cum like how you want me to, all over my underwear…”

Your fingertips touched his side, seeing him stiffen and then shudder at your gentle caress.

“Do it,” you murmured. “Show me how good you are at listening, Jungkook.”

He bit his lower lip, jaw clenching, squeezing his eyes shut, tipping his head back into the tabletop, whining your name in his chest, your palm working him, slick and hot and hard, pulsating under your roughness. With a sharp moan, his lower lip popped out of his teeth, dark red and swollen, small mole quivering.

“F-Fuck…!”

You felt it and heard it, the unmistakable jolt and squelch as his orgasm splattered inside his boxer briefs, drenching the fabric, drenching your hand, his embarrassed whines as he realized what he had done but still humping your hand, forcing out every last twitch of dribbling cum, causing you to smear it everywhere, coating the sensitive head and adding to the pleasure, his cheeks flushed red, eyes squeezed shut to savor the pleasure and avoid looking at you.

“Shh…”

You crawled onto the table, still holding his cock through his soiled underwear, squeezing it, free hand slipping under his head and lifting him, his eyes weakly opening, scared and anxious, but all you did was lean down and kiss him, pressing your lips to that pure softness, exhaling his name into his mouth, his scent staining your hand, his cologne filling your nose, your whisper in his throat.

“Time for you to go home.”

-

Jungkook thought you would tell everyone.

You did no such thing.

Instead, you ignored him.

He would see you three times a week and, three times a week, you arrived with the professor and left with the professor. Jungkook tried much harder to attend classes, but you seemed not to care either way. He would come to the front and collect his assignment and find that you had marked it up exactly like everyone else, red marks all over his incorrect answers. You didn’t even look in his direction.

The next exam was coming up quickly.

Part of him considered skipping exam day to have one-on-one time with you again.

“Jungkook.”

He jumped, jerking his head towards the hall, confused. Somehow, he had heard your voice. Or rather, did he imagine it? His teeth sunk into his lip, placing a hand on his forehead, confused. His head was confused. He couldn’t think straight. Why had he done such an embarrassing thing with you? Even you had told him to leave and report you. But Jungkook just couldn’t. Not then and not now. He had asked for it.

He still wanted it.

Nobody knew. Everybody thought he was a cocky, womanizing playboy. And he was, but not because of the sex. It was only because he was bored and that was all he could get. There was power in being on top.

And there was power in letting go.

You were bad for him.

He was a good guy.

You were a bad bitch.

And nobody knew.

A hand slapped down on his shoulder and yanked him around, the loose short sleeves of his yellow tropical shirt flaring out, making his sunglasses rattle on his face. You narrowed your eyes at him. Instant shivers down his spine at your stern gaze.

“Are you deaf?” you snapped. “I’ve been calling your name for the past minute.”

“I… S-Sor–”

You waved a hand dismissively, grabbing his right hand and slapping down a post-it into it.

“Chapters for the exam, including the date and time. Do not miss it this time. I will not let you make it up and fail you on the spot.”

You turned on your heel, letting go of his hand.

His left one shot out and circled around your arm, his rings pressing into your skin.

“Wait.”

You jerked your head towards him, glaring sharply. “Don’t touch me.”

And you yanked your arm out of his grasp, but his legs made the choice for him, following your swift strides, his backpack hanging off one shoulder, clutching the post-it and his last strands of sanity.

“Please, wait.”

“What?” was your curt response, not looking back at him.

“Please do it again,” he gasped breathlessly, unable to stop himself.

“Do what?”

“Have your way with me.”

You stopped walking.

Jungkook walked straight into your back and banged his nose on your head. He winced, stepping back and rubbing it gingerly. He didn’t register you turning around until it was too late and you were right in his face. You raised your chin and eyebrow simultaneously.

“No.”

He blinked rapidly, his tinted sunglasses halfway down the bridge of his nose.

“W… Why? Did you not like it? Was… was I bad?”

You let out an amused scoff.

The side of your lips curved upwards.

He had made you smile, even if only a little bit. Just that small thing was enough to feed his courage.

“I…” Jungkook coughed, clearing his throat before he spoke again, voice still a soft whisper in his embarrassment even though no one was around to eavesdrop. “I can be better. I can do better.”

Silence.

He thought you were going to walk away again.

You reached up and plucked his glasses off his nose. Folded them neatly and tucked them in his tropical shirt pocket. Then your eyes found his again and he knew something was different. He could see you clearly now, his vision no longer clouded by sienna.

Now, Jungkook could no longer stop it.

He could feel it all over him, coursing through his veins, arousal like fire. Something about you and something about him. Jungkook could sense the danger, but he didn’t want to run even though he knew he should. He had heard the rumors surrounding you. They could be true.

And yet.

“I want it,” Jungkook breathed, inviting himself into the danger. “I want you. I want to be your toy.”

Your discerning expression didn’t change.

You reached up and gripped his chin, digging your nails into his soft skin.

He whimpered in his chest, moving closer to you.

“What’s my name?”

His brows furrowed, saying your name hesitantly.

You pulled his chin down so he was eye-level.

“Next time you say my name, I will be choking it out of you.”

-

Everyone thought Jeon Jungkook was the kind of guy to grip your wrist with his left hand and your throat in his right, his lips against your ear and his sweaty chest against your back as you slapped your ass into his crotch and fucked yourself with his rock-hard cock, his smirk in your ear as he provided you with a certain type of encouragement.

“That’s right, you want this dick, don’t you? Show me. Prove to me you want it.”

His fingertips tightening against the sides of your neck, listening to your pathetic cries and moans as you tried to squirm against him, brain running out of oxygen due to lack of blood, running out of thoughts, running out of pleas as Jungkook gripped your wrist, deep snarl against your hair as he roughly finished himself off using your body because that’s all you were, someone to be used by him and nothing more, neck suddenly released with a breathless gasp and shoved face first into the sheets with his right hand splayed on your back, his tattoos and your orgasm crashing down on you, his growls staining the air and a fierce jerk of his hips to spill into your tight hole and leave you moments after, nothing but a discarded toy in his eyes.

You thought.

That was what everyone thought when Jeon Jungkook stood on stage, flipping his dark violet microphone between verses and smirking like a devil, truly in command of every thought and every pair of eyes on him, surrounded by a heavy bass line and deafening drums, guitar solo tearing through the moment to emphasize the next of his lips nearing the mic again, entrancing the crowd with his beautiful lips and talented tongue.

No one knew.

-

You were riding him hard and fast, torn condom wrappers and used condoms littering his bed, back-to-back orgasms, his head pressed into his pillows, your hand around his neck, the other leaving long lines down his chest, scratching him so hard that it dotted red, blooming lines of pain.

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop, f-fuck…”

Jungkook was hoarsely whispering, clutching his sheets, black hair soaked with sweat, raising his chest to your nails, whimpering, punish me, punish me, punish me, and you muttered plainly with a sharp edge, you talk too much, your grip tightening again, pressing onto the sides of his neck, cutting off the blood flow, and Jungkook moaned gratefully, eyelids fluttering, the slap of your hips to his louder and louder, filling up his whole bedroom, rattling his bedframe, fucking him so hard he was slowly sliding up to his headboard.

Your name fell from his lips in pure ecstasy, back arching to shove his whole length fully into you, thick and hard and twitching with need, your slick walls clamping down on him, fitting to him with a hiss. He began to match you, breathless, lightheaded, world hazy, moaning from deep in his chest, I love you, and your reply was only tightening your grip, your hand and your pussy, harder, harder, harder.

“Aren’t you such a good guy?” you scoffed sarcastically, letting up for only a second to let him reply, blood rocketing back into his brain, flooding him with oxygen, and Jungkook sucked in a lungful of air, reeling.

“N-No…” he panted. “You’re the good girl… you’re always s-so… so good to me…”

His eyes locked with yours hazy with lust and love. You almost looked away out of instinct.

“You a-always remember… what I like…” he managed to choke out.

-

You left him when you were done using him.

You pretended he didn’t say those words to you. There was no point in acknowledging the nonsense that he said in the middle of being choked and barely functioning. You tapped your pencil against your textbook.

You caught yourself thinking about him.

Jeon Jungkook.

Your eyes flickered to the clock. Late at night on a Friday. He was probably at a bar. You watched the second hand of your plain silver clock tick, tick away. You never asked to watch him and his band perform even though Jungkook always made it a point to text you the address and the time.

It was obvious Jungkook didn’t want you to be his secret.

He wasn’t really your secret either. You just saw no benefit to letting anyone know there was a connection between you and Jeon Jungkook. After all, you were just using him.

You stopped tapping your pencil.

Stared at the second hand.

Tick.

Heard the voices of the rumors poisoning you, saying the things they said.

She thinks she’s so much better than everyone else because she’s a nerd.

The only reason she has good grades is because she fucked that one professor.

I heard she dated him.

I mean, there’s a reason he left in the middle of the semester, right?

He had a wife!

Snap.

Your eyes flickered down.

The tip of your pencil lead rolled across the page, leaving tiny pinpricks of granite.

There was never any evidence because nothing happened. Nothing happened between you and said psychology professor. He left in the middle of the semester because his wife had a miscarriage and he wanted to be with her. It had nothing to do with you. You had long discussions with him about life and existentialism, hanging out during his office hours.

Sometimes, you felt bad.

Had you kept him from his wife? Would it have not happened if he just skipped his office hours and didn’t spend them talking to you? These were irrational, foolish thoughts. They made you guilty even when there was nothing to be guilty about.

He was a nice guy, mid-thirties. Everyone liked this professor.

They blamed you because they didn’t know.

Only you knew, because he told you with tears in his eyes and thanked you for being his student.

You didn’t tell anyone, because he did not owe you an explanation and you were not going to divulge someone’s personal business that they had shared with you in confidence. You watched your reputation crumble and fall apart, watched friends ostracize you, because you didn’t tell them anything and they didn’t believe you. You watched yourself turn bitter and hateful.

Just tell the truth.

There was no truth to be told.

You put your pencil down.

Closed your eyes.

Remembered Jungkook’s face.

-

Your hands were in his hair, pulling hard. His hot breath was in your face, arms shaking as he held himself up, fucking you into his mattress with whines in his chest, begging you, begging you, begging you.

“P-Please… let me cum, please…”

You liked to watch the sweat clinging to his high cheekbones and neck, jaw glistening with tension, feeling his strong body between your legs, his twitching hardness sliding into you repeatedly in rough, hard smacks, squeezing him every time he was fully sheathed inside you, vibrations coursing through you every time he came down.

“Not until I’m done,” you growled and he whimpered, pleading look in those brown doe eyes, black pupils expanded, unable to cum because a vibrating cock ring was restricting his orgasm, keeping him hard but unable to climax, sending thundering pleasure through him and into you. He watched helplessly as you gripped his hair, hissing sharply as another wave of pleasure overtook you, closing your eyes to savor it, savor his swollen cock twitching inside you as he felt the intense massage of your pussy walls closing around him, throbbing around the head and driving him insane, moaning pathetically because he couldn’t follow suit no matter how desperate he was.

Jungkook didn’t ask if you were done.

He just kept going because you told him he couldn’t cum until you were done.

And you didn’t say you were done.

You stared into those brown orbs, hazy with lust and full of conviction to be good for you.

Desperate to be the best and the only one, not knowing there was no one else because no one else wanted you like the way Jeon Jungkook wanted you.

“Pull out.”

“B-But…”

“You heard me,” you exhaled, throbs of pleasure still trembling through you. Your hands slid down, cupping his chin, nails digging into his sweaty cheeks. “Obey.”

With a pained whine, Jungkook obeyed, pulling out of you, his cock covered in your juices, wearing a condom and the black cock ring. You reached over with one hand to press the button on the remote to turn in off.

“Take it all off. Let me see your cock.”

He reached down and slowly pulled the cock ring off, taking the condom with it, whimpering at the sensitivity, his tone hitting a lovely pitched groan as the silicone squeezed the base of the head. His whole body was shaking as it fell from his hands, the veins on his length standing out, head purple-red and angry, white pre-cum slowly beading at the tip, and his face, looking down at you, waiting for your next move.

Cock waiting to be used.

You tapped your chest.

“Cum on my tits.”

“B-But–”

You cut him off.

“You’re going to cum on my tits and then you’re going to lick it off while I watch.”

-

He listened.

Jungkook straddled your waist with his thighs, muscular and defined, right hand wrapping around his cock, sweat making the tattoos on his forearm and shoulder glow in the low light, smelling like sex and musk, his core tightening as he touched his overstimulated length, using the lube of the condom and his own pre-cum to add to the pleasure as he began to stroke himself, moaning as you lifted your hands and cupped your breasts, pushing them together, his eyes on the curve of your cleavage and points of your hard nipples sticking out, and then your face, an indifferent look with a cocked eyebrow, taunting him, unimpressed by his timid grip on his cock, so he squeezed harder, tighter, embarrassing cries falling from his mouth, living for the smirk that slowly began to form on your lips.

It empowered him somehow, that smirk, the little inkling of satisfaction that Jungkook wanted, needed, craved, knowing he was doing well, being good, furiously pumping his aching cock over your pressed-together tits and he couldn’t last, couldn’t help it, too overstimulated and too turned on, too in love with this to prevent himself from tipping over with a hot gasp, spilling streams of sticky white lines over your breasts, spreading them everywhere, making a huge mess because he wanted a huge mess to clean up, shoving the head into your cleavage and shuddering at the sensation of warmth to his scorching heat, able to feel the pulse of the engorged tip dripping out what was left, shivers up and down his spine, the words falling from his mouth that he never stopped saying even though you never acknowledged them.

“I... l-love you…”

He stayed like that for nearly a full minute, but you didn’t tell him to get off.

His eyes were closed, savoring the feeling.

Slowly, Jungkook gingerly removed himself, lowering his body over yours, tongue sliding out, touching your skin covered in his cum, his taste, mine, no one else’s, him on you, lapping it up, salty and bitter and yet he loved it, loved that you told him to do it, loved that you let him paint your skin with his orgasm and now his saliva. He didn’t care that you never said anything to his I love you, didn’t care that you seemed to pretend he never said it, because he would continue saying it when he was with you, hopeless as it was.

It was the small things that kept him going, sucking his own cum off your nipple and wrapping his lips around it, hearing your soft sigh of pleasure, feeling the tap on his thigh that instructed him to scoot up, the small thing of your hand closing in on his spent cock, sending sparks of pain but also pleasure, moaning into your skin as you massaged his balls with your fingers, knowing that he could take more pressure and roughness because he had just came, the small thing of your thumb rubbing the sensitive slit, his face pressing into your breasts, smearing his cheek with his cum and saliva, sliding across your slick skin because of the intensity of the high it gave him, the pleasure and the pain, his right arm coming up to wrap around you, tattoos cradling your torso.

“I love you…” he whispered to your racing heart under his ear, lost in the rhythm of your heartbeat and the firmness of your touch. Jungkook did not care if you hated him saying it.

He would continue saying it as long as he was with you.

-

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing…?”

“Hmm.”

He placed his hand over the bottom of his phone and smiled at the cute girl that was talking to him at the bar.

“Sorry. I have to take this call. It’s important to me.”

He didn’t hear her response, because he backed away, bowing lightly, pressing his phone back to his ear.

“Ah, never mind, Jungkook.”

“No, no. What is it? Tell me.”

“You’re at a noisy place. It’s Saturday night.”

Jungkook pushed through the people, mumbling his apologies and straining to hear your voice over the thundering bass. “I finished. Well, we finished. We’re only drinking. I can leave at any time. I’ll just text the guys to bring my equipment back for me. Where are you?”

“Forget it.”

He opened the door of the club as the dial tone rang in his ear.

Looked up.

Your hand dropped to your side. You were still in your white dress shirt and navy skirt, dressed exactly like you were when at school minus the blazer. Jungkook’s eyes widened. He was in a torn-up long-sleeve shirt with the right sleeve removed, showing off his tattoos. His black hair was wild and half-wet, and he was wearing tight leather pants.

You clicked your tongue.

“I said forget it,” you repeated hollowly.

You sighed and turned around, skirt swishing in your wake.

“Wait, I’ll come with you–”

“Go back to where you belong, Jungkook.”

His hand closed around your forearm, holding tight.

“I belong with you.”

You stopped walking, silent.

“What is it? Tell me.”

You scowled. “It’s dumb.”

“So am I, remember?” he chuckled, his hand slipping down, squeezing yours. “I’m not very good at school.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment. Cars and people brushed past, but Jungkook was focused onto on your stillness, watching your eyes seemed to be thinking about many things. You hadn’t pulled your hand out of his yet. By now, Jungkook knew that if you didn’t want something, you wouldn’t be shy about telling him right away.

You started walking again. Jungkook was still holding your hand.

“It was just a moment of weakness,” you mumbled under your breath.

“A guy…?”

You didn’t answer.

Jungkook squeezed your hand. “It’s okay,” he murmured tightly. “I understand.”

He did not. He wanted to cry.

Your eyes shot to him, pinning him in place. “You don’t understand, Jeon Jungkook. You understand nothing.” You pulled your hand out of his and Jungkook let go, trying to hold his pain, trying not to breathe because he was preparing himself for the inevitable, the moment you were going to break his heart and, if it was right here and right now, then so be it, because he had said how he felt repeatedly and there was nothing more he could do than that.

He loved you so, so bad.

Jungkook knew he shouldn’t, that it was madness, but he did anyway.

But you surprised him.

Your sharp gaze softened.

“You know what they say about me. You have to know,” you exhaled, shaking your head. “You must know the rumors.”

Good girl gone bad.

Jungkook frowned. “About you and the professor?”

He watched your jaw clench.

“Does it matter?” he asked.

Your eyes shifted, not quite looking at him.

“Whether something did or didn’t happen, what does that have to do with me?”

And now you looked at him, guarded, not letting him know your thoughts.

“You…” He swallowed, trying to press the lump down in his throat. “You’re just using me, right? It doesn’t… doesn’t really matter, because in the end I don’t matter to you anyway… right?”

He did not want to cry and yet he did, because he knew he loved you. It was the small things, the way you never let up on him even in class, the way you picked days that were never the weekend and never before exams, the way you would brush your fingertips on his knuckles before leaving when you thought he was asleep, the way on the last time, the last time you were together, that you pressed your lips to his forehead when you thought he was asleep, running your fingers through his hair.

Jungkook was standing outside this bar and there were people he knew walking past, seeing you and him, but he kept his eyes on you, because the only one that mattered was you.

The one he belonged to was you.

He had decided that when he climbed onto the table that day.

He stuck his hands in his pockets and let out a heavy breath. “If people say things about you, then they say things about you. Whether it’s the truth or not doesn’t change the fact I love you. It doesn’t make me love you less,” Jungkook said, speaking at his usual volume, because there was no reason to whisper the truth. “Even if it’s pointless and crazy, I want to be with you until the day you don’t want to be with me.”

His smiled and blinked back tears.

“Even if that day is today, I will never regret it.”

In this cruel summer, you could have ruined his reputation. You could have told everyone the kind of person he really was and you didn’t. You could have spread embarrassing stories of the things you made him do and you didn’t.

Even if he didn’t matter to you, Jungkook was confident that you weren’t a malicious person.

You rubbed your forehead. “The rumors will come to you.”

Jungkook laughed. “So what? I heard a rumor that I removed two ribs so I could suck my own dick. I admit, I considered doing it after hearing that.”

You scowled, but Jungkook only smiled in return. He could see the tension falling from your face with his comment. You clicked your tongue and tilted your head, as if to say, can’t be helped.

“There’s no other guy,” you muttered. “There’s just you and you’re dumb.”

Jungkook blinked rapidly, confused.

“You say it over and over and make me think about it all the time.” You sighed heavily, running a hand through your hair. “I’m not a good girl. People pushed me away and I stayed there instead of trying to repair the burned bridges. I don’t even think I want to repair them. Who knows what will happen next? I don’t think it would be a good idea to put you through that shit.”

You sucked on the inside of your cheek, looking at him apologetically.

“You’re not the bad boy everyone says you are. You’re a good guy. You should find a good girl.”

Is that what you think? Jungkook chuckled, taking out his hand and rubbing his nose thoughtfully.

“I don’t want a good girl.”

He stepped toward you, lowering his hand and his head so that he was eye level with you.

“I love a bad bitch who can push me around and makes me their toy.”

He tilted his head, small curve on those beautiful lips, tiny mole underneath appearing with every smile.

“Which can only be you, you know.”

Jungkook didn’t try to kiss you. He only wanted to look into your eyes so you knew his conviction.

“I love you.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I’ve heard you say it.”

He nodded. “And I’m going to keep saying it until the day you leave me.”

Silence.

Ah.

Your eyebrow lowered and you gave him an indifferent look.

“Hm. I wonder when that will be, Jungkook.”

You leaned in, but before you kissed him, he heard the whisper against his lips, felt the shape of yours as they brushed against his, words he prepared himself to never hear from you, words that he thought you would never say, and that was fine with him, because you showed it, and that was enough.

He thought.

“I love you.”

And then your lips on his and his tears fell onto your cheeks because Jungkook wanted to cry all this time and he could not stop now, knowing that he was so, so in love with you and you finally, finally said it back to him.

--

masterpost

[authorangelita]

I'm sure it's a tie between all of the whumpy episodes with X-Ray + Penny edging all the others out. I tried to download my watch history from Plex, but it wasn't an easy 'click here' button so I gave up.

I rewatch the earlier seasons a lot more because I want to see Jack as part of the team. There are a few later season episodes that I rewatch on occasion, like Windmill + Acetone + Celluloid + Firing Pin (great Mac and Riley stuff, plus the "I see myself die" speech), Tesla + Bell + Edison + Mac (concussed Mac), and Rails + Pitons + Pulley + Pipe + Salt (panic attack Mac).

I go back and rewatch specific moments when I'm writing fic so that I can get in the right mindset or get the character voice to make sense in my head.

This got long so I'm putting it behind a cut. 😃

When Mac and Jack are butting heads over something or Jack needs to be firm with Mac, I rewatch the Corkscrew "I've been watching your back for years" scene.

When I need Jack to be frantic about something happening to Mac, I rewatch the Bullet + Pen "I'm gonna rip it right off the wall right now" scene.

When I need Bozer to be vulnerable, I rewatch the interrogation scene between Leanna and Bozer in CD-ROM + Hoagie Foil.

For Mac, I watch a lot of Chisel or War Room + Ship when I need him to be vulnerable or X-Ray + Penny for really vulnerable Mac. Parts of Large Blade and Chisel help me with really capable Mac.

For Riley, I really like the scenes between her and Mac in Windmill + Acetone + Celluloid + Firing Pin where she tells him that they don't have to tell each other everything and then later tells him about Aubrey. And all the Riley stuff in Code + Artemis + Nuclear + N3mesis is great character stuff.

There's great Riley, Bozer, and Mac stuff in Revenge + Catacombs + Le Fantome when they're helping Mac lift the bomb so he can defuse it. And pretty much all of Wilderness + Training + Survival, of course.

I really like Ruler and Jet Engine + Pickup Truck for the whole group dynamics.

Cairo Day Q&A

Which episode do you go back and rewatch the most?