bumblebeeswrite

[bumblebeeswrite]

ANGST WITH ISAAC

OK HOW ABOUT

"I'm not crying"

make me cry mwahahahaha

THE WITCHES CURSE | ISAAC

The air in Union was thick with a fear so palpable it felt like another layer of the humid summer air. It clung to the back of your throat, a constant, acrid taste of suspicion. Whispers followed you through the settlement, the rustle of unseen eyes in the dense woods that bordered your small world. It had been days since the accusations against Sarah Fier had first been uttered, days since the shadow of the witch had fallen over your community, turning neighbor against neighbor.

You had known Sarah, and Hannah, for years. You had shared giggles and secrets, stolen moments of youthful rebellion away from the prying eyes of the elders. And you knew Isaac. Isaac, with his devil-may-care grin and a laugh that could chase away the deepest shadows. He was a beacon of boisterous life in a world that demanded quiet piety. He, along with Lizzie, had been your partners in all things frivolous and forbidden. But now, frivolity felt like a distant memory, a ghost of a life lived before the darkness descended.

The accusations against Sarah had splintered your tight-knit group. Lizzie, ever the firebrand, was vocal in her defense, her anger a shield against the fear. But Isaac… Isaac had grown quiet. The boisterous laughter that once echoed through the woods during your secret gatherings was replaced by a tense silence, a coiled spring of anxiety that you could feel vibrating just beneath his skin.

You found him not in the bustling heart of the settlement, nor in the tavern where he so often held court, but on the outskirts, where the manicured fields of Union gave way to the untamed wilderness of the woods. He was perched on a fallen log, his back to the path, his shoulders hunched in a way that spoke of a burden far heavier than his years. The setting sun cast long, melancholic shadows through the trees, painting the world in hues of orange and deep, sorrowful purple.

You approached him cautiously, your footsteps softened by the damp earth. “Isaac?”

He didn’t turn, but his shoulders stiffened. “Go away, Y/N.”

His voice was rough, a gravelly imitation of its usual melodic cadence. It was the voice of someone trying very hard to hold themselves together. You ignored his dismissal, your heart aching with a premonition of the pain he was trying to conceal. You settled beside him on the log, leaving a respectable distance between you, a silent acknowledgment of his need for space.

For a long while, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were the chirping of crickets and the mournful sigh of the wind through the pines. You watched as he picked at a loose thread on his worn breeches, his brow furrowed in concentration, as if this simple act required all of his focus.

“Lizzie is raising hell in the village,” you said, your voice soft, a gentle offering in the oppressive silence. “She tried to reason with Thomas. It did not go well.”

A humorless chuckle escaped Isaac’s lips. “That sounds like Lizzie. A moth to a flame, that one.” He finally turned his head to look at you, and the sight of his face made your breath catch in your throat. His eyes, usually so full of mischief and light, were red-rimmed and shadowed. There were faint, dried tracks on his dirt-streaked cheeks, tears he would never admit to shedding.

“What’s wrong, Isaac?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

He looked away again, his jaw tightening. “Nothing is wrong. The world has gone mad, is all.”

“It’s more than that,” you pressed, your concern overriding your fear of pushing him too far. “You’ve been… quiet. Distant.”

He scoffed, the sound sharp and defensive. “I’m merely contemplating the hypocrisy of our esteemed elders. They preach of God’s love and then condemn a girl for a bit of harmless fun.” He shook his head, a bitter smile twisting his lips. “They speak of the devil, but I see more of him in their eyes than I ever did in Sarah’s.”

His words hung in the air between you, heavy with a truth that you both understood. The fear in Union was a convenient excuse, a cover for old grievances and a lust for control. Sarah, with her independent spirit and her refusal to conform, was an easy target.

“They won’t listen to reason,” you said, your own voice trembling slightly. “They’re too afraid.”

“Afraid?” Isaac’s voice rose, cracking on the word. He shot to his feet, pacing in front of the log like a caged animal. “They are not afraid. They are relishing this. They have found a monster to slay, and it matters not whether the monster is real or of their own making.” He kicked at a loose stone, sending it skittering into the undergrowth. “And we are powerless to stop them.”

The raw anguish in his voice was a physical blow. You stood as well, your hands clasped in front of you, unsure of how to offer comfort in the face of such despair.

He finally stopped his pacing, his back to you once more. His shoulders were shaking, the subtle tremor of a body wracked with silent sobs. Your heart broke for him, for the boy who hid his gentle heart behind a wall of bravado and jest. You reached out, your hand hovering over his shoulder for a moment before you dared to touch him.

His muscles tensed at your touch, but he didn’t pull away. You moved to stand in front of him, and he kept his head bowed, his hair falling forward to hide his face. But you could see the fresh tears that now traced paths through the dust on his cheeks. You could see the way his lips were pressed into a thin, white line, a desperate attempt to contain the sobs that threatened to escape.

“Isaac,” you whispered, your voice thick with unshed tears of your own. You reached up and gently brushed a tear from his cheek with your thumb.

He flinched at the contact, his head snapping up. His eyes were a maelstrom of emotions – grief, anger, and a heartbreaking vulnerability that he so rarely allowed anyone to see.

“I’m not crying,” he said, his voice a hoarse, choked whisper.

The words were a lie, a flimsy shield against the tidal wave of emotion that was crashing over him. But you understood. In this world that demanded strength, that equated tears with weakness, his denial was a desperate act of self-preservation.

You didn’t challenge him. You didn’t point out the obvious. Instead, you simply nodded, your own eyes welling with tears. “I know,” you said softly. And in that moment, in that shared, unspoken understanding, you offered him a different kind of strength. Not the stoic, unyielding strength that the world demanded, but the quiet, unwavering strength of companionship.

You closed the small distance between you and wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him into a hug. For a moment, he remained stiff and unyielding in your embrace, a statue of suppressed grief. Then, with a shuddering breath, he seemed to crumble. His arms came around you, his hands clutching at the back of your dress as if you were the only solid thing in a world that was rapidly falling apart. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, and you could feel the hot tears soaking through the thin fabric of your dress. He didn’t make a sound, but his body shook with the force of his silent sobs.

You held him tightly, your own tears now flowing freely, mingling with his. You ran a soothing hand up and down his back, whispering words of comfort into his hair. You told him that you were there, that you weren’t going anywhere. You told him that you believed him, that you knew Sarah was innocent. You told him that you were afraid too.

You stood there for what felt like an eternity, two small figures against the encroaching darkness of the woods, finding solace and a fleeting sense of safety in each other’s arms. The sun finally dipped below the horizon, plunging the world into the inky blackness of night. The sounds of the forest grew louder, more menacing, but in the circle of your embrace, you were insulated from the fear that gripped Union.

When his sobs finally subsided, he remained pressed against you, his breathing slowly returning to normal. He didn’t pull away, and you didn’t let go. The silence that fell between you was different now, no longer strained and oppressive, but filled with a quiet sense of shared sorrow and a fragile, burgeoning hope.

“They will not win,” he finally whispered, his voice still thick with unshed grief, but with a new undercurrent of resolve. “We cannot let them.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your hands still resting on his shoulders. In the dim light of the rising moon, you could see the familiar spark returning to his eyes, a flicker of the defiant spirit that you knew so well.

“What can we do?” you asked, your voice a mixture of hope and trepidation.

“I do not know,” he admitted, his gaze dropping to the ground for a moment before meeting yours again. “But we will think of something. Together.”

He reached up and gently wiped a tear from your cheek, his touch as soft as a whisper. A faint, sad smile touched his lips. “It seems I am not the only one who is not crying.”

You managed a watery chuckle, the sound a small beacon of light in the darkness. “It must be the smoke from the fires. It stings the eyes.”

He nodded, his own small smile widening ever so slightly. “Aye. The smoke. It is a terrible thing.”

In that moment, a new bond was forged between you, a bond born of shared sorrow and a fierce, protective loyalty. You knew that the days ahead would be fraught with danger, that the darkness that had fallen over Union would not be easily dispelled. But as you stood there with Isaac, his hand now holding yours, you felt a glimmer of hope. You were not alone. And as long as you had each other, you would not let the darkness win. You would fight for your friends, for the truth, for the memory of a time when laughter, not fear, filled the air of Union. And you would do it together. The night was far from over, but for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you were not afraid of the dawn.

[bumblebeeswrite]

Hi there! My name is Jace and welcome to my master list! Please note, these are all 18+ fics. Minors will be blocked!

Here I will post links to all my work!

Below are the characters I write for:

JQ: Michael (Hoard), Tom Grant, Eddie Munson, Emperor Geta, Eric (AQPDO), Johnny Storm, Sam O’Brien (warfare), Ralph (time wasters), Prince Paul (The Great)

Fred Hechinger: Daniel Markowitz, Emperor Caracalla, Simon Kalivoda, Quinn Mossbacher, Jason Hochberg (HOAS), Dimitri Kravinoff

Stranger Things characters

And others, just ask. My requests are almost always open! Feel free to flood the ask box!

NOTE: PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT IT IS YOU’RE REQUESTING. I HAVE A LOT OF THINGS ON HERE. MOODBOARD, FIC, MATCHMAKING, LETTERS, ETC

FLUFF PROMPTS

MOODBOARD REQUESTS

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[bumblebeeswrite]

My lovely lovely little bees

It is with much sorrow that I must tell you I will be away from tumblr for awhile.

I will be working as an Archery Instructor at a summer camp (self insert much? LMAO)

But, don’t fret. I will be back to you before you know it. In the meantime I will leave my askbox open for you to fill up with requests, chatter, whatever you like for when I get back.

I love you all, and i’ll see you guys really soon!

[bumblebeeswrite]

hey is there anyway your going to write for issac from fear street again? your the only person i’ve found who has and it was sooo fucking good.

absolutely!!

if you’d like, feel free to peruse my prompts and send some in if you like!

thank you for your kind words!!❤️❤️

[bumblebeeswrite]

Yesterday I told on discord that I could send you a list, why I love your writing. I didn't forget I was busy writing 🤭

I'm glad that I found your account this year, because it's amazing

I forgot about the world when I'm reading, and I love

I blame Roz for my crush on Fred and his character 🤭 you both are amazing writing about him

I could spend hours here reading everything more than once, because everything is amazing.

screaming crying throwing up i love you

[bumblebeeswrite]

DO ME GUYS

Fanfic/Author Ask Game

Write a scene from [insert fic] in another character’s POV

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A character you enjoy making suffer.

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Wild Card: Ask me something else!

[bumblebeeswrite]

hi jason!! i was wondering if you had any advice in regards to a coworker who is not pulling their weight. i’m really good friends with said coworker, but it’s really draining having to pick up their slack all the time. i love my job but it’s slowly starting to break me down.

- ur fave counselor 😁

My fave counselor,

Unfortunately I have much experience with this as well. It can REALLY suck, especially when you want to keep the friendship in tact.

There are really two routes you can go for this. You can sit your friend down privately and try to discuss it

or

you can anonymously tell your supervisor your concerns, and have them discuss it with your friend to try and keep you out of it.

Unfortunately in my case, me and the person are no longer friends, but I hope it works out better for you.

Head Counselor Jason

[bumblebeeswrite]

Hay head counselor Jason

Are you any good at giving love advice? because I really need some right now. I have fallen madly in love with another camp counselor who I met when I first started going to camp which I didn't want to go because I was so scared but my made me go because she said it would be good for me to get out of my comfort zone to meet people and make friends which I have rally bad social anxiety and struggle to make friends. We met when he saw me sitting alone at one of the picnic tables reading and came over to introduce himself to me and the more he talked to me the less shy I was around him and the more I talked to him. Every since then he has made my camp experience less scary and more fun by making sure i'm included in all the camp activities. A little bit into my 2nd year at camp I realised I was so in love with him because how could I not be he so handsome, absolutely adorable (like eveything he does is so adorable) so kind, never fails to meke me laugh or smile, has a big beautiful heart, makes the most amazing burgers, the way hes so kind to everyone trying to include them in all the camp activities makes my heart happy, every time we see each other on the first day of camp he never fails to shout my name and run over to me hug pick me up and spin me around which fills my stomach with butterflys, always knows what to say to cheer me up i'm sad and he is one of the only reasons I like coming back to camp every year. Do you have any tips on how I should confess my feelings to him? because i'm so scared that he will laugh at me, not like me back or not find me attractive which I have struggled with my physical appearance and my body image since my early teens which I got bullied so bad in high school for and boys never had any interest in me because they thought I was ugly and nerdy.

oh I also made really good friends with my roommate who I consider one of my best friends so camp doesn't feel so lonely anymore.

Have you ever been in love with someone and was scared to tell them?

Thank you.

Your fellow counselor

Fellow Counselor,

Love is hard. Love is complicated. Love is unexpected.

Love makes you feel weird things that are not always comfortable.

But, love can make you the happiest you’ve ever been.

Sometimes we must simply grit our teeth and go for it, lest we miss the opportunity of a lifetime.

It can be scary, but as soon as that hurdle is over, you might have the best time of your life.

Go for it!!

Head Counselor Jason

[bumblebeeswrite]

BOUND BY SOIL | ISAAC

summary: you and Isaac were betrothed at birth

word count: 4506

thank you bunches @punkrockmlchael and @glassbxttless for giving this a read over for me ❤️

The first time you met Isaac, you were both small enough that the rough-hewn planks of his family’s long table seemed to tower above you, an endless expanse of scarred wood. You were four, he was five, a year older and already a boy of quiet observation, his gaze often drifting to the furthest corners of the room as if searching for something beyond the confines of the walls. Your mother’s hand, usually so gentle, rested firmly on your shoulder as she spoke with his parents, their faces etched with the stern, weathered lines of lives lived by the grace of God and the sheer force of their will.

“Our families, united,” your father had declared, his voice a low rumble that echoed in the low-ceilinged room. “For the good of Union Proper, before God and man.”

Isaac sat beside his mother, his attention fixed on the wooden trencher before him, his small hands still and composed. He didn’t look at you, didn’t acknowledge your presence, even as your mother’s words felt like a physical weight pressing down on your small shoulders. You, however, stole glances at him. His hair was the color of straw, falling lankly across his brow, and his eyes, when they occasionally flickered up, were the unsettling gray of a winter sky, seemingly devoid of childish curiosity, replaced by a quiet, almost unsettling seriousness.

“This is our (Y/N),” your mother had said, her tone carrying a note of finality, a seal on a fate already decided.

Isaac offered a curt nod, his attention immediately returning to his food, a piece of hardtack clutched in his small fist. He looked, even then, as if he simply wished to be elsewhere, perhaps lost in the deep, silent woods that surrounded your settlement. You were a child, the concept of a “future husband” as abstract as the whispered tales of the old world your grandparents sometimes shared by the dying embers of the fire. Yet, you sensed the gravity in the adults’ voices, the unspoken agreement that bound your destinies, and a nascent, cold knot of dread began to form in your stomach.

The betrothal was a pragmatic arrangement, a securing of resources and manpower in a fledgling community constantly battling the wilderness and the unknown. Your families were among the first to carve a life out of this unforgiving land, and this union was meant to strengthen their foothold, to ensure their survival in a world that offered little comfort and even less forgiveness. You and Isaac were merely the threads that would weave their futures tighter, a living contract.

Childhood in Union was a tapestry woven with hard labor and stark simplicity. You saw Isaac during communal tasks – the relentless harvesting of crops, the mending of fences, the somber, hours-long gatherings at the church.

He was often a solitary figure, his brow perpetually furrowed in concentration, his hands already adept at the demanding work of the farm. He learned quickly, absorbed knowledge like a sponge, and executed his duties with a chilling, almost adult efficiency. He spoke little, offered no complaints, and rarely sought the boisterous company of other children.

You, perhaps more inclined to laughter and the fleeting joys the wilderness offered, still felt the pull of his quiet presence, the knowledge that he was a constant, unyielding fixture in the landscape of your young life. He was your shadow, and you, his. Yet, despite your shared upbringing, despite growing up in the same small, isolated settlement, there was an invisible gap between you. He felt like a stranger, a silent, unreadable boy with whom you were bound.

As you both navigated the precarious path of adolescence in this devout community, the weight of your predetermined future became more tangible, more suffocating. The whispers followed you – the knowing looks from the elders, the hushed pronouncements about your eventual union, the expectations of the community pressing down on you. For you, it was a heavy burden, the loss of any personal choice.

For Isaac, it seemed to be met with a cold, almost detached acceptance. He never spoke of it, never acknowledged the impending reality, leaving you to wonder if he felt anything at all.

He excelled in the limited schooling available, his mind sharp and inquisitive, consuming the few books that made their way to Union. His intelligence was a rare, flickering flame in the grim reality of your lives.

His gaze, when it occasionally met yours during a sermon or a communal meal, held a depth that mirrored the dark, ancient woods surrounding your settlement, a depth you couldn’t quite decipher. There was no resentment, no anger, just an unsettling indifference that chilled you more than any outright hostility might have.

One biting autumn afternoon, you found a rare moment of solitude by the edge of the woods, the skeletal branches of the trees reaching towards the sky. You were attempting to sketch the intricate patterns of frost on a fallen leaf. A small, defiant act of rebellion against the constant, grinding demands of work, when you heard the crunch of leaves behind you.

It was Isaac. He stood a short distance away, taller now, his frame lean and strong from relentless labor. He held a small, roughly carved wooden flute in his hands, his fingers tracing its simple form, his eyes lost in thought.

“It’s… intricate,” you said softly, the sound of your voice startling the quiet of the woods.

He looked up, his gray eyes meeting yours without a flicker of warmth. A faint, almost imperceptible flush touched his cheeks, quickly gone. “My grandfather… he showed me.” His voice was low, flat, devoid of emotion.

Another silence descended, heavy with the unspoken reality of your intertwined lives. The air crackled with the unacknowledged tension between two strangers bound together.

“They… they speak of the banns now,” you ventured, your voice barely audible above the whisper of the wind, hoping for some reaction, any reaction.

Isaac’s grip tightened on the wooden flute, his knuckles turning white. He didn't look at you. “I heard.” His reply was clipped, dismissive.

“Do you… do you desire this?” The question hung in the cold air, stark and vulnerable, a desperate plea for a shared burden, a shared emotion.

He finally met your gaze, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your heart flutter despite yourself, yet still devoid of any real feeling.

“Does our desire hold any sway in the eyes of God and our community, (Y/N)? We are instruments of their will, are we not?” His words were a bleak reminder of the constraints of your world, a blunt declaration of his own perceived powerlessness. Your individual longings were secondary to the needs and traditions of Union. You were bound by the soil, by the very foundations of this hard-won existence, and he seemed to have accepted it with a chilling pragmatism.

In the years that followed, as the date of your intended marriage approached, a fragile, almost clinical understanding began to develop between you. You found yourselves drawn to the quiet corners of your shared world – the hushed stillness of the church after services, the silent companionship while tending to the livestock. There was no warmth, no burgeoning friendship, just a mutual recognition of your shared fate, a quiet acknowledgment of the unavoidable.

You discovered his keen intellect, his quiet, almost scientific observations about the natural world, and the rare, wry humor that occasionally flickered in his eyes when he spoke of the rigid doctrines of your elders, though that humor was never directed at you. He learned of your artistic spirit, your quiet defiance against the limitations placed upon women, and the fierce loyalty you held for your family despite your unspoken reservations about your future. He learned them as facts, not as a means to understand you as a person.

These stolen moments were a small, almost rebellious against the predetermined path, a space where you could exist as two individuals without the pressure of labels, but still, no connection formed. You spoke of the changing seasons, the strange tales whispered around the fire at night, the yearning for something beyond the confines of Union – but these conversations were intellectual exchanges, not heartfelt disclosures. He remained a polite, intelligent stranger.

One frigid evening, as the weak winter sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, skeletal shadows across the snow-covered landscape, you found Isaac by the frozen creek. He was hunched over, sketching something in a worn leather-bound book, his breath misting in the cold air.

“What captures your eye?” you asked softly, approaching him cautiously, feeling like an intruder.

He hesitated before turning the book towards you. It was a detailed rendering of a fox track in the snow, the delicate paw prints telling a silent story of the creature’s passage. It was beautiful, precise, almost cold in its perfection.

“You see more than just tracks,” you murmured, tracing the lines with a gloved finger, hoping to draw him out. “You see the life within them.”

He shrugged, a rare, almost imperceptible hint of a smile touching his lips, quickly gone. “One must learn to read the signs in this land, (Y/N). Survival depends on it.” He looked at you then, his gaze lingering, but still, there was only that unsettling indifference, a quiet resignation. He was making the best of a bad situation, and that included you.

As your wedding day drew nearer, the women of your families busied themselves with the few preparations your austere community allowed – the sewing of plain garments, the hushed discussions of domestic duties. You and Isaac retreated further into a shared quietude, the unspoken question of your future hanging heavy in the air, as stark and unyielding as the winter landscape. There was no nervous anticipation, no excitement, just acceptance.

The night before the wedding was filled with a restless tension. The wind howled through the gaps in the wooden walls of your home, carrying the whispers of the dark forest beyond. You found yourself unable to find solace in sleep, the weight of the impending vows pressing down on you. Drawn by an inexplicable unease, you made your way out to the steps of your home, darkness surrounding you..

Isaac was there, across the path on the steps of his own house, standing by the small, leaded-glass window, his gaze fixed on the moonless night, his hands clasped behind his back. He looked like a prisoner awaiting sentence.

“The darkness feels… thick tonight,” you said softly, breaking the silence, hoping for some shared fear, some crack in his composure.

He turned, his face shadowed by firelight from the window, his eyes distant. “The old ways… they linger in these woods, (Y/N). They watch.” His voice was flat, practical, devoid of fear or wonder.

You walked to stand beside him, the silence stretching between you, filled with the unspoken fears that haunted the edges of your community’s rigid faith, fears that he seemed to simply acknowledge as part of the landscape.

“Isaac,” you began, your voice barely a whisper, trembling despite your best efforts. “What… what will become of us?”

He finally turned to face you fully, his gray eyes holding a stark, almost painful honesty. “We will fulfill our duty, (Y/N). As is expected of us. We will make this… manageable.” His words were not unkind, but they were devoid of any promise of warmth or affection. He was a man resigned to his fate, and he intended to carry it out with efficiency.

You looked at him, your gaze searching for any sign of a hidden emotion, a shared vulnerability. He looked at you back, his eyes steady, unblinking, offering nothing more than a quiet, resolute acceptance of his lot.

“Perhaps,” he said slowly, his voice low and rough, as if the words pained him to utter, “we can find a way to live… cordially. To ensure the prosperity of our families.” There was no passion, no hope, just the chilling pragmatism of a man determined to make the best of a situation he loathed, even if that meant existing as strangers in a shared life. The darkness pressed in from beyond the windows, mirroring the emptiness between you.

The wedding day dawned cold and gray, the sky mirroring the somber mood of the occasion. As you stood before stern-faced Pastor Miller , your hand clasped in Isaac’s calloused one, you looked into his eyes. The gray depths held a familiar reserve, a distant politeness, a complete lack of emotional connection. He went through the motions with a quiet, almost robotic grace. He was fulfilling his duty, and nothing more.

The vows were simple, the exchange of plain bands a stark symbol of your binding. You were man and wife, united not by affection, or even friendship, but by the needs of your community, by the unyielding traditions of Union.

The early years of your marriage were a quiet, often lonely, struggle for understanding. You shared the small, sparsely furnished cabin on his family property, your days filled with the relentless labor required to survive in this harsh land. There were endless moments of awkward silence, of unspoken resentments, of Isaac’s unwavering politeness that felt colder than any anger. He was always considerate, always dutiful, always… absent. He worked hard, managed the land efficiently, and fulfilled his role as husband in every practical sense. But there was no warmth, no companionship. You were two separate entities occupying the same space, bound by an invisible, unbreakable chain.

Isaac continued his quiet pursuit of knowledge, poring over the few precious books he possessed by the dim light of the fire, often well into the night. You found solace in the small garden you cultivated, coaxing life from the unyielding soil, your connection to the natural world a silent form of expression for the emotions you couldn't share. You were both escape artists in your own ways, he through his mind, you through your art.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, a mutual respect began to grow between you. The initial resistance on your part, the quiet resentment, began to soften.

One evening, huddled by the fire against the biting cold, the silence between you was no longer strained, but held a quiet, almost companionable comfort. Isaac looked at you, his gray eyes holding a flicker of something you hadn't seen before – a subtle acknowledgement of your shared endurance.

“(Y/N),” he began, his voice low and rough, as if the words were pulled from him. “This life… it is hard. And it demands much.”

You met his gaze, a small nod acknowledging the undeniable truth of his words.

“But,” he continued, his gaze unwavering, “we face it… adequately. Together.” He was choosing to make the best of it, a pragmatic alliance.

He reached out, his calloused hand covering yours. His touch was firm, a silent acknowledgment of your shared burden, of the fact that you were two competent individuals facing a relentless world side-by-side. In that moment, the weight of obligation seemed to shift, replaced by a fragile sense of a shared, efficient destiny.

The air in Union had grown thick with a strange tension, a stifling weight of unspoken fears and rigid piety. The harvest had been bountiful, a rare blessing in their hardscrabble existence, and a restlessness seemed to stir beneath the surface of their devout community. Whispers of the old ways, of celebrations held before the strictures of their faith took root, began to circulate in hushed tones, promising a forbidden release.

One evening, as the full moon began its ascent, casting an ethereal glow through the dense canopy of the surrounding woods, a small group, mostly the younger generation, found their way to a secluded clearing beyond the watchful eyes of the elders. You were among them, drawn by a desperate yearning for a moment of unburdened joy. To your surprise, Isaac was there too, standing slightly apart, his presence a stark, quiet sentinel in the flickering torchlight, his brow furrowed as if assessing the inherent risks of such a gathering. He was there, not for revelry, but perhaps to observe, to understand, to ensure the ‘manageable’ nature of their lives wasn't entirely disrupted.

Torches flickered, casting dancing shadows on the faces gathered there. Laughter, usually stifled within the confines of the settlement, echoed through the trees. Someone had brought a crude fiddle, its lively tune weaving through the night air, beckoning feet to move. The air filled with the mingled scents of woodsmoke, damp earth, and the sweet tang of secretly brewed cider.

You watched Isaac as he stood, a silent observer. He seemed both wary and intrigued by the uninhibited joy around him, his gray eyes missing nothing. He was a creature of quiet contemplation, not boisterous celebration, and yet, he stayed.

“Come,” you said, your voice softer than you intended, reaching for his hand. “Let us forget, just for a little while, the weight of tomorrow.”

He hesitated for a moment, his gaze flicking towards the deep shadows at the edge of the clearing, perhaps mindful of unseen eyes, or the unseen judgment of their God. But then, to your profound surprise, he met your gaze, and in the moonlight, you saw a flicker of something akin to curiosity, a loosening of the ever-present tension in his shoulders.

He didn’t smile, but he didn’t pull away. He took your hand, his calloused fingers surprisingly gentle as they closed around yours.

The music pulsed, and you found yourself swaying, drawn into the primal rhythm of the night. Others joined in, their movements at first tentative, then growing bolder, freer. You pulled Isaac closer, and slowly, awkwardly at first, he began to move with you. His steps were stiff, his body unfamiliar with such abandon, but his eyes, fixed on yours in the flickering torchlight, held a newfound attention, a slight bewilderment. He wasn't enjoying himself, not exactly, but he was experiencing it, and crucially, experiencing it with you.

Someone passed around a jug of hard cider, brewed in secret from the season’s bounty. The air filled with the mingled scents of woodsmoke, damp earth, and the sweet tang of fermented fruit. Stories were shared, hushed jokes whispered, and for a few precious hours, the rigid confines of Union seemed to stretch, to loosen their grip.

You saw a side of Isaac you rarely glimpsed – a flicker of something that might have been amusement in his eyes as he watched a group of younger boys chase fireflies, a soft, almost shy smile gracing his lips as an older woman shared a ribald joke. He even allowed himself a small sip of the cider, his brow furrowing slightly at the unfamiliar, potent taste before a reluctant, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. It was a fleeting moment of pure, unadulterated pleasure that quickly vanished, but it was there.

Later, as the music softened and couples drifted towards the edges of the clearing, seeking moments of quiet intimacy in the moonlit shadows, you and Isaac found yourselves sitting beneath the ancient oak at the heart of the clearing. The air was cooler now, carrying the scent of damp leaves and pine. The sounds of the party were muffled, a low hum in the distance.

“It feels… different,” Isaac murmured, his gaze fixed on the full moon hanging high in the inky sky, a distant, almost wistful quality in his voice. “To be… unburdened by judgment.”

“The full moon rises before nightfall,” you whispered, echoing a phrase you’d heard among the others, a sentiment that seemed to capture the stolen nature of their joy. “A good night to enjoy the fruits of the land… and perhaps, other fruits as well.” Your voice was bolder now, emboldened by the cider and the rare intimacy of the night.

He turned to you, a question in his gray eyes, no longer distant, but suddenly, intensely focused on you. In the shared intimacy of the moonlight, the years of indifference, of polite distance, of unspoken tension seemed to crack, to splinter. He reached out, his hand hesitantly tracing the line of your jaw, his touch sending a shiver down your spine that was not of cold, but of unexpected heat. His thumb brushed over your lips, and for the first time, you felt a tremor in his hand.

The kiss that followed was tentative at first, a hesitant exploration, almost an experiment. His lips were cool, then warm, tasting of cider and the crisp night air. But beneath the watchful gaze of the moon, surrounded by the hushed sounds of the woods, it deepened. It was a kiss that spoke not of duty, not of obligation, but of a sudden, startling recognition. It was a silent acknowledgment of the connection that had grown between you despite his carefully constructed indifference, a burgeoning spark in the desolate landscape of your arranged lives. It was a kiss that spoke of shared hardship, of quiet understanding, and of the raw, undeniable yearning that had finally, irrevocably, broken through his carefully guarded exterior.

In that moment, under the silvery light of the full moon, you were no longer just two souls bound by tradition, childhood friends who became strangers. You were two people finding solace and connection in a world that offered little respite, their lives suddenly, terrifyingly, and wonderfully intertwined. The revelry in the woods was a fleeting escape, a moment of rebellion against the strictures of Union, but for you and Isaac, it was also a pivotal awakening, a profound shift in the very foundations of your relationship.

The morning after the full moon party, Union returned to its stark, rigid normalcy. But something had irrevocably shifted between you and Isaac. He was still quiet, still meticulous, still outwardly reserved, but now, when his gaze met yours across the breakfast table, or during a communal task, there was a new depth, a subtle acknowledgment of the shared secret, the moment of vulnerability you had both allowed.

The indifference began to chip away, slowly, painfully, like ice melting in the spring sun. He wouldn't overtly seek you out, but he would linger a moment longer when passing you in the yard, his hand brushing yours as he took a tool, his eyes holding yours for a beat too long. He started to listen more intently when you spoke, not just for information, but for the nuances of your voice, the inflections that betrayed your mood.

You, in turn, began to see the effort he was making, the internal struggle playing out behind his stoic facade. His meticulousness, once a sign of his detachment, now seemed a manifestation of his deep-seated need for control, a way to navigate a world where so much felt beyond his grasp. His quietness was not always indifference, but often thoughtful observation, a deep well of unspoken ideas.

One afternoon, while working in the fields, a sudden, fierce summer storm rolled in, catching many unprepared. Rain lashed down, and the wind howled. You found yourself separated from the others, disoriented by the sudden chaos. Then, a hand grabbed yours, firm and strong. It was Isaac. He didn't speak, just pulled you towards the shelter of a sturdy, ancient oak, his body shielding yours from the worst of the wind and rain. He didn’t need to say he cared; his actions spoke volumes.

As the months turned into years, this unspoken language became your bond. There were no grand declarations of love in Union, no passionate embraces in public. Your world did not allow for it. But there were stolen glances, shared smiles over a private joke only you two understood, the comfortable brush of shoulders as you worked side-by-side, the silent understanding that passed between you in a room full of people.

He would bring you small, carefully carved wooden figures, not as gifts, but as quiet observations he'd made of the world – a bird in flight, a deer leaping through the forest, a detailed leaf. You, in turn, would leave your sketches for him, knowing he would find them, a shared glimpse into your soul he alone truly appreciated.

Children came, their laughter echoing through your shared cabin, their small hands reaching for both of yours. Isaac was a stern but patient father, teaching them about the land, about discipline, about the importance of diligence. But with them, too, you saw the slow thawing. He would read to them by the fire, his voice a low rumble, and sometimes, he would allow a rare, genuine smile to break through his customary reserve as they played.

One frigid winter night, you lay in your bed, the sounds of the wind rattling the panes. Isaac lay beside you, his breathing steady. You reached out, your hand finding his in the darkness, and he instinctively intertwined his fingers with yours.

“Isaac,” you whispered, the word feeling foreign in the darkness of your quiet life. “Are you… content?”

He stirred, his grip on your hand tightening. After a long moment of silence, his voice, when it came, was rough with emotion, a rarity. “Content, (Y/N)? Perhaps that is too grand a word for this life. But I am… I am here. And I am here with you.” He shifted, turning onto his side, his arm drawing you closer. “And that, I have found, is… more than I ever expected.”

The warmth of his body pressed against yours, a quiet comfort in the biting cold. The love that had grown between you was not a sudden, fiery passion, but a slow-burning ember, stoked by shared hardship, by a quiet, unwavering respect, and by the profound understanding that had blossomed from a seed of indifference into something unexpectedly, deeply real. You were bound by fate, yes, but you had chosen each other, in a thousand small, silent ways, long after the vows were spoken.

“Do you recall the night of the full moon party?” you asked softly, a nostalgic smile gracing your lips.

He turned to you, a rare, soft smile of his own. “The night of the unburdened. The night I discovered… perhaps there was more to this life than duty.”

He looked at your intertwined hands, then met your gaze, a depth of emotion in his eyes that had once been unthinkable. “I was a fool, once, (Y/N). To think that life could be simply… managed. You taught me otherwise.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder, the familiar scent of woodsmoke and clean linen comforting you. “We both learned, Isaac. We were bound by the soil, by tradition. But our love… our love was forged, slowly, and truly, in the fire of our shared lives.”

He squeezed your hand, a silent affirmation. The setting sun cast long shadows across the land, a land that was now truly yours, a legacy built not on obligation, but on the quiet strength of a love that had grown, slowly and surely, from the seeds of an indifferent beginning, into something profound and lasting.

tags: @keaganz @medievalharlot

[bumblebeeswrite]

heavy breathing

I NEED HIM SO BAD ITS NOT EVEN FUNNY PLEASE

NSFW Alphabet - Jason Hochberg

Masterlist | Fred Hechinger Characters Masterlist

Jason Hochberg x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ mdni, Mentions of: Sex, Cum, Sex Positions, Masturbation, Kinks, Oral (male and fem receiving), Toys, and probably way more, afab reader

Word Count: 2971

thank you to @keeryhours for reading over this for me!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex):

Jason is super cuddly and clingy after sex. He helps you clean up and ensures you’re comfortable before he wraps his arms around you tightly, pulling you close to his body. He loves being close to you therefore he absolutely loves when you lay on his chest, his fingers absentmindedly running through your hair while he hums to you softly. He just loves to be touching you after sex. And not in a sexual way, more of a soft and sweet way as his fingertips run up and down every inch of your exposed skin that they can. He’ll trace small shapes on your back and smile while small giggles leave your mouth.

B = Body Part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s):

Jason’s favorite part of his body has always been his hands. He’s just always been such a hands-on person, and he enjoys doing things with his hands. From archery, to doodling and making little friendship bracelets at camp; Jason is always doing something with his hands. And, he loves to run his hands down your body and hear all the gasps and whines that leave your mouth as he does so. Because he does so much work with his hands, his fingers are always calloused and the feeling of those calloused fingers on your soft skin? Yeah, you both love that.

When it comes to his favorite body part of yours, Jason hates to admit it (he hates objectifying you—he doesn’t want to be deemed shallow and actually have a favorite body part of you… he does) but it’s your boobs. He just loves cuddling in bed with you, head on your chest as you run your fingers through his hair, playing with his fluffy locks. He loves snuggling against your boobs, leaving soft kiss across them, falling asleep on them; he just loves how soft and fluffy his little pillows are and he adores touching them in some way; typically it’s just his head on them but he will give them a nice squeeze every once and a while, too.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically):

Jason actually cums so much it’s unreal. Like, he just has so much when he finally cums. The first time he pulled out and came on your stomach, there was literally so much that you were shocked. He got embarrassed and laughed it off by telling you that was normal and he was definitely right. Jason just… has a lot of cum when he finally cums. 

D = Dirty Secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs):

Jason actually has a small thing for pain. He’s not into like any hardcore pain but when it comes to things like hickies, bite marks, nails scratching against his skin… yeah, sign him up for all of that. It might stem from the fact that he also enjoys being marked up by you… the love bites, the scratches, anything you do that inflicts a slight bit of pain but also leaves a mark for him to wear proudly? He actually really enjoys all of that. He will wear any and all of the marks you leave on him with pride because, yeah, you did that to him.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?):

Jason was never really with anyone before he got with you, it’s not that girls didn’t want him, he was just so into his own things that a relationship and intimacy was never something he saw for himself. But when he met you that all went out the window, and because of that Jason wasn’t the most skilled or experienced when it came to sex. But, he was a quick learner (like everything in his life), and he spent most of the time during sex making sure you were pleased. He took mental notes on what you liked, what you disliked, what made you moan, what made you groan; Jason kept track of all of those little things that made you tick and it’s pretty safe to say that now he definitely knows what he’s doing.

F = Favorite Position (this goes without saying):

Missionary. Jason is pretty classic and traditional and loves missionary for that reason. He loves being able to kiss your face and lips while you two are having sex and he loves hearing the small gasps and giggles that leave your lips every time he trails kisses down to your neck and upper chest. He loves when your boobs bounce up and down when he thrusts fast and rough, and he loves to leave small kisses across them. He also really loves it when your nails scratch down his back (especially when you leave marks) but he won’t admit that to you. 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc):

Jason tries to be as serious as he can during sex, but you absolutely adore when his goofy side comes out. When he cracks small jokes, when he giggles at something you said, when his goofy smile comes out; when Jason is truly Jason is when you are having the most fun together in bed. No, like, one time you two were having sex and he was telling you all about the latest book he finished reading and each time he got excited about something he giggled and smiled at you. To this day you still have no idea what book he read that he liked so much, but you did love seeing him that happy.

H = Hair (how groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc):

Prior to you and Jason being together, he never really groomed himself at all down there. He just let it grow, maybe occasionally he would trim it up to keep it nice and neat but he didn’t really care because no one was ever really seeing him naked. Now, after you two had gotten together? That’s a different story; he makes sure to not only be well groomed and tidy down there, but he also makes sure to be well groomed and tidy everywhere. On his face, his chest, his stomach, his lower stomach; he makes sure every part of his body is well groomed and trimmed any chance that he can get

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect):

Jason does anything and everything he can to ensure that sex is as pleasant and romantic as he can. He loves being close to you so he loves pulling you closer to him, leaving soft kisses on your body and just worshiping you in the way you should be treated and worshiped. He loves making sure you’re the center of his attention during sex and that everything is pleasant for you each and every time. 

J = Jack Off (masturbating):

Jason has always been the type that has never really given in to temptations like that, he has masturbated before in the past but he’s never really enjoyed doing it or liked doing it. It has always made him feel dirty, and now that you two are together, it makes him feel extremely guilty to masturbate while thinking of you. He’s a gentleman, after all; he’d rather get you off as well as himself. 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks):

Praise kink for days. Jason has always needed to be told he is doing a good job, or that is doing something right. And, unfortunately for him, that migrated into the bedroom. When you tell him it feels so good and to keep going, when you tell him he’s doing so well… he just folds right then and there for you. He’s always been needy and clingy too and definitely a bit touch starved so when you will take your time with him and be dominant over him, he loves that as well. One could argue he has a mommy kink, but that’s a whole rabbit hole he doesn’t really want to fall down yet or ever, truthfully. However, it really is only a matter of time until he accidentally mutters the word “mommy” in bed… I give it about two more weeks. Once that happens, have fun falling down that kink rabbit hole with him. 

L = Location (their favorite places to do the do):

So, as much as Jason would answer that he loves having sex with you in bed or on the couch, like all the normal spots, he also like… really loves having sex in a tent. Like, he loves to go camping with you (it’s your yearly summer tradition), it’s just the two of you, alone with nature, and you’re having sex together in his two person tent that has plenty of space for you both to enjoy yourselves. He just loves that he's with you, alone, and out in the wilderness, doing something you both love. Doesn’t matter if he’s on top or you’re on top, if you’re crawling out of your sleeping bag towards him, oh, he’s done for. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going):

It might sound pretty cliche but, you turn Jason on. All you have to do is give him the look, bat your eyelashes and he’s following you into the bedroom ready to give you anything you want. Seriously, you are what turns him on because the fact that you want him and want to be with him is more than enough for him. It makes him so happy and makes him so giddy and horny because he just wants to love you and please you. However, Jason also really loves it when you wear his clothes so… there’s that. You occasionally will wear his old Camp Pineway shirt around the house or to bed and that shirt is usually finding its way off of your body and onto the floor but… you’re not really complaining about that. 

N = No (something that wouldn’t do, turn offs):

Jason isn’t the type of person to say no to you, usually, that is. He is usually always down to do anything you ask or anything you want to try but honestly, one thing he won’t do is spank you. You asked him to try it once while you were on top, and after he did he just couldn’t do it anymore. He can’t explain why, he just doesn’t like it. Which is fine, you weren’t too keen on it either but you’ve since asked him to try it again and he’s told you he doesn’t want to hurt you or treat you like that because he loves you too much and you deserve more respect than that. 

O = Oral (preference in giving, receiving, skills, etc):

Jason has always leaned towards receiving from you, but that’s really because he wasn’t sure what to even remotely do when going down on you. He had never done it before, and was so nervous he would do it poorly. But, after he gained the courage to actually try it, he paid attention to what you liked and disliked and now he loves to go down on you and please you more than anything. He’ll still take receiving, don’t get him wrong; seeing you on your knees for him literally makes him go weak in the knees but he loves to please you as often as he can as well.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc):

Jason usually takes it slow and sensual. He just prefers to be more intimate with you; he likes to take his time, go slow, go deep, leave soft and sweet kisses all over your body. He just loves to make sure you’re happy and pleased and enjoying yourself as much as you can, because of that he is always making sure to make every time sweet and soft. On occasion he’ll pick up his speed and go faster, but he’s yet to get super fast and rough yet; but, I’m sure if you asked him to he would go faster and rougher for you. He’s definitely down to try it, anything for you. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc):

Jason really doesn’t have an opinion on quickies. He doesn’t love them, he doesn’t hate them, they just kind of exist for him. If you wanted one, he’d be down to do it, but he’s not going out of his way to have one, if that makes sense. He’d just rather spend as much time with you as he could and take his time with you. He likes to take it slow and love on you as much as he can and he feels like quickies lose that intimate aspect he craves so deeply. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc):

Jason has never really taken any risks in his life so when it comes to risks in the bedroom… he doesn’t really do that either. He just kind of enjoys doing what he does and what he knows best because he knows it works. If there’s something you want to try it takes a lot of convincing (which is usually just you asking him twice) and he’ll do it. But if he doesn’t like it, you’ll know. He doesn’t like to venture out of his comfort zone much, so he is willing to try something with you but he has never really suggested much of anything. (Other than when he asked you to sit on his face but that’s a story for another day.)

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?):

Jason could probably only really go one round at a time, but they’re usually pretty long rounds. He makes sure to spend as much time loving you and loving your body as he possibly can during sex; he just loves to take his time with you. He lasts surprisingly long, the slow and steady pace he usually keeps allows him to go for a little longer than usual.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or on themselves?):

It’s pretty safe to say that Jason doesn’t have any toys, and he’s never really used any for himself or you. He’s asked before, though. He’s asked if you had any toys and what you have used on your own. When you mentioned using a vibrator he was interested in pulling it out for you during sex, he just has been too scared to actually formally ask you to pull it out. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease):

Jason wouldn’t know how to tease even if you taught him. Sometimes he’ll have his hand on your lower back, absentmindedly rubbing circles on the skin there but that’s the extent of it. If he is teasing you, it’s definitely an accident. He does get teased more than he does the teasing since you find it so cute when he gets all red and blushy and flustered when you whisper something in his ear or accidentally brush over his pants or even bend down in front of him in a skirt or some really short shorts. He turns bright red, stares at you and then clears his throat and looks away, trying to think of anything other than you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc):

Jason tries to be quiet but occasionally loud gasps and moans leave his mouth during sex. You love it, it drives you wild to watch him moan, groan and whine; it happens the most when you’re going down on him. He’ll be gasping and moaning your name, whining so loud. He’s also an extremely loud whiner when he cums; like you definitely know when he cums because he is whining your name so pitifully it’s funny. He tries not to be vocal, but he’s so loud in bed. (The neighbors have heard before but don’t tell Jason, he’ll get so embarrassed.)

W = Wild Card (a random headcanon for them):

Jason wears some bracelets he has from camp, he keeps them as memories. Well, he also wears a chain around his neck. It’s a simple chain, but it dangles against your skin when he’s on top and it absolutely makes you shudder and moan in pleasure. The cool metal is a stark contrast to the heat of your skin as it drags against your chest slowly with each and every slow thrust he makes. 

X = X-Ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes):

Jason is huge. He’s pretty average in length but the girth? The girth is where it is… he is definitely above average there. Also, when he’s hard he’s fairly veiny… which feels like heaven.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive):

Jason doesn’t have a super high sex drive, but he will have sex with you as often as you’d like or need. He’s just never really focused on that; he’s the type of person that could go without it, he won’t die if he doesn’t get sex. But, he’s also not going to complain if you want to have sex. He’s content with anything, you know?

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards):

As soon as your body is against Jason’s, his eyes are closing as he’s pulling you closer to him. He holds you close, his hands running through your hair and over your body until he’s falling asleep to the sound of your soft breaths and giggles. Sometimes it’s quick, other times he’ll just lay there and enjoy your company, making small talk with you. One thing for sure is that he will definitely hold you as close as he can while he sleeps at night, always.

jason hochberg taglist: wanna join? click the form here! ; @janis01127 ; @keeryhours ; @iitsmandii ; @bumblebeeswrite ; @alexa0813 ; @samslvrgirl ; @littlemissholy ; @robinbuckleywife

[bumblebeeswrite]

🌹

“Does our desire hold any sway in the eyes of God and our community?"

[bumblebeeswrite]

🌹

It was a taste for the absolute, unwavering devotion in your eyes when he embraced the darkness you offered, a darkness that felt increasingly like home.

[bumblebeeswrite]

🌹 hehe

"Our families, united," your father declared, his voice resonating in the low-ceilinged room. "For the good of Union Proper.”

[bumblebeeswrite]

for every "🌹" received in my inbox i'll post one random sentence of a random WIP i'm currently writing

[bumblebeeswrite]

HI I LOVE YOU THAT’S ALLLLLLLLLLL❤️🥹

WHAT THE HECK GUYS 😭😭❤️❤️❤️

[bumblebeeswrite]

I found your account because of discord and I'm in love with your writing it's so good 😊

bless 😭

i luv all my little bees ❤️

[bumblebeeswrite]

Reblog if you write fanfic and would be totally down with your followers coming into you askbox and talking to you about your fic