#A fun little question for a dabble

[its-always-nightshift]

This is the official design of Sun for my Theater AU!! I love him so much and I honestly need to draw him more. He’s so character.

Click for more information about the AU:

What is the Theater AU?

A fic currently in the works which takes canon Sun & Moon and plays with the concept of them being theater bots before being transferred (unwillingly) to the daycare! Half of the story revolves around when they were theater bots, and the other half is about the daycare. The drawing above is Sun when he was a theater bot! Sun in the daycare looks very close to canon in design with a few different details. And by theater, I mean they had some very cool acts. Moon has my favorite performance in the story so far.

Is there a y/n for the Theater AU?

No, you follow along the story of a nonbinary oc named Roy who dabbles in software engineering. You can, however, imagine that Roy is the pizzaplex’s nickname for y/n and pretend as such! Either way is fine by me, but the fic will be tagged as oc insert.

Have you written any chapters/made any art for the Theater AU yet?

Very few, but that’s only because I have to wait until summer to flesh it out properly. I do, however, have many bullet points for the storyline written down already as well as a couple of snippets and have a very good idea of how I want the fic to play out.

What kind of personality does Roy have?

Roy is a very down-to-earth, analytical, logic-oriented type of person. Roy has a lot of patience and I think Sun sometimes needs that kind of patience because of his jitteriness and overall bouncy personality. They’ve known the boys for a while and always took an interest in the way they work. They might even be the reason Roy went into software development and specialized in AI.

Can I use your art/writing for AI?

Absolutely not. That is not what AI should be used for. Thank you for your cooperation.

How technical will the fic be?

I want to mix my own experience as a computer scientist into the story a little while also making the explanations easy enough for anyone to enjoy and maybe find their own technical passion out of it. I will still mention some fun comp sci technical jargon for the purpose of enunciating Roy’s professionalism. On the robotics side, my own experience lacks, but I will try my best to get as accurate as I can by studying the canon boys.

Does Roy get to smooch the boys?

I’m still debating this, honestly! Maybe in some sequel story or side-comics, but the main fic is meant to focus on the characterization of Sun & Moon, so we’ll see. The boys can’t move their faces similarly to canon, but they would happily accept a smooch on the cheek.

Who do you like more, Sun or Moon?

Oh boy, I love them both! Moon is very scary and I’d never go back to that level in security breach if I can avoid it, but he makes for such a funky character full of potential storytelling. Sun is definitely my favorite of the two though. When I tell friends about a fic I’ve recently read from any of the fantastic DCA stories, I always ramble about how Sun’s character was written whether it was sunhinged, emotionally haunting, or absolutely sweet! When I played Help Wanted 2 I was overjoyed by his character. He deserves to be a little sassy sometimes, as a treat. It is no different in the Theater AU; he has his sassy and sweet moments.

Moon’s design I am still working on, so keep an eye out for him!! Also let me know if you take an interest in my boys by asking questions about them! It helps me find their personalities better and inspires me to do more. Thanks for reading!

[syluses]

big girls dont cry QNA

i know you guys have lots of curiosities about this fic lolll so i’ll try to answer some of the questions i received (∗ᵕ̴᷄◡ᵕ̴᷅∗) 💕 if u still have some, just shoot me an ask!! :] also im really bad at explaining so i apologize 🤦🏻‍♀️ i have the plot nailed in my head but its tricky to articulate it in a clear, linear way for yall considering all the little nuances i added lol. i’ll try my best tho hehe :,)

Okay so there’s a whole ‘nother plot that exists in the background of this fic- which was super fun for me to write, but im sure from a reader standpoint it’s also kinda thrilling to try to connect the dots i left lol. thats why theres so many interpretations for this story (which i love!! i loved reading all yall’s theories)! 💕 BUT. that being said, the ‘canon’ goes like this:

SPOILERS BELOW read it first then come back! ( ⸍ɞ̴̶̷ ·̫ ɞ̴̶̷⸌ )

was caleb really dead?

No. Caleb staged his own death and then, similar to the main story homecoming wings, didnt tell mc :,) for his own reasons, for a time, he decides he’ll let her go on believing he’s truly gone…

why did he stage his death?

I dropped little crumbs of it in the fic, but it’s hinted that mc, on top of all her grief, feels a bit bitter over the whole shebang and also blames herself for it. hmm… why would that be? 🤔 well because their final moments together (or so she THOUGHT) were emotionally charged and volatile.

the foundation of their sibling relationship was growing weaker and weaker before the explosion. arguments are forming out of nowhere- things are becoming more tense and mc, for the life of her, can’t understand why her gege is always pulling her into a heated debate about safety, danger, blahblahblah, this that and the third, every time they interact. He’s being wildly unreasonable, which she knows, and protective- a trait that has snowballed as they entered their adulthood- but what she doesn’t know is the why behind it. she tells herself she just has a super protective older brother who views her as a little baby in need of his guidance- which isn’t entirely wrong… but she doesn’t see the full picture. His true feelings. All this tension eventually climbs to its peak. Caleb just gets worse and worse. He needs to do something before the world collapses on them both.

Now, in this au, he works at EVER, a somewhat shady but lucrative company- which dabbles in robotics amongst other things. I imagine they have abundant resources and wealth- and what with his promotions, it’s safe to say caleb is making a LOT. So, the delusional guy he is, he buys a big fancy suite with the idea in mind of two eventually living in it ;) but mc doesn’t want to- she has her own life in linkon!! She wants to spread her wings and separate from the nest anyway. Partly to start her own life; partly to prove to her gege that she can take care of herself. The argument that unfolds over this is the last they have before the big tragic explosion 😭 caleb, putting on a show with his beaten puppy eyes, leaves and then that’s the last time she sees him.

Caleb meticulously plans his ‘death’ out (with some help from his wingman ofc) and then eventually the robot is introduced to mc. It serves as a trojan horse. He’ll finally conquer her heart with it and win full autonomy over her. THIS IS HIS MAIN GOAL WITH THE ROBOT. WHY HE EVEN DOES ANY OF THIS TO BEGIN WITH.

Caleb gets to spy on mc with it and also slowly reshape her to accept his feelings; his ‘death’ has left her in a fragile state of mourning and he knows, after she warms up a bit to not-Caleb, he can more or less get away with anything- bc she will claw for whatever’s left of her family member. He can make her finally reciprocate and understand him— whether that be his feelings or fear or love. He tried to be patient, to be good, but obviously he had to travel a new route. He’s thinking of her 24/7. He’s obsessive, longing, protective, you name it- and all of this just worsens the more she denies him. When push comes to shove… well, caleb will do whatever it takes to win her :] He knows it’s unconventional and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t hurt him too- monitoring his endearingly stubborn, but sweet meimei and the shattered pieces he left of her through his android’s eyes— but it’s all temporary, and he truly believes it’s for the better.

did gideon know?

Yes, Gideon knew all along. He’s Caleb’s best buddy after all. To be matter of fact- Gideon didn’t just know, he quite literally ‘herded’ mc into the lion’s den in a way. Mc knew vaguely of their work at EVER, but not too much; so Gideon was the one who shined that light on their robotics and really introduced her to the concept of not-Caleb. Now, i wouldnt say Gideon is exactly comfortable with his involvement, but he actually really does care for mc and thinks she needs that help- as dubious as the means are. Anyway, it’s almost impossible to shut out all of his buddy’s demands: the brunet is nothing if not insistent on getting what he wants. In his own whacky way, Gideon thinks what he did- playing into Caleb’s plan- was for the better as well. I mean, Mc clearly wasnt doing good before not-Caleb came along,… but with the few visits he managed before the android got a little too stingy and sent him off, Gideon actually managed to catch a smile or two from her! So clearly he did the right thing 👀 not to mention… the real caleb seems very pleased with the progress, too. besides- the whole robot situation is temporary anyway :] She’ll be reuniting with the beloved gege she misses so much sooner rather than later.

how accurate was not-caleb?

His programming is like 100% accurate. Mc, for a mix of both naiveity and delusion, thinks not-Caleb is flawed when he starts to show signs of amorous/romantic feelings for her. Really, though, after she tells him to stay the night with her (innocently; and after years of having not shared the same childhood twin bed), it triggers a part of his ‘brain’ that undoes all real caleb’s self restraint thus far :] If the same exact situation happened with the real caleb, his reaction would’ve more or less been the same. Homeboy can only keep his feelings in check for so long

who programmed not-caleb?

Real Caleb

how is mc pregnant?

Because the robot’s creator wanted to add his own special touch to his work if you know what i mean :) yeah he’s a freak like that. Dont think he WOULDNT install in his robot the ability to indirectly knock his ‘meimei’ up. I will say though, that while caleb wants to get mc pregnant, its not fully bc he wants to start a family- at least not right away- but because he wants to emotionally and legally trap her with him. Besides monitoring her/wearing down her walls while she thought he was ‘dead’, this was actually one of caleb’s biggest goals with sending not-caleb into her home.

is not-caleb self-aware?

Yes

what’s real caleb been doing all this time?

Basically climbing the ranks of EVER from his lil perch somewhere in skyhaven. all the while, of course, spying on mc like a hawk. Biding his time & waiting for the right moment when she’s at her weakest, most codependent state to replace his carbon copy :)

was caleb controlling his robot?

No. But he essentially created its whole program. And there are cameras inside its eyes in which he watches mc from :) and cant help but snap pics with sometimes: she’s just so pretty— and endlessly sexy when he finally, in a vicarious way, gets to lie her back and make love to her <3

what is real caleb’s motive/ultimate goal?

1. to control/protect/‘tame’ mc through the robot; get her to see things from his point of view (which means realizing she belongs with him- where it’s safe and he can protect & love her)

2. to knock her up (hence the. ahem. reproductive abilities of the robot) so that he can trap her with a baby on top of all the other emotional strings he’s hogtied her with.

does gideon want mc too?

the question is not would gideon smash her. the question is would caleb LET him…. 👀

also, below i just attached a screenie from some of the notes i took. theyre ofc a little disjointed but i think it might clarify things too :] im so bad at answering questions esp for a plot this spiraling but i really tried my best guys my brain is tired forgive me :,)

[undreaming-fanfiction]

The Corroded Coffin used to think they'd be the new Metallica or Judas Priest. But where their passion and hard work never lacked, their big break just never came.

What did come, however, was an unexpected change of their career path.

It started innocently enough - they went through yet another failed meeting with recording studios, they'd travelled pretty far and it was for nothing. Instead of going back to Hawkins and risking another one of Eddie's road rages, they decided to break into an abandoned house and drink their sorrows away.

That is, until their empty bottles started collecting themselves, something invisible touched Gareth's shoulder and the dusty floor started showing written messages.

Jeff wanted to flee. Gareth to faint. But Eddie and Freak just shrugged. Eddie gestured towards the approximate ghost location and said "by the power of I don't give a shit anymore, I compel you to sit down and stop it, we'll clean the bottles when we leave tomorrow."

The rattling stopped. There was a moment of silence when the Corroded Coffin actually thought it had worked, but then the ghost overcame its shock and physically threw Eddie, his bandmates and their things out.

They sat on the wet grass for a while and contemplated their whole exitence. Eddie was pretty shaken about the whole thing because he'd just managed to royally piss off a ghost and lived to tell the tale. But apart from absolutely terrifying...it was also fun?

And his friends seemed to think the same. Jeff patted his shoulder and said: "not bad for a first touch with the unknown, huh?"

They stayed in the area and tried again. They decided to tape over their promotional video - not so great, they had to admit after rewatching it - and started documenting their ghostly encounters. And maybe it was just the timing, maybe it was their interactions and personalities, but it worked. They showed some of their tapes to a local TV station and they got a cautious yes, more than they ever had with their music.

They got assigned a small crew, Fred with a camera and Chrissy for sound, wrote their own episodes and did plenty of research. And they got to try quite a lot of different approaches with their ghostly friends. Eddie was amazing at taunting the ghosts, making them appear if there were any present. Gareth had a wonderfully calming presence, managing to save the CC's ass several times. Jeff was the brains, he made sure they'd always know the history of the house and the probable identity of the ghost. And Freak decided to dabble in the occult sciences with a terrifying precision. There could never be enough salt in Eddie's van for all the circles he made.

It all went well until they learned of the Creel House in Hawkins. They went there, did their research and before entering the house, they ordered some pizza for dinner. They assumed it would be over by midnight, thinking it was just another sad story of an unresolved murder, but the ghost of Henry Creel was out for blood.

Oh, and he also controlled the spiders of the house. That was new.

To set the scene: The crew had fled the house about an hour ago. Eddie was crouching behind an old table, blocking Henry's barrage of kitchen knives, shouting "IS THIS THE BEST YOU'VE GOT?!". Gareth was behind the table with Eddie, but he went more into the wailing territory with "I DON'T THINK THIS WILL HELP YOU MOVE ON, HENRY!". Jeff had blocked himself in the pantry and kept trying to identify the triggering moment - "I think he's re-enacting the murder of his mother, guys! Does that help?!" (it doesn't). And Freak gave up on salt circles and was now tossing handfuls of salt around the house with a questionable technique but unwavering determination.

Suddenly, a car horn.

Then, a bitchy male voice: "Are you coming to get your pizza or what? I have other customers to get to!"

Eddie gritted his teeth as Henry added heavy pans to the mix and hit his shoulder. "We're a little busy surviving here! Ask Chrissy to pay you!"

There was a muffled and annoyed "ugh" from behind the door and then: "Is it Henry again?"

Eddie just blinked. Gareth was more ready to answer: "Sure is! He's not a fan of our exorcism!"

And the pizza guy didn't leave. He just huffed and said something that sounded suspiciously like "amateurs".

Eddie wanted to punch him.

But before he could do that, the front door opened. Gareth held his breath, half expecting a sound of knives hitting their target.

Instead, they heard a few more steps and then: "What the fuck, Henry?!"

A faint whispering reached their ears, but they couldn't decipher it. But the pizza guy could.

"I don't care they didn't get your permission, Henry. Yeah, it's annoying, but what are you going to do? If more people die in this house, it's going to get demolished. You know that. Yeah, I know the house is old, but it's great for your spiders, right? They'd be homeless. Do you want to make your spiders homeless, Henry?"

They dared to peek from behind the table, and Eddie had to pinch himself. Because in the middle of the dusty dining room stood one of the prettiest young men Eddie had ever seen, hands on hips and arguing with something invisible.

The man completely ignored them.

"That's what I thought. Now, apologize. No, they can't hear you, so get creative."

All four CC members stared as words formed in the spilled salt: "SORRY".

The pizza guy seemed to be pleased. "Good job, Henry. Now, let me get them out of here and I promise I'll get the Party to bring you some new spiders when they capture them outside, yeah? Three knocks, slide them in a glass behind the door. Got it. Take care, Henry."

Only then did he look at Eddie and the others and frowned. "That's your cue to leave. Get your stuff and go, now." And as they were quickly collecting their scattered notes and recording equipment, he added: "and say goodbye when leaving. Don't be rude."

Four rushed "Bye, Henry!" and "Sorry, Henry"s later, the Corroded Coffin was standing on the grass outside, feeling the setting sun on their skin and smelling fresh pizza. Gareth promptly paid for the delivery, and everyone proceeded to thank their mysterious savior.

"I'm Steve," he said after they'd all expressed their thanks, "and you're stupid. Do you really do this without anyone who sees and hears them? Do you just stumble blindly into haunted houses for a fun and stabby time?"

Eddie had to swallow down a very bitchy response of his own. "Sorry to stroke your ego even more, pretty boy, but a man of your talents is hard to come by."

And Steve, to Eddie's massive shock, just cocked his head and fluffed his hair, probably out of habit, but damn. "Well, consider yourself lucky because I'm open to job offers," he said with a wink that brought Eddie back into his teenage fantasies. "You need someone like me, and I assume you pay better than pizza delivery. Do you?"

Turns out, their producer was willing to get one more person on board, especially when they finished processing the leftover footage from the Creel house.

Steve was an amazing addition. He was snarky, self-confident, easy to look at and most of all, he was fun and compassionate. Watching him communicate with ghosts of kids and help them move on made Eddie's icy heart melt.

But one day they were on a site of an unfortunate teenage death, Steve was chatting with the ghost of a 17 year old girl like they'd known each other for ages, he was laughing, cracking jokes, and then:

"No, he hasn't kissed me yet."

Eddie turned around on his heel and stared at Steve, snickering to himself and talking to a misty figure next to him. And worst of all, they were both staring right at Eddie.

"Hasn't even asked me out, no. You'd think he'd be interested, but I guess I'm doing something wrong."

And Eddie's head short-circuited, and all the repressed fantasies from nights next to Steve in their trailer came back with vengeance. He howled and threw himself at Steve, kissing him right on that bitchy mouth. "Doing something wrong?! Steven Harrington, those shorts of yours are doing everything right, but how about you say something, huh?!"

Steve returned the kiss to the cheering of the CC guys, Chrissy's clapping and Fred's disgusted noise, and shrugged when they broke apart. "I knew you'd get it, eventually. Oh, and Heather?" he turned to the ghost. "You're the best wingwoman ever, in this life and after."

Four good things came from this ghostly encounter:

After the kiss, Gareth finally gathered enough courage to ask Chrissy out. She said yes.

The episode with Heather became the most watched episode of the CC's show.

Steve and Eddie remained in an equally blissful and teasing relationship for the rest of their lives.

And finally...

The TV station decided to design official merch for the CC's show: incredibly short shorts that said on the backside: "DOING EVERYTHING RIGHT".

[summer-oil]

YOU’RE AN ANGEL, I’M A DOG ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; an upcoming exam has been stressing you out, and satoru’s pleas for you to take care of yourself fall on deaf ears. thus, he sets his sights on your professor.

word count; 4.3k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, yan!gojo, as far as yanderes go he’s very mild i think (im sensitive u can trust me!!), mentions of blood, implied murder (not depicted!!), he threatens your professor w a knife lol, surprisingly fluffy??, gojo is soooo lovesick & smitten, he just wants his baby to live a happy life :( is that so wrong :((, also your parents love him <33 and he calls you honey <333 ideal man.

a/n; i blacked out & when i woke up this was in my drafts… mysterious. @kissxcore here u go alexis <33 one very smitten morally gray yan!gojo just for u!! i completely lost the plot halfway through but i had a lot of fun writing this!! :33 i don’t dabble in yan content at all so it was a fun lil challenge hehe, i hope it ended up . Somewhat .. decent…

satoru thinks you deserve everything good.

”haah…”

— the sigh spills into the air, like a dot of ink on paper, dripping with exhaustion; a palpable fatigue that has his heart clenching beneath his ribs.

just as he feared, you’re here. again. seated on the couch, in the living room, legs crossed and framed by flimsy strings of moonlight; illuminated only by the dim light of the laptop in front of you. carding through your hair, blinking sluggishly.

another sigh. deep, exasperated, from satoru this time. he keeps a single hand on his hip, brows furrowed in soft disappointment. 

”honey… what do you think you’re doing?”

you jolt, the sudden sound breaking you out of whatever trance you were previously in. when your gaze flits to his, craning your head to see him rest against the wall leading up to your bedroom, he thinks you look a little like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

it makes him smile. despite his disapproval.

”ah — satoru! it’s… um.” a moment passes. he can practically see the gears of your mind turning, searching for a good excuse. ”… not what it looks like?”

he clicks his tongue. ”nice try.”

then he’s walking towards you, in long strides, gliding across the room like a butterfly in search of nectar. from the sweetest flower there ever was.

even when said flower is still awake, past midnight, pulling an all-nighter despite his frequent advice not to. his very frequent, very thoughtful advice not to strain yourself until you just about pass out.

but you just won’t listen.

”’m disappointed in you, baby,” he huffs, just playful enough to ward off any genuine feelings of distress. he could never truly be disappointed in his baby. ”what did we say about studying this late, hm?”

a sheepish chuckle slips past your lips. satoru is standing in front of you, hands on his hips, raising a questioning eyebrow as you squirm. lighthearted, yes, but genuine. it makes you feel a little guilty.

”… sorry,” you breathe, closing the lid of your laptop. knowing he won’t let you stay up any longer. with the loss of light, your face becomes shrouded in darkness. ”just can’t sleep when i’m so stressed.”

at that, satoru makes a tiny noise — something worried, a little sad, from the base of his throat. a soft frown finds its way onto his lips, and he blinks the sleep away from his senses. plopping down beside you.

”i know. i’m not trying to lecture you,” he croons, reaching out to cradle the apple of your cheek. you melt into him like molten honey, easy and sweet. ”just worried. know you’re stressed.”

and he does. he does know — it’s all he’s been able to think about, these past few weeks. to his dismay, he’s even begun to grow used to this sight, used to finding you in the midst of working yourself to exhaustion. fighting the urge to sleep, slumped over your desk, or cooped up on the couch. staring into your laptop like it holds the secrets of the universe.

time and time again, he’s told you to take care of yourself. tried to coax you into relaxing, rubbing your sore shoulders and kissing the puffy skin beneath your eyes. but this exam is important — you’ve told him as much, more times than he can count. he doesn’t doubt that you’re right. 

of course you’d be stressed. he gets it.

still, though.

”but you know it’s not good, yeah? that it’ll just burn you out?” his thumb goes to smooth over the dark crescents beneath your eyes, gentle as a feather. ”we don’t want that, do we?”

you bite your lip. trapping it between your teeth. he knows you know. ”… yeah,” you admit, a flimsy little sigh on your tongue. ”it just feels easier to do this at night. don’t know why.”

”my little night owl.”

that makes you smile, a little, but it’s not enough to satisfy him. he curls an arm around your waist, and drags you into his lap; gentle, always gentle, like all that exists under your skin is made of porcelain. like the lines of your face form a string of words, a label of fragile: handle with care. he always does.

with his heartbeat by your ear, his warmth melting into yours, it’s easier to speak. a pressure on your chest that fades away. ”i’ll try not to do it again,” you murmur, biting back a soft yawn. nuzzling into his neck. ”promise. don’t wanna worry you…”

satoru softens. 

(always so good to him.)

”it’s fine, honey. i understand.” he smiles, smoothing down your spine, counting the bumps of vertebra that slide along his palm. ”don’t worry that pretty little head of yours over me, alright?”

in return for his comfort, you wriggle away, lifting your head to give him a smile. one of your many smiles, each one fervently cherished by him; the one you’re wearing now is tired, a soft curl of your lips, the kind that makes him want to lull you to sleep. just the sight alone makes the anxiety in his veins feel like a worthy investment.

he doesn’t tell you anything that could cause that joy to diminish. doesn’t tell you that he can’t sleep without you, that he can barely breathe knowing you’re this stressed all time. doesn’t tell you that he jolted awake with a sinking feeling of dread, a gaping pit in his stomach when he didn’t immediately feel the warmth of your skin against his. doesn’t tell you that he always, always assumes the worst.

satoru doesn’t tell you these things. it’s a safety measure, an act of love. a bundle of unvoiced syllables, woven into white lies, silky and sweet. tailor-made to put your aching mind at ease. 

satoru thinks you deserve everything good.

it’s a theory, of sorts, a train of thought. a hypothesis made manifest. after many years of pondering, he’s arrived at the following conclusion; you are all that’s good. therefore, it only follows that you deserve everything that’s good, all of it and more. satoru believes you deserve every single thing your little heart desires — and he’s determined to give it to you.

so he’s been worried.

it’s not that he doesn’t trust you. he knows you’ll ace the exam, knows you’ll do your very best, knows you’ll make him proud. you always do. you aren’t the problem, no, never.

he just doesn’t trust your professor. 

that unfair, stuck-up, incompetent professor who’d fail his students just for being a couple minutes late, who curates his exams to be as convoluted as humanly possible. you and your friends are starting to suspect he just likes berating people for a living. satoru knows it all, he’s heard it all, of course he has. satoru pays attention to everything, when it comes to you. he knows all about your professor, the man who’s been making your studies pure hell for the past semester.

it makes his blood boil. steady, ruminating, hot and heavy in his veins. a rivulet of lava.

(it was only a matter of time.)

satoru is a teacher too; he knows that type. one that has no business being a teacher, in the first place, one no student deserves to be subjected to. he’s met more of them in his career than he could even begin to count. the thought of one of his own students being at the mercy of someone so incompetent makes his skin itch.

and the thought of you, seated on the couch, crying and sniffling when he comes home because none of the exam questions made enough sense for you to even try —

it makes satoru want to claw his skin off.

it makes that tiny, tiny cavern in his heart extend, widen, like a maw, swallowing up his liver and lungs and sense of morality. an emptiness begging to be filled. 

there’s only one way to satiate it.

so he plants a wet kiss on your forehead, ruffles your hair, tucks you into bed and waits until you fall asleep. deep and heavy, a slumber you won’t wake up from anytime soon. he presses his lips to your forehead one more time — for good measure.

then he grabs his coat and slips outside.

the moon is visible through the window.

a thin crescent, nailed next to the dim stars, leaking a dream-like fluorescent shine; illuminating the office, so quiet he can hear those erratic breaths spill out, one by one. a heavy, heavy silence, thick enough to spread like butter over toast. 

(ah, that’s right — he forgot to buy the butter you asked for this morning. no wonder he feels so out of sorts. he’ll have to grab it on his way back.)

”who… w — what are — ?”

satoru stays silent. lips pursed, eyes keen, burning into the back of the man in front of him. close, almost chest to back, enough to have him scowling in displeasure. 

just being in his presence makes satoru feel a little sick. 

he keeps the blade pressed right beneath his adam’s apple, a silver glimmer in an office painted blue and gray. not enough to sink into his skin, but enough to have his heartbeat hammering, enough that satoru can practically feel those rapid flutters of life. brushing against his gloved hand.

he gets straight to the point. voice muffled by the fabric covering his mouth, low enough that it’s barely even audible. he’s careful, about this kind of thing. there’s a delicacy to the ill intent, something he’d be a little enamored with if it weren’t for the compass stuffed into his ribs — the compass that tells him this is wrong.

he just can’t bring himself to care.

”the upcoming exam.” his voice sends a shiver down the man’s spine. satoru can feel it. ”don’t fail a single student.”

silence. pure silence, suffocating them, tangling itself into the air. satoru can practically taste it — fear, familiar, that pang of panic. a ticking time-bomb. the knife stays pressed against warm skin, pushing, sinking, just a little, a drop of red against his pale throat. 

it’s enough to get your professor to make a little noise, one that vaguely resembles a whine. like that of a small animal, rolling over on its belly, eager to play dead. no word is spoken in reply, but he nods, just barely, a nervous tremble of his head.

satoru hums, approving. ”good.” he doesn’t loosen his grip. ”there’s a particular student i’m worried about. marked them down in the catalogue... i’m counting on you.”

another noise. a grunt of affirmation, a silent plea — satoru allows that fear to seep into his own bones, just a little, just to get a taste of it. cold on his tongue. he wonders if this is what helplessness feels like.

then he takes a step back. slow, tentative, dragging the knife with him. not before parting his lips once more. ”don’t turn around,” he warns. ”i’ll be back if there are any complications. this’ll be our little secret, hm?”

the man in front of him doesn’t say a thing. frozen in fear, paralyzed, not moving an inch. a fly trapped in his web. it’s a relief.

before he exits the room, satoru puts the final nail in the coffin. just in case. ”i happen to know what school your daughter goes to.” he waits for a flinch, and it comes almost instantly. like clockwork. “remember that.”

it’s an empty threat. your professor doesn’t know that, though. he doesn’t know that satoru knows his daughter, that he walks past her preschool almost every morning on his way to work. that she waves to him whenever he passes by, and that he makes it a point to always wave back. a little troublemaker; the rowdiest of utahime’s preschoolers. she has a bubbly laugh, and just lost one of her milk teeth. she was giddy when she showed him, a bout of giggles spilling from her lips as he cooed and ruffled her hair. 

he wouldn’t lay a finger on her. 

but your professor doesn’t know that, hasn’t got a single clue, and satoru delights in the fear that must be running through his veins. down his spine, crawling into every narrow of his skeleton, making a home for itself that he’ll never quite be able to root out.

a gulp. satoru hears it, in the quiet of nightfall, just before he shuts the door behind him. good.

the rest of the evening is a blur. satoru gets home, relieved to find you still asleep, and tucks you into his chest. makes a mental reminder to order your favorite take out tomorrow; a little reward for your hard work.

finally, he can sleep easy. knowing you’ll get what you deserve. 

three weeks later, satoru places his hand on the familiar doorknob in front of him, dragging his weight behind him. blinking sluggishly. 

there’s a sinking feeling in his chest, weighing him down — like an anchor tied to his liver. a compass, tucked between his fourth and fifth rib, one that’ll always stay lodged right there. he’s learned to grow used to it, a natural consequence, a sign that his humanity is still intact. 

that doesn’t make it any less bothersome, though.

(ridding the world of a pest shouldn’t make him feel dirty. especially when he felt nothing but contempt for the pest in question, for the way he whistled as you walked by, the words he spewed before satoru met his eye. vile. putrid. why should he feel guilty for wiping a stain off the pavement?

it does make him feel dirty, though. a sinking feeling in his chest.)

there’s nothing to be done about it. satoru swallows the unpleasant taste on his tongue, and drags the door open, closing it behind him with a softness he reserves for you alone.

and there you are.

on the couch, farther away, already looking his way — lips instantly curling up into what he knows will be a smile. this time, it’s laced with excitement. one of his personal favorites. his gaze devours the joy in your features, the glimpse he gets of your teeth, that familiar crinkle of your eyes. 

you’re smiling. at him. you smile and his world wakes up, it’s dyed in different shades of blue, it’s brimming with life and love and something too good not to kill for. you smile and everything is right, good, worth it. you smile and it's as if the blood has been washed off his hands.

suddenly, all is well again. satoru exhales a blissful little breath.

“‘m home, honey,” he grins, a light pink dusting his cheeks, hanging his coat up before turning to face you. arms wide open. “did you miss me?”

his heartbeat stutters when you practically engulf him, all giddy giggles and that perfect smile, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. “mhm,” is what you chirp, pressing kisses down his collarbone, and he has to bite down on his lip to stop the shivers trailing down his spine. he tastes iron, but laps it up with a coo. sickly-sweet.

“missed you too, precious,” he purrs. “sorry i was gone for so long — had to take care of something.” 

he cups the back of your skull with his palm, large and crafted just to hold you, and marvels at how much you trust him. how you’re melting into his chest, fitting into every crevice of his heart. he wants to keep you there forever. forever and ever, always within reach, always close enough to touch. 

but he also wants you to be happy. he wants to see you run away, wherever the wind takes you, if only so he’ll get to feel you jump into his arms again, when you’ve had your fill of the world. when you come home to him, where you both belong.

satoru would never cage you. never, never, never. he wants you to enjoy your life — confining you wouldn’t do any good, would only stifle that pretty smile he loves so dearly. he wants your world to be large, brimming with life, blooming with fervor, wants the air to be clear enough for your beautiful lungs. he couldn’t build a world for you, here, in this apartment. no matter how big or luxurious. 

so his only option is to bend the world into a kinder shape — twist and mold until it forms a path good enough for you to follow.

(it’s worth it, he knows, he’ll always know. it’s worth it to see that smile.)

“is that a new coat?” you ask, naive and innocent, and it breaks him out of his thoughts, attention wired to the lilt of your voice.

“yeah.” it’s stylish, expensive, a nice shade of black. he had to throw the last one away. “looks nice, right? i’ll get you the same one, pretty.”

“you don’t have to, toru!” you hurriedly exclaim, knowing he’ll jump at the opportunity to spoil you. “i like the one i have now!”

satoru pouts. a soft huff, right by your ear. “you don’t wanna wear matching coats?” he feigns sadness, scratching softly at your scalp, drinking up the little purrs that bubble up in your throat. 

and you giggle. you giggle and all he can think is worth it, worth it, worth it. a stained coat or two means nothing. the blood on his hands is just insurance. 

“well, when you put it like that…” you shift a little, curling your arms around his neck, breathing him in. he wonders if you can smell the cleaning detergent. “i guess i wouldn’t mind a new coat.”

and he grins. “right? want me to buy you new shoes while i’m at it? some jewelry?” he peppers kisses down your neck, amusement laced in his voice. “the whole store?”

again, those giggles. again and again. he laps them up like fine wine. “okay, that’s too much.”

“but you deserve it!” he whines, sickeningly sweet. sick to his stomach with love. “been working so hard, my angel.”

and, suddenly — you light up. his little firefly. brightening, inhaling a giddy breath. pulling away, a little, and he does his best to bite back the frown on his face. you’re practically beaming, sunshine personified, eyes glittering with giddy joy.

“right! i almost forgot!” 

then you’re skipping away, happily, to retrieve your phone. and he knows what you’re going to show him, but still feigns surprise when he sees the score on your exam, that perfect 100 on the screen. still makes an expression of shock that he knows will get you to laugh, still picks you up and spins you around and tells you how proud he is.

he almost, almost feels bad, seeing you smile so wide; at what you assume to be the fruits of your own labour. almost feels ashamed, knowing that perfect 100 wouldn’t exist without the knife at your professor’s throat.

but, then again, this is how it should be. those numbers are the fruits of your own labour, because satoru is a part of you. and you deserve it, deserve it more than anyone — he knows you would have gotten it, even without his help, if your professor was competent enough to see your brilliance. 

satoru smiles. he is proud of you. and this is exactly how it should be. he’s just bending the world into its rightful shape, cutting strings from a wrongly woven web, righting the wrongs of the people around you.

you, you, you. the only thing that exists.

all of him is for you.

”i knew you could do it. never doubted you for a second, baby,” he smiles, so wide his cheeks hurt, and you return it with a kiss to his jaw. 

”thank you. i’m just so relieved,” you exhale a breath, heavy, and it’s like he can practically see the stress melting from your shoulders and eyes. worth it, worth it, worth it. ”gosh. i’m gonna sleep like the dead tonight.”

”as you should,” satoru chirps, pinching your side. softly, brimming with fondness. ”but before that, we’re gonna celebrate. all day. and tomorrow too!”

another smile coaxed from your lips; this time, it’s a little bit shy. bashful, at the praise, his endless excitement. so precious he wants to kiss you breathless. give you all the air in his lungs.

so precious that he forgets about everything else. 

this is what you always do to him; wrap him up in a blanket of your love, cloud his veins with a nectar so sweet he takes the leap into your arms without a second thought. a foolish, lovesick butterfly, sticking to a single rose; dripping with honey, overflowing. the butterfly is too drunk on love to care. 

you’re his flower, his joy, the most useful form of anesthesia. with you in his veins, on his mind, your lips on his jaw — satoru can pretend that his hands are clean. that they always have been.

it all slips from his mind. your professor, the creep who catcalled you yesterday, that one classmate you’ve been complaining about recently. he forgets that they even exists, and satoru thinks that must be what love is: something that narrows your world down until you can make a home out of it. 

(something worth holding onto, no matter the cost.)

as always, it’s your voice that snaps him out of the trance he’s in. turning around at the sound of your call, the orpheus to your eurydice, too in love to save you from himself. you’re both getting ready to head out, dressing up for a well-deserved date. 

satoru feels himself smile. he does the dirty work, and you get to reap the rewards. heaven on earth.

“oh, by the way! would you want to have dinner with my parents tomorrow?” you meet his absent gaze with a tilt of your head. “they’ve been asking about you again. it’s such a headache, seriously.”

satoru giggles, barely containing how delighted he is. raising a playful brow. “oh? grumpy that you aren’t the favorite child anymore, hm?”

“okay, first of all —“ you stifle a giggle, pulling a drawer open, rummaging through it. freshly washed clothes. he washes most of your things. “you aren’t their child. and second of all —“

“— yet.”

a pause. 

satoru watches your gaze flick over to him, then back to the drawer, collecting yourself. a cute flush to your cheeks. “… whatever.” you clear your throat. “second of all — i don’t like how much they like you. what kinda spell did you put them under? it’s always satoru this, satoru that!”

a huff fills the air, and you mutter something that sounds a little like mocking, an obnoxiously imitated where’s satoru? that makes him chuckle into his fist. 

he shrugs. “i’m just a natural charmer, y’know? and, for the record; i would love to have dinner with them.” he sends you a wink, playful, and you roll your eyes. “are you joining us?”

a bout of laughter pushes past your lips, and satoru thinks he could die happy — just soaking up the joy that spills from out your throat. he wishes he could live in it, paint your house in it, wear it. he wants your joy to be all he ever feels. he feels sick at the idea of ever being out of earshot for it.

“yes, i’m joining you.” your scoff is dripping with humour. ”i’d hate to be the fourth wheel, but it is what it is.”

satoru stifles a grin. ”lucky me. three beauties all to myself,” he drawls, a seductive lilt to his voice, just to hear that little noise you always make with the back of your throat. vaguely disgusted.

”you’re so gross.”

a coo. like the buzzing of a bee. ”don’t be jealous, honey. know you’re my favorite, don’t you?” satoru smiles — more sincere than you’ll ever know. ”could never love anyone else.”

”so my parents are in second place?” you quirk a brow, amusement lacing your words, and he clicks his tongue. 

”well, they made you. i’d have to be a fool not to worship artists of such caliber.” 

”charmer.”

”yours.” the word is a knife at his throat, a stain on his coat, a love so heavy it’ll burn him alive. ”only yours.”

and again, you smile. all he can think is that you deserve everything, everything he could ever give you. it’s all he can think as you go about your day, as he leads you outside, as he watches that flicker of joy dance inside your iris. as he watches you walk wherever your heart takes you.

the thought remains when you return home, when you wrap yourselves up in blankets and he throws a leg over your waist and you curl an arm around his ribcage. it’s all he can think. 

satoru was born to be of service — to someone, to the world, to something or another. he was born to carry a weight on his back, so why not bear the weight of your burdens?

all he wants is to protect you. all he’ll ever need is that smile on your face. he was always bound to be just this: a dog at your heels, a halo around your head, the watchful eye keeping you safe from everything rotten in this world. he’s the butterfly, the spider, the web itself. and he’ll never let you be tangled up in it.

he was born to be of service to you. so service you he will, until it all comes back to bite him.

“satoruuu — stop stealing the blanket!”

he prays it never will.

[larcenywrites]

any headcanons about what dating logan/wolverine might be like? 👀

I can try 😮‍💨 just like with sabretooth, I worry I can’t properly capture him… but we can always dabble around with ideas!

Wolverine x Reader

Warnings: definitely has nsfw | one line does refer to reader being AFAB |

🍺 Sigh… the real question is, how are you going to get in a relationship with this man 😒

🍺 Never mind whether he’s still pining after Jean or not, the guy just refuses to commit 🙄 doesn’t matter if you’ve fucked or not.

🍺 But let’s skip that whole dramatic montage and say you did manage to finally tie him down just a little 🤏

🍺 It’s not like Logan doesn’t have fun or smile or know how to love! But when it comes to an actual bona fide relationship… it’s just harder to comfortably do those things. He’s lived a long time, been through nearly every type of trauma, hates himself for what he is half the time, and, while it hides well behind all that attitude, he’s afraid of a lot of things— from himself to the world.

🍺 So it makes it hard for him to love like that. Feelings are kinda hard for him to talk about 😔 at least, at first. Later on it gets easier, and while his tone may still be soft and gruff and he might sound reserved, but he won’t shy away from any sweet pillow talk anymore 🥺 though… any specific topics pertaining to a future… he’s probably a little more eager to switch to something else 😣

🍺 He’ll definitely be all growly if you start playing with his hair 😤 believe it or not, he’s a little particular about his grooming, and still a little funny about being unexpectedly touched at times— even by his partner.

🍺 But perhaps the real show of love here is the fact that he still won’t stop you 🥲

🍺 Usually the free time he has is spent fucking shit up in the danger room or drinking at his favorite spot, but he will actually take you on dates that don’t involve either! (But let’s be honest, it’s kinda hot to watch him tear shit up sometimes 😏)

🍺 It’s canon that Logan enjoys some broadway musicals! And while it’s not its favorite thing to have to do, he can dress up quite nice 😘

🍺 Actually a horndog 😮‍💨 For a guy that’s always going on about controlling his raging animal or whatever, he sure doesn’t have much control when his sexual partner even looks at him the wrong way 🙄 Maybe it’s all the energy he can never quite get out, or maybe it’s because he goes without for a while at a time, but definitely don’t be surprised when, upon finally getting to share his bed, you don’t get very much sleep 😘

🍺 Unfortunately(?) the dude can smell horniness, which will get him going no matter what his current situation is 🤭

🍺 I know this man eats pussy like nobody’s business 🥴 literally pouncing on you 🥴 maybe a rather hard bite to your thigh before just literally diving in, but otherwise probably won’t do much foreplay, especially nothing all loving and sweet.

🍺 Surprisingly a cuddler? But not, like, when you do it :/ a selective cuddler, we’ll call him. He’ll roll over and trap you in a bear hug ��� but no matter if you are taller or shorter than him, he’s gonna be face planted in your shoulder blades

🍺 one of those people that will not be little spoon 😒😒😒😒😒 you might get away with it if you catch him already in bed and you just crawl on top of him and wrap around him 🤭

🍺 but he’s definitely a sucker for having you lie on his chest 🥺🥺🥺🥺 he’ll probably sigh as if you’re bothering him, but it’s kinda like that thing dogs do when they get comfy and sigh loudly 🥰

🍺 it’s counterintuitive, but tbh the more you shower him with love the more he low key hates himself… but he still definitely enjoys it! He actually does love to be loved! A little shy about it, though.

🍺 don’t be afraid to kiss his hand right where his claws come out 😘

🍺 not necessarily jealous as much as he is protective…

🍺 well, he does get a little possessive…

🍺 sometimes might be petty af if you try to come into bed smelling like someone who’s pissed him off that day (many people piss him off every day)

🍺 like it’s not your fault you were in the same general area as Cyclops for longer than ten minutes and Wolfie over here can smell that 😒

🍺 When he’s done throwing his pity party, though, you get way-too-tight cuddles though so it’s a win? How else are you supposed to smell like him again?

[heartfullofleeches]

While the psychological mindfuxking Host puts Darling through in order to wear them down into being his co-host is honestly one of the most fun things to write, I live for Darlings who were never appreciated in their own time and suck up all the praise he gives them for their talents.

Crafty Reader who also dabbles in a bit of inter decorating winds up on Host's show and their immediate first thought is "Damn, bitch- You host a game show on this stage?"

It's cute- but a little outdated. Where's the passion? The irritatingly bright neon signs that burn their eyes from a mere glance. Potted plants??? Anything??

Normally Host isn't one to tolerate guests that interrupt his opening speech, but as Darling goes off on their tangent Host is left stumped - stupefied, damn near mesmerized by that fire in their eyes. He can't say they aren't wrong either- Props come and go as Host wishes, but the stage is a bit lacking without them. Not contestants don't stick around long enough to point it out, but with his newest and top pick for co-host right in front of him perhaps it's time for a few changes.

"Congratulations! You won today's show Give our fans a big smile and wave goodbye to our losers."

"I won?...but you didn't even ask me any questions."

"Oh, you- If answering questions was the only way to win here no one would."

Darling is whisked away by stage hands into a bedroom- The room is deprived of any furniture beyond a bed, a large chest propped against the farthest wall, and a table upon which an old sewing machine sits. It looks a bit like the one they had back home, but the label is made up of jumbled letters and symbols. How are they supposed to use the darn thing without any supplies anyway?

Darling inspects the chest and finds.... pretty much everything tucked away in their small bedroom, their real bedroom that they use for their projects. No construction paper, though.....

Oh. There's some.

Darling quickly discovers that whatever they require appears in the chest whenever they're vocal with their requests. On occasion, the chest acts without their say and pulls the thought from their mind before they're able to speak. It isn't long before the empty space is fully stylized to their personality and presences. Darling thinks they did a great job. The teddy bear on their bed believes so too.

.....When did that get there?

Darling may have won his show, but Host is the real winner when he see what Darling has done to his stage. Host are extended by another hour....or year with how long he brags to guests about Darling's craftsmanship. Time is a tricky thing to keep track of when the watches you wear flop between ticking backwards or at a snails pace.

"Thoughts on those name plates? Our brilliant co-host made them for you all- Are you lucky? I of course have my own, but- Oh, come now. I know this is top quality work, but there's no need to scream. Give our co-host a hand for all their hard work....Or lose both."

[tresmoonies]

Hey, I'm (we're) Steven (Marc, and Jake), otherwise known as... Moon Knight(s)!

I work at the National Art Gallery in London, UK. I'm a gift shop employee, but also a huge, huge nerd enthusiast when it comes to Ancient Egypt. Myths, histories, relics, you name it.

I'm a mess, yeah, but I'm here to enjoy myself. I hope you do too.

Cheers!

--

Hi 👋 Mun here, just thought it might be nice to add in an intro and some guidelines.

I'm a burnt out and chronically sleep-deprived uni student; this means I may post something that doesn't make sense/my English gets fucked up/I might not understand all your asks if you use too much jargon (that's also because I don't know too many. I apologize in advance.).

NSFW is fine, flirting is fine, I'm open to rp starters and other whatnot. Approach me, ask me questions, send me fun little drabbles.

I do write long/short fics and oneshots, but I've never posted them before. If y'all want some I could give it a try (but I'm sure I'll be horrible at it, lmao).

Now, Jake's character does require me to use Spanish here and there. My knowledge of said language is terribly limited, so I'll be dabbling in translators from time to time. I'm fluent in Chinese, English, and Korean, so if needed I can whip 'em out.

That's it for now! Don't hesitate to reach out, I hope you have as much fun here as I do :)

[mrs-dot-kennedy]

What if Henry met his very own muse? His very own Helen or Penelope? His soulmate. his constant. who is there for him always. Someone who truly understood who he is?

also? Romantic and fluff please. because…

*gestures at what’s happening with everything*

I loved this request! Slightly ooc Henry? Idk

Of quiet devotion-Henry Winter

There’s something about Henry Winter that unsettles people.

Not in the conventional sense — not in the way of stifled menace or antisocial awkwardness — but in that quiet, glacial intensity of a mind burning so cold it might as well be fire. You’d heard about him long before you met him. He is the sort of myth that travels faster than truth in a place like Hampden.

The Classics building is far from yours, but the walls talk, and the walls always talk about Henry Winter.

The prodigy. The recluse. The snob.

The genius with an umbrella for a cane and a mouthful of Homer.

The student who would tutors professors.

The boy who translated Catullus into German for fun.

But that’s not who you meet.

No. The Henry you meet is no myth. He’s worse — he’s real.

You run into him, quite literally, outside the east library at dusk. It’s raining lightly, just enough to cast everything in wet gold, and your satchel is too heavy, full of marginalia and Norton anthologies and pages of painstaking notes on Milton that may as well have been written in blood. You’re late. He’s early.

You round the stone arch of the library entrance, turning too sharply, and there he is. Tall. Stark. Damp around the collar of his dark wool coat, a book under one arm. His umbrella tilts just slightly, and in your scramble to not knock into him, you drop everything.

He doesn’t move.

For a moment you both just stare. You — crouched, hair clinging to your cheek, fingertips brushing the wet corner of your annotated Paradise Lost. Him — marble-still, eyes unreadable behind wire-rimmed glasses.

Then — a voice, dry and precise:

“You’re holding Book Nine upside down.”

You blink. And laugh, despite yourself.

“You’ve read Paradise Lost?” you ask, brushing rain from the cover.

He tilts his head. “In Latin, yes. Once.”

Only once. Of course.

You should be annoyed. You should think he’s insufferable. And maybe, in the tiniest way, you do. But something in you — something well-worn and brittle and too clever for its own good — curls toward him like a vine straining for light.

He doesn't offer to help pick up your books. Of course not. Instead, he watches as you gather them, as your fingers nearly tremble under the weight of wet paper and shame. But when you stand, he says your name.

He knows it.

Of course he does.

“Come,” he says then, with that quiet authority of his. “You shouldn’t be in the rain.”

You become a habit before you become anything else.

Henry is not the sort to fall — he allows. Permits. Resigns himself to what already seems inevitable.

And you — you are inevitable.

You appear in the corners of his days like a recurring verse. He begins to expect you: the way your fingers brush over the spines in the library’s poetry section, the whisper of your laughter in the quad, the way you fall asleep at the library table without meaning to, cheek pressed to your sleeve, pen still caught between your fingers.

He says very little at first. Henry is not a conversationalist. He does not dabble in small talk or exchange passing pleasantries — not even with you. But he listens.

He listens when you talk about Donne’s holy sonnets and the loneliness of blank verse. He listens when you dissect Brontë with surgical precision, when you confess how badly you want to translate Ovid’s Heroides as a thesis even though you’re “not in the department.” He listens to you read aloud. To your questions. To your silence.

He listens with the same reverence he has for Julian, and that is the highest honor he can give.

You learn Henry’s rhythms like you learn meter.

He does not smile much, but when he does — and it’s only for you, only ever for you — it is soft and so rare that it stuns you. He walks slower when his leg aches, though he will never admit it. His migraines arrive like storms, and when they do, he retreats. Withdraws. Says nothing for hours. You don’t ask questions when it happens. You simply stay.

You dim the light.

You bring tea.

You sit at the foot of his armchair and read aloud — Eliot or Pindar or even Austen, because he pretends to hate her and doesn’t — and when he finally speaks again, voice dry and pained, it’s only to say: “I can always hear your heartbeat.”

You don’t know what he means. You’re not sure he does either.

He never asks you to stay.

But you do.

When the cramps in his leg keep him from sleeping, you kneel on the threadbare rug in his apartment and press your fingers to the muscle just beneath his knee. You don’t ask. You simply watch for the twitch in his jaw, the barely-there tension that means pain.

“Too much?” you ask.

“No.” His voice is a whisper. “Continue.”

Your touch is gentle but firm, and when you ease the pain — slowly, quietly — he looks at you as if you’ve done something miraculous.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says once.

“I know.”

He never says thank you. That word feels foreign on his tongue. But he watches you like you’re a cipher he intends to study for the rest of his life. And if you leave — even just to brush your teeth or fetch a book from your dorm — he asks where you’re going in a voice too casual to be casual.

“You are,” he says one night, unexpectedly, “my Helen.”

You look up from your copy of The Iliad. “Because I might start a war?”

“No,” he replies simply. “Because I would burn a city to find you again.”

You begin to leave little things behind in his apartment.

Not on purpose, not really. It starts with a pair of reading glasses you didn’t even realize you had brought over until he places them on the table beside your annotated copy of Middlemarch, the bridge of them newly polished, as if he’s been keeping them safe. Then it’s a scarf. A mug. A faint trace of your perfume on his favorite blanket.

He never mentions any of it.

He just lets your things collect, lets your presence saturate the quiet rooms like dust in sunlight — inevitable, undisturbed.

Some nights, you sit on the windowsill while he writes, your knees drawn up, spine curved, your head against the cool pane of glass. The light catches in your hair. You never notice, but Henry does.

“You fall asleep like a child,” he tells you once, his voice low and unreadable.

“Sorry,” you murmur, shifting groggily, blinking.

“Don’t be.”

When you drift off, your fingers curled in the edge of his coat (you’d pulled it over your legs without thinking), Henry watches you for a long time. He doesn’t wake you. He only marks his page, closes the book with reverent care, and sits beside you.

He does not touch you. Not then.

He simply watches the rise and fall of your breath.

As if he’s afraid you might disappear.

Henry says he doesn’t like sweets.

But you’ve been paying attention.

You see the way his eyes linger on lemon tarts in bakery windows, the way he lets a square of dark chocolate dissolve slowly on his tongue as if he’s performing a sacrament. He never buys it himself. Never indulges in front of anyone else.

But you — you begin slipping them into your shared library bag. Macarons. Candied orange peel. Almond sugar cookies wrapped in wax paper. You never hand them to him. You just leave them there.

Sometimes he pretends he doesn’t notice. Sometimes they vanish without a word. And sometimes — rarely — he hands you half a sugar-dusted pastry without looking you in the eye and says, with painful formality, “This one was particularly good.”

Once, you bring him a slice of baklava from a Greek deli — from a trip out of state you went to with your friends. You find it days later — carefully wrapped, carefully hidden — still uneaten in a shelf of his fridge.

You confront him. “You didn’t like it?”

“I didn’t want to ruin it,” he says, with a frown you can’t quite interpret. “It was… too thoughtful.”

Your laughter surprises you both. “That’s a ridiculous reason not to eat dessert.”

“You’d understand,” he murmurs, “if you were me.”

Henry doesn’t sleep much.

When he does, it’s uneasy. Fitful. Occasionally laced with murmurs in Greek. His dreams aren’t nightmares — not quite — but you can tell by the creases in his brow that they’re not kind, either.

So when he wakes with a sharp breath, spine taut and hand gripping the edge of the blanket like a man half-drowned, you’re already there.

You press a hand to his arm. Gently. Warm.

“You’re alright.”

He closes his eyes for a moment. Breathes.

You don’t ask what he dreamed.

Instead, you shift beside him in the narrow bed — both of you fully clothed, half-covered in notes and folded books — and rest your hand over his, anchoring him.

“I can’t remember what it was,” he says softly.

“That’s alright. I’m here,” you whisper. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And you mean it. You always mean it.

He doesn’t believe in soulmates. Or destiny. Or fate. Not in the romantic sense.

To Henry, fate is Greek — an unyielding moral logic that has nothing to do with love. Fate is Cassandra, fated to be disbelieved. Fate is Orestes, murdering for honor. Fate is suffering carried out with mathematical elegance. Fate is death, inevitable and absolute.

But then there is you.

And you are not tragic.

You are not symmetrical or prophetic or bloody.

You are soft flannel and ink-stained fingertips. You are the curve of a question asked at the right moment. You are stillness in a library carrel, the rustle of paper, the scent of old books and Earl Grey tea.

You are his — in the way the moon belongs to the tide — and he never expected you. Not here. Not in this century. Not in this life.

“I don’t understand you,” he says one evening. Not accusatory. Just quietly perplexed.

You look up from your Latin translation.

“Why do you stay?”

You blink. “With you?”

He nods, eyes trained on the polished wood of his desk.

You consider it.

“Because I see you,” you say finally. “I mean really see you.”

That makes him look at you.

“I see the way you hold yourself like you're two steps from collapse but won't let anyone know. I see how you quote Virgil under your breath when you're anxious. How your hands tremble when your head aches. I see how you wait for people to leave you before you ever let them close.”

He says nothing. His expression is unreadable. You can’t tell if you’ve gone too far.

Then, softly:

“Don’t ever leave.”

You reach for his hand.

“I’m not going to.”

And he doesn’t cry. Of course not. Henry Winter does not cry. But something in his face unknots, and in that moment you understand: this is what trust looks like, when offered by someone who has only ever relied on himself.

You are his constant.

Winter arrives like a cathedral bell — sudden, echoing, holy.

Hampden grows colder. Whiter. The trees stretch their bare limbs toward a colorless sky, and the snow falls soft and unhurried, like ash from a divine fire.

You find him, one evening, standing motionless in the middle of the quad, eyes skyward, snow clinging to his lashes.

He looks like something out of time. Out of myth.

“Hades in a wool coat,” you say quietly, stepping up beside him.

He doesn’t look at you.

“You’re late,” he says.

“For what?”

He shrugs. “Whatever it is we’re always doing.”

You smile. “You mean studying.”

“No. That’s not what I meant.”

He doesn’t elaborate. He never does.

Instead, he turns, holds out his arm, and you link yours with his. The snow keeps falling. You walk in silence.

The library is near-empty, as it always is this time of night. You settle at your usual spot: west-facing window, second floor, two cracked leather chairs and a small table between. You lay your books down. He lays nothing down — he never carries what he doesn't need.

You think he won’t speak again. That he’ll sit in his usual contemplative stillness, fingers steepled, eyes distant. But tonight he surprises you.

“I used to think people were unknowable,” he says, voice low, precise. “At best, shadows flickering on the wall. At worst, distractions. Temporary. Misunderstood.”

The snow drifts against the library window, soft and spectral. You sit beside him, knees almost touching. His fingers brush the spine of the closed book between you, idle, as if coaxing it to speak.

“I made peace with solitude a long time ago,” he continues. “I even mistook it for strength. Silence was structure. Coldness—control.”

A breath. Barely audible.

You glance up, but he’s not looking at you. He’s watching the snow outside, as if the answer might be written in the air.

“But then there was you.”

A pause. Not for drama — Henry doesn’t do that — but because it costs him something to say it.

“You didn’t ask to know me. You just… stayed long enough to see what no one else bothered to look for.”

Your throat tightens.

“It's disarming,” he admits, with a faint exhale. “Like hearing your own voice spoken back to you by someone who’s never heard it before and getting it exactly right.”

You don’t speak — you can’t, not yet — but your hand finds his, and he threads his fingers through yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And somehow, it is.

Later that night, he reads to you in bed.

Your head is on his chest, the worn collar of his linen shirt brushing your temple. His voice is soft and unwavering, reciting Virgil in Latin, translating aloud only when you ask.

“…et si non aliqua nocuisses, mortuus esses,” he murmurs. “and if you hadn’t hurt him somehow, you’d have died.”

You tilt your head. “That’s morbid.”

“It’s the Eclogues,” he replies. “You’d be disappointed if it weren’t.”

You smile against his chest.

“You know,” he adds, brushing his thumb along the side of your arm, “I used to think all beauty was tragic. That all things worth loving had to end in destruction.”

“And now?”

He’s quiet for a moment.

“Now I think… maybe some things are beautiful because they last.”

You don’t know if he means you.

But you feel the answer in the way his arms wrap around you — not possessive, not desperate — just sure.

Sure, in the way gravity is sure. In the way night always follows dusk.

Weeks pass. Months.

He remains as he is — strange, brilliant, sharp-edged — but with you, the edges soften. The cold thaws.

He still wears black, still quotes Pindar without warning, still speaks in riddles and gives answers that sound too rude. But now he holds your hand under the table in Julian’s office. Now he buys your favorite tea without being asked. Now he touches the inside of your wrist when you’re nervous, just lightly — as if to remind you: I’m here.

And when his migraines come — as they always do — he no longer faces them alone.

You draw the curtains.

You make the room silent.

You lie beside him, your forehead pressed gently to his shoulder, and wait. Just wait. Like you always have.

“I see you,” you whisper, when the pain lifts and his eyes finally open.

And he smiles — slow and rare and real — and whispers back:

“I know.”

[spitefulsatanfics]

❝ 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐞𝐥𝐥 ❞

headcanons + novella-styled drabbles of how they first met you by little devil 🥀

pairing: Dean, Sam, and Castiel x She/Her Hunter!Reader setting: canonverse Supernatural; pre-established team-free Y/N tone: meet-cutes, tension, banter, sparks — then comfort, warmth, and instant click rating: PG-13 for knifeplay (the monster kind… probably) structure: headcanon per boy + a full detailed drabble to go with it

🥃 Dean Winchester x Hunter!Y/N

First Time Meeting

You met Dean mid-case. Literally ran into him while chasing the same shapeshifter through a sewer tunnel in Nashville. One minute you’re tracking blood, the next there’s a flashlight beam and a gun in your face.

Dean immediately clocked the blade in your hand, your wild eyes, and the way you didn’t back down even a little. That was it. Game over. He was toast.

What sealed the deal? You insulted his car before knowing it was his. He didn’t even get mad—just grinned like he’d been struck by lightning.

“Is That a Butter Knife or Are You Just Happy to See Me?”

You burst through the rusted sewer grate like a bat out of hell, knife in hand, adrenaline kicking your heart into overdrive. The shapeshifter had gone left. You were sure of it. You could smell blood, hear the echoes of wet footsteps—

“Freeze!”

You skidded, boots nearly slipping on wet concrete, to find yourself eye-to-eye with a stranger holding a pearl-handled Colt, arms steady, green eyes sharp.

You didn’t flinch.

“Either shoot or move, cowboy,” you panted. “It’s heading west.”

Dean blinked. Once. Twice. Then he dropped his gun slightly, eyes scanning your gear, your sweat-slick face, your lack of fear.

“Well damn,” he muttered. “You always crash through storm drains like you’re on fire, or is today special?”

You didn’t have time for cute, but still—something about him tugged at you. That lopsided grin. The confidence. The way he didn’t underestimate you.

“Depends. You always point guns at women in alleys, or am I just lucky?”

He gave a short laugh, following you when you took off again.

“You know,” he called behind you, “I usually like dinner first.”

“Kill the shifter,” you called back, “and I’ll consider coffee.”

You didn’t even see him smile, but you could feel it in the way he fell into step beside you like he’d been there your whole life.

📚 Sam Winchester x Hunter!Y/N

First Time Meeting

You met Sam at a dusty old hunter’s library hidden under a Baptist church in Indiana. Both of you reached for the same cursed object case file, and your fingers brushed. Classic.

Sam was immediately intrigued by your sharp intellect and the way you mumbled lore to yourself like a language only you understood. You had annotations in your notebook that matched his word for word.

He started asking you questions. You started finishing his sentences.

He left that library with two things: a solid plan to kill a revenant, and the terrifying realization that he might actually believe in love at first footnote.

“So You Read Latin for Fun?”

Sam looked up from the crumbling leather-bound grimoire in his hands, startled when your voice cut through the silence.

“You’re in the wrong section,” you said, one brow raised, pointing to the shelf he was currently scouring. “That sigil’s Enochian, not Latin.”

His lips quirked. “You speak Enochian?”

You shrugged, setting your own pile of books on the table. “I dabble. Helps when dealing with angels, or exorcisms. Or whatever the hell happened in Denver last week.”

That caught his attention.

“You were in Denver?” Sam asked, stepping forward.

“I was the one who burned the bones,” you said, reaching for a journal. “You left behind your EMF reader.”

He blinked. “You’re that Y/N?”

You looked up slowly, something teasing in your eyes.

“And you’re that Sam? The guy who reverse-engineered a banshee’s call using sound waves?”

You said it like it was either the nerdiest or hottest thing you’d ever heard. Maybe both.

Sam flushed, ears pink. “Guilty.”

You tapped your fingers on the wood and grinned.

“Well, Sammy, looks like we’ve got more in common than curses and Latin.”

👼 Castiel x Hunter!Y/N

First Time Meeting

You met Castiel after getting tossed through a diner window during a case gone sideways. The angel appeared mid-air, caught you with those trench-coated arms like some kind of divine superhero, and said—

“You were falling.”

It was so literal and weird that you laughed through the blood on your lips.

He tilted his head, confused but captivated. You didn’t scream or run. You smiled. That was new for him.

You asked his name. He offered healing.

You offered pie. He accepted.

“You Were Falling”

Glass shattered. Screams echoed. Your body flailed mid-air, the taste of copper hot in your mouth as the world flipped sideways.

Then—

Arms. Warm, solid, inhumanly strong arms catching you as though the laws of gravity had been rewritten just for you.

You blinked up into an impossibly blue gaze. Confused. Calm. Steady.

“You were falling,” the man—no, angel—said. Not like a joke. Not like a pick-up line. Just… a fact.

You coughed. “And you caught me.”

“I did.”

There was something odd about him. Something still. But you could tell one thing: this guy didn’t show up for just anyone.

“You always crash angel-style through diners?” you asked, trying not to wince as you sat up.

He tilted his head. “Only when necessary.”

You chuckled. “Name?”

“Castiel.”

You stared for a moment, memorizing the way he said it like it was carved from ancient stone.

“I’m Y/N,” you offered, shaking his hand like you hadn’t just flown through glass. “Thanks for catching me.”

“Thank you for smiling,” he replied softly. “Most people scream.”

You weren’t sure what he meant. But you knew one thing:

The fall had stopped. But something else had just begun.

𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰 𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘯...

Love at first hunt. 💘🔫👼📚

[chan-hvgs]

Hiiiiiii, it’s me again. Maybe about hyunjin and reader painting but he helps her cuz she’s not really good at it?? lol. Something cute and soft 🥟❤️

The photos above are not mine! They're from pinterest and belong to their rightful owners.

Ship(s)/Characters: Hwang Hyunjin x Reader

Word count: 490

CW: Fluff, kisses, pet names, slight crack?

Summary: You wanted to get closer to your boyfriend by dabbling into his hobbies. Who knew it would be so hard.

The drop cloth balled beneath your knees as you leaned back, staring at the canvas in front of you with a frown. You tilted your head, hoping a new angle would make the colors blend more logically, yet it never did. You’d been fussing over the same patch for what felt like hours, each adjustment somehow making it worse. 

You glanced over at your boyfriend, his legs crisscrossed as his lip was caught between his teeth in concentration, paint covered his hands and face as he worked, each stroke of his brush just as precise as the last smooth, confident—intentional. When he finally sat back for a moment, he shook his wrist out and glanced at you, a smile spreading on his face. 

“Are you done?” He questioned, peeking at your canvas. You turned it toward him with an exaggerated flourish, expecting encouragement. Instead, he let out a strange little sound, one hand flying to his mouth as his shoulders began to tremble, his lips in a tight line. “Oh my Gosh—don’t laugh!” you gasped, swatting at his arm. “It’s just... abstract,” you said between giggles. “Sorry you can’t see the vision.”

Hyunjin burst out laughing, tipping forward to wrap his arms around you from behind, moving behind you and grabbing your wrists in his. He started guiding your arms onto the canvas“You just need a shadow here,” he murmured against your ear. His voice was calm, coaxing. “Watch what happens when we blend this tone with this one... see?” You watched in awe as he guided your hands, patiently explaining how and what he was doing with each stroke of the brush. Your original 3rd gra- no kindergarten level art to something recognizable is still a bit wonky, but with charm. Sure it wasn’t museum level but it was much more advanced. Hyunjin soon sat back, admiring the art. “Look at what you made, baby!” He half teased,  half mused, nudging your arm. You blinked at the canvas in disbelief, mouth slightly open. He smiled, kissing your cheek. He slid his canvas over so that it lay beside yours. His painting was a delicate arrangement of flowers, petals feathered with soft pastels that carried weight—like they meant more than just pretty colors. They always did with him. His emotions lived in his work. Yours was… well. A vaguely recognizable ferret. Maybe. It had big eyes. It was supposed to be the male beside you. You hoped he’d never figure that out based on the way it looks now. The male in question leaned over, kissing your cheek, “We really do make great art, darling,” he said, nudging your shoulder affectionately. You leaned into him, eyes still on the canvases in front of you, “Only because you saved it.” He shrugged, there was a pause, warm and lingering, as you looked at the two pieces side by side—his, full of soul; yours, a mess honestly. And somehow, together, they made sense.

(A/N: Ahh hi!! Thanks so much for requesting again, this was so cute and fun to write!! @mariam-ra I hope you enjoy! I wrote this pretty late at night so I hope it doesn't have to many mistakes! Let me know if there is! As always I hope you're all taking care of yourselves! Remember to eat a good meal and drink some water! You are loved! Have a good day/afternoon/night! Love y'all! -🐝)

[you-call-it-a-dude]

Call It What You Want Pt.3

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6

Summary: You get together with your friends to catch up on life and they're skeptical about what you're doing with Regina. A house party at Shane Oman's house gives Regina the chance to prove them wrong

Pairings: Regina George x Gender Neutral/Fem Reader

Warnings: internalized homophobia, underage drinking, drug use (there's some coke involved, but nothing too crazy I promise)

Notes: Hi! Chapter 3 and I'm just having so much fun with these. Listen, I know there's another party, but it's college. I'm keeping it realistic lol but also, next chapter will be a small time jump and they'll get more well established. Just trying to have some fun and build it up and see how things are shifting I guess?? Anyway, I really hope you like this chapter as well and thank you all for taking the time to read. Also, slight mention of drug use, but just a little dabble. But TW just in case. But I kept it not super crazy and kinda light for that reason

///

You were at your desk with your headphones on, doing your best attempt to do the readings for one of your classes that was due tomorrow. You always had a tendency to wait until the last minute for things, citing the excuse that working under pressure helps you think better. College may be testing the limits of that theory, but so far you haven't failed anything horrendously. It's only been a month since classes started though so there's still time.

Two arms wrapped around you from behind, caressing your chest and collarbone. You shot forward in your seat, ripping your headphones off your head and whipping your chair around to confront your roommate for majorly crossing a fucking boundary when you were met with a laughing Regina instead.

"Chill out, it's just me. Your roommate let me in before they left."

You stared up at her waiting for your heart to calm down. Though, staring at her wasn't doing you much good cause now it was just beating faster in a whole different way.

She was dressed up, her oversized designer purse that she uses for her backpack was sitting by your doorway so you know she must have stopped here right after class.

Something about that makes you feel all warm and giddy inside.

You also try not to think about the fact that you haven't seen her in like almost two weeks though.

"What brings you by?" You leaned forward, resting your forehead against her stomach and closing your eyes when her hands find their way to your scalp, massaging softly.

"I wanted to see you. I've just been busy with classes and soccer stuff lately." She gave your hair a tug so you would tilt your head back and look at her.

"When's your first game?" You questioned, your hands finding the backs of her thighs because that's what was within your reach and you almost felt like if you weren't touching her right now, you would implode.

"We've already had like three games."

"Oh." You said, your eyebrows furrowed. The hands on the back of her thighs faltered slightly and you didn't realize how much you wanted to be present at one of her games until you basically found out you were probably never going to be invited.

"Why the face?" She frowned, rubbing her thumb between your eyebrows to essentially try to get you to fix your face.

"Can I come see you play?"

"Uh," her voice was a touch higher than normal and you knew whatever was about to fly out of her mouth was either going to be a lie or something you probably didn't want to hear.

"Don't worry about it." You shook your head and gave her a tight lipped smile, leaning back in your chair.

"Stop, don't be like that." She straddled your lap and you tightened your grip on the back of her thighs because the last thing you needed was for her to fall. "I just can't have any distractions while I'm there."

"No, yeah. That makes sense." You agreed for the sake of moving past this conversation, but you also weren't really looking at her either. She gripped your face with both her hands, forcing you to look at her.

"Stop, Y/N." Her tone sounded less playful and you knew you just needed to let it the fuck go. You nodded and she squeezed your cheeks, pushing your lips out and planting a kiss on your lips. You quickly caught her lips for a second kiss before she could pull away and you could feel her smile against your lips.

She slid her hands down and cupped your neck, deepening the kiss. You could feel her rubbing her thumbs along your jawline and having Regina George sitting on your lap kissing you has to be what heaven feels like.

"I have to finish my homework." You mumbled against hers lips, pulling her closer to you by the backs of her thighs. She responds by grinding down into you, shaking her head no. You gasped when her hips moved against you again and she wasted no time slipping her tongue into your mouth.

"Fuck your homework." She said before bringing you in for another heated kiss.

It was tempting. God, it was so fucking tempting. The way she was grinding against you was making your brain short circuit so you know trying to get anything done would be impossible.

"Stay here with me and hangout." You pulled away from the kiss to look at her, pushing some stray hairs from her face. "Ren will be gone for a while. It'll just be us. I can order pizza, too."

"Ugh, I guess I could do some homework, too." She said begrudgingly.

"You probably should if you want to keep playing soccer."

"You probably should if you want to keep playing soccer." She mocked, rolling her eyes at you.

But the fact that she had her arms draped over your shoulder and had been twirling the hairs at the back of your neck around her finger really made you feel like she was not as upset about spending time with you as she was trying to let on.

"What kind of pizza do you want, beautiful?" You sneak in one more quick kiss because you just couldn't help it.

"Would you judge me if I just said cheese?"

"Never."

You both just stared at each other in silence for a few moments. One of Regina's hands moved to cup your cheek, her thumb swiping against your cheekbone. She leaned in and pressed a soft, slow kiss against your lips.

"I'm gonna change and get everything I need from my room. I'll be back." She gave you one more quick kiss before getting off your lap and you felt almost desperate the way you tried to keep your hands on her until she walked out of reach. So desperate that even having your fingertips on her felt better than nothing.

She took her keys from her bag and left it sitting against your wall. There was no question about whether or not she was coming back. When she closed the door behind her you hopped out of your desk chair and to to work on straightening up your room.

You fixed your bed, moved some clothes out of the way that were in the way. You had this bean-bag lounge chair thing that your mom got you and you pulled it out from the little space between the wall and your dresser where you shoved it because it took up way too much room to keep out daily.

You plopped onto the chair and called to order a large cheese pizza, opting to order from a nicer place instead of Dominos since Regina would be joining you. You got a soda for yourself and a sparkling water for Regina and added two cannolis for dessert.

Regina knocked on your door about twenty minutes later. She was dressed in comfy sweats and a crew neck, carrying a few books and her laptop and charger.

You smiled and stepped aside to let her in.

"Sooo, I have a paper to write that's due tonight that I forgot about. Where can I plug this in?"

"You can take my desk. Let me see." You looked at her charger and nodded. "We have the same one, just use mine and plug your computer in. I only have to do some reading and annotating tonight." You carefully took her charger from her and set it on her bag.

She set all her items on your desk and started to carefully move your stuff to the side, making sure to bookmark the page you were on and to put your laptop to sleep properly before closing it.

You grabbed everything she set aside and set in on your bed, grabbing on the book you needed, your pen, and a highlighter. You took everything to the beanbag chair that was situated slightly behind your desk.

"You're so far away." She commented, turning in your chair to face you with a small pout.

You chuckled and grabbed the back of the chair, dragging it to the small space between your desk and your bed and setting it there. You picked up your book and your pens and plopped down. Regina nodded in approval and turned to her computer.

After twenty minutes of straight reading your eyes needed a break. You closed your book and stretched, looking up at Regina to see her texting. Her computer screen split between an empty google doc and the school portal that actually signed her out for inactivity.

"Have you even started?" Nudging her leg with your foot.

"Hmm?" She hummed, waiting until whatever text she was working on was sent before looking up at you.

"Your paper."

"I will. Relax." She rolled her eyes and made a face at you before turning away. Which actually kind of pissed you off a little.

"Fine. Don't come crawling to me for any fucking help then." You adjusted yourself in the beanbag chair, opening your book again and continuing to read.

You could hear Regina typing every once in a while, but when you would look up you would see her doing online shopping or pretty much anything that wasn't homework. You continued to read for almost another thirty minutes until you got a call from the pizza delivery person that they were at the front desk of your dorm.

"Did you pay? Let me pay for it." She stood up, helping you off the beanbag first before attempting to go to her bag.

You pulled her back by her wrist and pulled her into you, wrapping your other arm around her waist.

"I've got it. Don't worry about." You kissed her quickly and patted her lower back before releasing her. "Get the tv remote off Ren's desk and pick something for us to watch while we eat. I'll be right back, babe."

You grabbed your keys and slipped on your shoes so you could head downstairs.

You returned a few minutes later with the box of pizza and the bag with your drinks and dessert.

Regina had cleared off space on multiple surfaces to make room for the food and for you both to eat. She was waiting for you patiently on your bed, laying comfortably against your pillows while scrolling through the streaming app of her choice.

You set the pizza down and got everything situated. Pulling out paper plates and napkins then making plates for the both you. Regina held both your plates while you pulled out the drinks and opened them.

"You got me a drink!" She said excitedly when she saw you pop open her sparking water.

"Yeah, baby!" You set the drinks on the edge of your desk and slid in to bed next to her, taking the outside once again.

You settled on watching Schitts Creek while you ate, having to talk her out of a Real Housewives show and reminding her that she was the one we with a paper due tonight.

You watched one episode while you ate and you watched a second one to 'let your food digest', both of you settling further into your bed. Regina had her head on your chest, rubbing the part of your arm you had wrapped around her that she could reach.

Your biggest mistake was letting her convince you to put on more episode for good measure. Actually, no. Letting her pull a blanket over the both of you was the mistake.

She was out within the first five minutes of the third episode, though your fingertips rubbing her scalp weren't really helping her stay awake.

You gave her until 8:30 before turning off the show and waking her up gently. You kissed the top of her head, calling her name after every kiss until her eyes fluttered open then back closed. She buried herself deeper into your embrace.

You found her cheek and kissed it repeatedly and obnoxiously until she got annoyed enough to wake up. It was a short nap, but you can tell it was a good one just based off the redness in her face from both how she was laying and how warm and comfortable she was.

You pushed hair from her face and handed her her drink, giving her just a few minutes to fully wake up on her own without being rushed.

When Regina was fully awake, you both made your way back to your designated homework spots. You sat more comfortably this time, your legs stretched out with your feet resting on Regina's lap. Something she had actually encouraged you to do which surprised you a little.

You had no complaints about it though. Since her deadline was creeping up on her she was actually doing her work, but whenever she would pause to read something or think about what she wanted to type out next, her hands would find their way to her lap and trace patterns on your shins and ankles to help her think.

She got her paper submitted about five minutes before the deadline. Did she almost have a few mental breakdowns? Yes. Was she cursing out her professor? Also yes. But as soon as it was submitted you could tell she was visibly relieved she got it done.

"When can I see you again?" You asked her, handing her her bag as well as a small ziplock of pizza.

"Tomorrow?"

"I can't tomorrow." You shook your head. "I'm gonna be seeing Ava and Isaac tomorrow."

"Who?" She raised her eyebrow.

"My friends? From North Shore? We are gonna meet up after classes tomorrow."

"Oh."

"What? What's wrong?" You asked, immediately detecting a shift in her mood.

"You're not gonna say anything, right?"

You swallowed the lump in your throat. You were obviously hurt that she didn't want anyone knowing, but also like if she wasn't ready she wasn't ready.

"Yeah, of course. Don't worry about it." You gave her a reassuring smile and despite the night you had together, she left without kissing you goodbye.

---

You met Isaac and Ava at a burger place near your campus that they had been wanting to check out. They both went to a different university in the city so it was nice that getting together wasn't impossible because of distance.

It was just impossible because of life.

You all greeted each other excitedly and ordered your food before getting down to the nitty gritty of your catch up.

Isaac had an STI scare and told you he finally got himself put on PrEP after you had been begging him since the school year started. His parents are also filing for divorce since he and his siblings are all 18 and over which he is actually pretty thankful about cause he was sick of them together. You and Ava were shown a multitude of different Grindr profiles of the guys he's been with, offering praises for the good ones and some reality checks for the questionable folks.

Ava hasn't been too involved in the dating scene. She has begun dabbling in some drugs that were a little heftier than what was usually provided at the house parties thrown by her brother. She did tell you that if you ever hear her mention meth or heroin, that y'all had permission to get her ass to rehab. But right now, it wasn't that serious.

You definitely made them share their locations with you indefinitely though.

"So, Y/N, drop the dirty details. What's been going on with you?" Isaac asked, taking a sip of his soda.

"I've been seeing someone. Maybe? Kind of?" You felt yourself blushing just thinking of Regina.

"What do you mean maybe, kind of?" Ava jumped in defensively. It was her and Isaac's turn to play the concerned friend role with you. "Do you have a picture?"

"I do, but she's not out yet."

"What does that matter we don't know he-oh, we fucking know her don't we? From North Shore?" You nodded and Isaac smacked the table. "At your school??" You nodded again and you could see him thinking, going through the list of everyone in your class that he knew of that went to your school. Which, was not a lot. "I can only think of like five people and two of them are boys." He held up three fingers, putting them down as he went through them. "Lupe Campos, Amira Harris, and Regina George." He put his three fingers back up and wiggled them.

You shifted ever so slightly when he said Regina's name and you and Ava made eye contact. She narrowed her eyes at you and you know you've possibly been found out.

"She doesn't want to be out. I'm not-I'm not confirming anything." You managed to stutter out.

"Shane is having a party tomorrow. My parents are out of town. He invited a bunch of high school people cause you know, he def peaked in high school and can't let that shit go. Are you coming?"

The notorious Shane Oman is Ava's twin brother. Two complete different personalities (almost), but unsurprisingly they're both pretty close to each other since they're twins. Apparently he had been struggling with life lately since graduation so this party is apparently his desperate attempt at finding purpose and popularity again.

"Yeah, I'm down. Could be fun." You shrugged.

"I heard he invited Regina and she will also be going."

Okay, well, see that you didn't know.

"Good for her." You nodded, playing with your fries before pushing your plate away.

"She didn't tell you?"

"Why would she?" Isaac interrupted before you could respond. Neither you or Ava spoke, but the eye contact between the two of you was enough for Isaac to finally connect the dots. He gasped before collecting himself. "Seriously? Regina George?" He said her name barely above a whisper, being conscious of the fact that you said she wasn't out yet.

You didn't tell them, technically.

"She's actually really great and just misunderstood."

"You could make the same argument about polar bears or crocodiles." Ava argued, pushing her hair behind her ear. "You don't think that her coming to her exe's house party and not saying anything to you is, I don't know, suspicious?"

"You never fall for the straight girl." Isaac piped in and Ava snapped in agreement.

"She's just figuring herself out." You defended.

"At your expense, babe! Come on! You know better."

"It's so different when it's only us. She's just scared." Ava gave you a look that could only best be described as pity and it didn't make you feel great.

"I get you, you know I do." Isaac reached across the table and grabbed your hand to give it a reassuring squeeze. "Just be careful."

"No, yeah. I know. I am."

---

You took the Metra to Evanston early Saturday afternoon, bringing a bag with an outfit or two with you and deciding to stop by and visit your dad, step mom, and little siblings.

They all greeted you excitedly and you spent the afternoon playing with your siblings, two year old Levi and 9-month old Zoe. It gave your dad and step mom some time to themselves and it gave you time with your siblings, something you both appreciated.

You started getting ready to go around 7pm. Levi hung out with you until his bed time and when your dad came him to pick him up off your bed, he gave you the speech about being careful, to call him at anytime if you needed a ride, not to drive drunk or get in the car with anyone that has been drinking or doing drugs. Pretty much just covering all his basic before releasing you into the wild.

Isaac picked you up around 9:30pm and when you got there the house was already packed a vibrating. Definitely not to the capacity it used to be since it's a random weekend in the middle of the semester, but still pretty full nonetheless. Regina's pink jeep was parked in the driveway. She must have had the same idea as you and came to Evanston early to see her family.

The fact that she was parked in the driveway and not on the side street or the front lawn made you want to throw the fuck up.

You did particularly enjoy the fact that, as far as you knew, Regina did not know you were coming. You felt like you had the upper hand. You put extra effort into your outfit and your hair. You didn't expect her to talk to you tonight or even acknowledge you if she saw you tonight. But that didn't mean you couldn't make it difficult for her not to.

You walked into the party and past a bunch of people who have never bat an eyelash at your existence in high school. You pushed past the drunk, high, sweaty party goers with Isaac clutching your jacket and guided him through the crowed to the kitchen.

Regina was in that area, drink in hand, talking to Shane, Gretchen, and Karen. When she saw you it was like she saw a ghost. You could tell she didn't expect to see you there and that it threw her off.

You were at the counter where all the drinks were laid out, debating between a bright blue drink and a bright green one. Both looked equally questionable. You felt a presence beside you and you knew it was Regina because you could smell her perfume.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, filling up her own drink and not making any eye contact with you.

"Ava invited me. Shane's twin sister." You added for clarification.

"Shane's twin?" You turned to her to say something, but she looked at you briefly and could tell her comment annoyed you. "I'm kidding. I know he has a twin. I didn't realize your Ava and his Ava were the same." You just nodded, deciding to take a chance on the bright blue drink and putting your cup under the spigot of the cooler it was in and filling your cup.

"You look really pretty tonight." You told her before taking a sip of your drink. She blushed and pushed some hair behind her ear, topping off her own cup.

"So do you." She smiled and took a sip of her drink as well, still not turning to look in your direction.

Karen and Gretchen waved her over and Karen shouted for her to bring them more shots.

"I'm surprised you're talking with them." You made yourself look busy while she prepared their tequila shots.

"Shit is different when alcohol is involved. I miss them a lot sometimes."

"Need help?" You watched her finagle the three plastic shot glasses and the red solo cup in her grip.

"Got it." She moved past you, knocking into your shoulder and making your drink splash over slightly onto your hand.

How she prevented anything from spilling onto her was a fucking mystery.

You found Ava and Isaac in the garage with a few other people, passing around joints and bongs. You took a seat on one of the chairs Ava saved for you and she handed you a joint before your ass hit the seat.

You vibed in the garage for about two joints until Ava pulled out a small bag of coke. That cleared the room quite fast honestly. Only you, Isaac, and two other people stayed with Ava.

She offered it to everyone and Isaac refused immediately. You hesitated to say no and she smirked, asking you if you were interested. That she would make sure it was a small bump and you would be totally okay.

Sure, you had only been drinking and smoking weed prior.

You were too scared to snort it, Isaac calling you 'so real' for that. Instead you were taught how to rub it on your gums and how to let it sit under your tongue instead.

The first fifteen minutes after were great, although seeing your best friend who was like this innocent band nerd just a few months ago snort a line? That was not anything you would want to see again.

You were fine until Gretchen and Karen came in to the garage Regina-less. Something about that had you start to feel a little bit anxious.

They came in asking Ava some question about where something was and she questioned where her brother was and you were out of that room once you heard he was in his bedroom.

You felt anxious, like your heart was going to fly out of your chest. Also, weirdly enough, you felt like you could totally fight someone and win right now.

You made your way to Shane's room and saw the door closed. You turned the knob and it was locked.

"Fuck." You sighed, pressing your head against the door briefly before pulling away.

You dragged your feet down the hall to Ava's room, opening the door and shutting it quickly when you saw the room was already occupied. You made a mental note that you would hopefully remember to tell her to wash her sheets.

You were kinda feeling sick and you didn't want to go back downstairs so you walked to the very end of the long hallway by the window. It was quiet and secluded and you sat with your back against the wall so you could watch all these assholes at the party.

You weren't sure how long you had been sitting there, maybe ten minutes max. You thought it was starting to wear off, but seeing Regina coming down the hallway arguing with Ava, and Isaac hot on both of their heels, had you thinking you were hallucinating.

You leaned forward and the three of them rushed to you, Regina shoving past Ava to get to you first. You heard an 'ooop' escape from Isaac's mouth and you met his gaze with a smirk. He winked and gave you a nod.

Regina was on the floor, kneeling in front of you with your face cupped between your hands.

"Hey, are you okay? You've been missing for a fucking hour." She titled your head up to look at your eyes in the light.

"I've been up here the whole time."

"Well we asked around trying to find you, but got conflicting information. Turns out, people are fucking stupid." Ava jumped in and Regina whipped her head around to give her what you assume was the most foul look both her and Isaac had ever seen judging by their faces.

Clearly Regina and Ava have not been getting along. You squeezed your thighs together at Regina's protectiveness over you then raised an eyebrow at Isaac. He shook his head and gave you a look that told you you'd talking about it at some point later.

"I'm so sorry, guys. I had no idea. I didn't mean to scare you." You still sound a little dazed and confused, trying to figure out how that hour passed in ten minutes.

"What happened?" She asked softly, her hand under your chin and her eyes searching your face.

You thought it over, trying to remember why you even came up here in the first place. You looked around the area and your eyes bounced to Shane's bedroom door. You furrowed your eyebrows, trying to get your brain working again. Regina didn't come from Shane's bedroom. You have confirmation that she's actually been trying to find you for the last hour.

"I don't remember. It's nothing." Your eyes bounced between her face and Shane's door once more and she knew exactly what your thought process was.

She shook her head no and let her thumb brush over your bottom lip quickly when she was pulling her hands off your face. She stood up and helped you up.

"Do you want me to take you back to your dad's?" Isaac asked as soon as you were on your feet.

"What? No. I'm good. Should we get another drink or something?" The last thing you wanted to do was be more of a vibe killer than you already had been. Especially for Regina.

"Yeah! That's what I'm talking about, baby!" Ava exclaimed and gave you a high five. "Want some more?" Ava teased, giving you a playful nudge and you both laughed. She was teasing you, you knew that. Joke or not, Regina didn't like it and you could tell by the way her grip tightened on the back of your shirt. "Seriously though, you should go home. Your eyes are fucking crazy right now."

"Where's my phone?" You asked when you noticed your pockets were feeling a little light.

"I have it. Let's go." Regina tugged your shirt and nudged you forward. "I'll bring you home."

"Nobody has to bring me home. I will take an Uber or call my dad. I'm not ruining anyone's fun. I feel fine guys, honestly." You lied. You felt nauseous and dizzy. Your heart was also racing crazy fast and you aren't sure if it's from the coke or Regina's fingertips against your back. "Also, Ave, people were fucking on your bed. Before I forget."

"Ugh, what the fuck!" She stomped and busted into her room. It was empty now, but very clearly, uh, used. She abandoned you to take care of that mess and you honestly don't even blame her.

"I'm gonna take you. Let's go." She repeated, clearly eager to just get you the fuck out of there.

"I'm gonna walk out with y'all. This party just ain't it for me, honestly." He held his arm out for you and Regina nudged you toward him. You hooked your arm around his and he walked you down the stairs, Regina trailing not too far behind you. "Let me tell you something." He said when Regina was out of earshot after letting you know she was going to get her purse and say goodbye to people.

"Hmm?"

"I thought Regina was gonna beat Ava's ass, girl. She was pissed." He shoved past the last few people on the front porch and led you to Regina's car.

"Really, why?"

"Well, I ran after you trying to find you. You were like a fart in the wind. Just poof, gone. Could not find you. I swear I went upstairs and you were not there, granted, I didn't necessarily look down. I came to Ava to get her to help me find you. Mind you, at this point, Regina came in to look for Gretchen and Karen cause they were still in the garage fighting over some stupid shit with her. Regina came in and overheard I couldn't find you. Ava was dismissive at first, said you would be fine. Regina kept her cool, kept it together. But then," he rested you against her jeep. "But then she said 'it was just a little coke. They're fine.' Honey, if you didn't tell us y'all were sneaking around, she would've gave it away then and there."

"Get the fuck out. What did she do? Wait, shush she's coming." You readjusted yourself when you saw Regina approaching with her bag, a bottle of water, and her clunky keys in hand.

"Talking shit?" Was the first thing out of her mouth as soon as she got close enough, sending a smirk your way while she unlocked the car. "Thank you, Isaac." She said as he helped you get situated in the passenger seat.

"I don't even feel it anymore, guys. I really think I'm fine."

"Mmm mmm." He shook his head, reaching across you to hand Regina your seatbelt to click in. "You need some sunglasses or something you look scary."

"Goodnight, Isaac." You rolled your eyes and he pressed a kiss against your cheek. "Text me when you're home?"

"Of course. You, too, please. I'm calling you tomorrow, too. Night, Regina." He waved at you both before closing the door and making his way to his car.

You both watched in silence waiting for him to get into his car safely.

"You're gonna come to my house tonight." She stated, putting her car in drive and not really giving you an option. She pulled your phone out and handed it to you. "Text your dad. I'll bring you home in the morning."

You unlocked your phone to see a bunch of texts and calls from Isaac, Ava, and mostly Regina. You can tell at some point, they all found your phone or realized you didn't have it because the messages stopped around the same time.

The final message Regina had sent you on their quest to locate you, after a slew of semi annoyed ones, or about how it wasn't funny, or that she was actually worried, was simply just 'baby please'. You stared at the words for a minute, letting the words burn into your brain before you were pulled from your thoughts and asked you if you texted him.

"Oh, yeah. Yes." You shot him a quick message and he responded almost immediately. He must've have been awake watching tv or playing a video game, but he's always been a night owl like that. Especially on weekends. He told you to be safe and to call if you needed anything. "Are you sure it'll be okay that I'm there? I can go home. I really think I'll be okay."

"Stop."

"Okay, sorry." You settled into the seat, turning your knees away from her. You felt bad about ruining the party for her, ruining her night, making her feel like he has to bring you home with her and take of you.

You were probably overthinking and maybe still slightly paranoid, but it just wasn't a great feeling.

She clicked her tongue in annoyance and reached across your seat, grabbing your knee furtherest away from her and giving it a tug so they were back facing her direction. She kept her hand planted firmly on your knee until she pulled into the drive way of her mansion. Which, yeah, understandable.

She parked in what was probably an eight car garage and led you inside of the house. There was a light left on in the main stairway for her, but otherwise it seemed the rest of the house was asleep. When you tried taking your shoes off at the door so you weren't too loud, she told you everyone took their sleeping pills for the night and would be too knocked out to hear a damn thing.

She led you up to her room and closed the door behind her. Your eyes widened, taking in the space. It felt bigger than your mom's apartment.

"Here." She was smirking when she handed you a pair of clothes to wear for the night. A grey long sleeve t-shirt and a pair of pink sweatpants that had 'slut' written on the back.

"You think you're so cleverrrr."

"I do, actually. And funny. Plus, I think I deserve it for what you put me through."

"I want to lay down so bad I'm not even going to fight you on it." You wouldn't admit it aloud, but they did look comfortable.

"And I want a picture."

"Okay, don't push it." You gave her a pointed look. She laughed and kissed your lips once, then a second time. She let the second kiss linger a little longer, her hand resting on your cheek and her body melting into you.

"I'm gonna shower. I don't care what time it is, I'm taking advantage of my big shower before going back to school. Will you be okay?" She swiped her thumbs across your cheeks and you nodded.

"In that big ass bed? Yeah I'll be so good."

Regina left to the attached bath to take her shower and you changed your clothes. You folded your clothes and put them on her chair. You changed into the clothes she gave you and hummed at how comfortable they were.

You climbed into her bed and picked the side you thought would be correct based off how everything was situated. You layed on top of the covers and sighed when your head hit the pillow. The beds at the dorms sucked, but this bed was also comfier than any other bed you've been on.

You closed your eyes, listening to the sound of the water coming from Regina's bathroom. You heard her come out of the bathroom at some point. She was walking around the room, doing a bunch of things but you were too lazy to open your eyes and see what.

The bed dipped and you felt her slide into the space next to you. The smell of her floral body wash and shampoo flooding your sense.

Her lips pressed against your cheek and her hand found it's way up your shirt to rest on your stomach to trace patterns around your belly button. You smiled and squirmed a little cause it tickled. You felt her smile against your cheek and she pressed a quick kiss to your lips before pulling away.

"Hey." You mumbled in protest, cracking an eye open to see she was adjusting the towel for her hair.

She laughed at your impatience and got herself comfortable again, supporting her head with her hand to keep it off her pillows for now. Her other hand found its way to the waistband of your pants, twirling the drawstring.

"These look good on you. Pink is totally your color." You grunted and she laughed through her nose. "I definitely need to see the back in action though. Give me a little turn." She nudged your hip and you let out a loud laugh, turning on your stomach for her. "So gorg, babe!" She was laughing with you, her hand coming down to smack your ass cheek a few times, which sent you both into a fit of giggles.

She wrapped an arm around you and buried her face between your shoulder blades. You tugged her arm to pull her closer to you and laced your fingers together. She shifted behind you and the towel on her head went zooming across the room. You settled deeper into her chest and her grip around you tightened.

"Will you need a ride back to school tomorrow?"

"I was just gonna take the train back."

"Ew, no. I'll take you to get your stuff from your dad's and we can go together

"Cool, thank you." You nodded, feeling yourself start to fall asleep. Regina kissed the back of your head and began to pull away.

"I need to do my skin and hair routine. Get under the covers and go to sleep."

"S'fine." You mumbled, already too far gone and making no effort to move whatsoever.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

You seem like an incredibly well read person, plus someone with a lot of insight into intimacy because of your work. So, in light of your romance book reviews, which are an absolute highlight on your patreon, do you have any insight into what is needed/suggested for a good romance novel?

g o d this is so fucking hard and also really fun to chew on. I want to preface this by saying this is ENTIRELY subjective and based completely on what I *PERSONALLY* find that I enjoy in a romance. this isn't, like, an objective guide on how to write a romance that doesn't suck. that doesn't exist because people like different things, and I'm speaking from one perspective.

also I should say that my preferred flavor of romance novel is solidly contemporary. I haven't read many historicals, certainly not enough to opine well on them, I don't do those mafia dark romances or whatever the fuck, and I've barely dabbled at all in any kind of fantasy romance, whether they're full high fantasy or witchy urban fantasy stories. (although I'm about to do one of the latter next month, you can vote for a book on my patreon rn!)

having gotten all of those caveats out of the way, here's some shit I like and dislike:

there are exceptions to this but broadly, I prefer a POV for everyone involved in the relationship. to me a romance where we're only seeing events from the POV of one member of the relationship automatically makes it seem like one person matters more in a dynamic where everyone should be of equal importance. also, god, if the plot's really going to hinge on not knowing what's going on in one partner's head suggests that miscommunication is going to be a pretty critical part of the plot, and I hate that shit. TALK TO EACH OTHER. I'LL KILL YOU.

on that note, there needs to be an actual compelling reason why the characters can't be together, okay? the #1 driving tension of every romance is "why the fuck can't they be together yet" and you BETTER have a good answer. whether it's interpersonal or external forces, if there's a very easy solution to what's keeping them apart then your characters look dumb and I'm bored. one of the most frustrating romances I've ever read involved two characters who were mutually attracted to each from the JUMP, who refused to act on it because they were coworkers (neither of them in any position of authority of the other, nothing unprofessional or inappropriate about it) and they were "only" living in the same state for A YEAR. A FULL YEAR !!! shut up. get a grip and kiss each other.

now, having said that: whatever your bullshit reason is for these two characters to be interacting with each other, you need to COMMIT to that shit so hard that I, the reader, will feel silly for even questioning the logic. the worst offender I've ever seen on this front is D'Vaughn and Kris Plan a Wedding, which pulls its protagonists together via a reality TV competition and then just... promptly loses any interest in really dealing with the actual realities of being filmed 24/7? it's insanely distracting how little the book engages with its central hook, and was a huge point deduction for me. whereas you have, like, The Bride Test, a book with a premise that skirts dangerously close to a little bit of human trafficking but embraces the whole premise so wholeheartedly that you completely forget about the potentially horrific elements in there. who cares that Esme was bribed here with the promise of a green card if she seduces a man she's never met? there's whimsy happening! we've moved on! it's literally fine and she's in no danger except the danger of a BROKEN HEART.

this one is going to seem SO obvious but like. I need them to be actually like each other. I'm not saying they can't be mutually bitchy while they grow to like each other or anything, they don't have to always be NICE to each other, but there are so many M/F romances where the dude is just flat out fucking MEAN and condescending to the girl until he decides he wants to fuck her. and sometimes even after that! stop it! after a certain point I don't want her to fuck him I want her to run him over a car!!!! there's suuuuch a line between "guy I butt heads and exchange banter with but could fuck if we just got to know each other" and "man who hates me and is for real fucking bullying me."

"kisses only," "doors closed," whatever term they use for a romance novel without any sex scenes on page, I don't like it. listen: I know that they're not everybody's cup of tea, and I FULLY recognize that a lot of romance novel sex scenes are unfathomably cringe. and yet, I need them. partly because they're funny, but also because if this book wants me to be invested in the developing relationship between two adults who are supposed to be WILDLY sexually attracted to each other, then I want to see the damn sex. no matter how many bad similes or unfortunate adjectives it entails. and if you're not going to show me the sex, don't you dare have the characters gushing about how great it is. I'll be the judge of that, thank you very much. (I'm looking at you, Sorry, Bro.)

related: there's this thing that I call "Horny Wolf Syndrome," which is derived from this tweet:

initially I used it to refer to when previously sweet-tempered male romance protags inexplicably started talking like horny wovles during sex scenes - "LET ME SEE YOUR PRETTY CUNT ON MY COCK" and the like - but now I more generally use it to refer to scenarios in which characters of any gender completely dispense with their established personality while they fuck in order to fulfill a more broadly appealing, one-size-fits-all sexual fantasy. I hate that shit; if your characters act like completely unrecognizable people during sex, you didn't write very strong characters. one of my favorite things about writing sex scenes is that it's so SO interesting to see how their the characters' personal quirks translate into a setting that's very different from most other contexts, and it's deeply disappointing when authors take the easy route in favor of some pornhub dialogue.

one of the things that actually won my most recent read, Raiders of the Lost Heart, a HUGE amount of points with me was how frank the female lead was about initiating sex for the first time. it was completely in character for her and felt really different than any other book I've read, and honestly? it was a breath of fresh air.

[mythicmanuscripts]

Could you talk about pegging for Jace, aemond and aegon? I’d love to hear your hours about each of them with that!

Brilliant question anon!! So I've received quite a few requests about pegging, some with ideas and some just asking to discuss it. I'm gonna use this ask to just discuss some brief thoughts about pegging before I begin the other asks :))

Obviously, NSFW sub!characters below the cut.

AEGON:

So Aegon is one that definitely knew he would like pegging before it came up with you. He had dabbled a bit in fingering himself before but he had never mentioned this to anyone and he had never used a toy on himself either. This was something he was too scared to tell the brothel workers because he didnt think he'd be able to take being humiliated or made fun of for it.

This comes up during one of your favourite things to do with Aegon: give him a teasing handjob while asking him about his fantasies and what he'd like to do in future. Aegon gets so flustered so easily and watching him trying to form full sentences while you stroke him is so so hot. He eventually mentions that he likes to finger himself sometimes, and obviously you just have to ask more about this.

Once you try pegging, aegon is absolutely obsessed. The moment you have the strap on all thoughts go out the window.

AEMOND:

For Aemond you definitely have to mention it to him because he'd never ever bring it up himself. You suggest it because he knows how badly he wants to feel safe and... small? He LOVES when you manhandle him and position him and make him feel small.

You suggest pegging for this reason, and while he's hesitant at first once he tries he really likes it. However, it's definitely a rare thing because he needs SO aftercare after pegging. He's is so so prone to subdrop after pegging, sometimes even when you're right there holding him he can still start to slip into subdrop because he just feels SO vulnerable afterwards.

Also I think maybe he likes plugs? You get the idea when Aemond is starting to slip into subdrop. You catch it luckily and some praise and comfort helps him feel better. As he first drops though, he keeps on saying he feels empty. Next time, as part of aftercare you put a plug in him and it just makes him feel so much better. The plug only gets removed when he's 100% recovered.

JACE:

Pegging is something Jace didnt even know existed. He knew he liked fingering, and he let you know that pretty early. (Jace might seem all noble and innocent but the moment he's turned on he turns into a whiney little slutty thing who can't stop babbling and easily reveals his fantasies, truly no thoughts only horny)

You also don't suggest pegging, not at first anyway because you know how shy he is already just about fingering.

But.... Aegon tells him, the little fucker.

It's at the dinner with the whole family. You're sitting next to Jace of course and Aegon is taking great pleasure in teasing him. He gets to pegging somehow, asking him if he fucks you or if you fuck him. It's meant as a joke, and of course Jace blushes and tells him to stop being so crude. But then that night, you check in on him before bed to make sure what aemond said didnt get under his skin and to your shock he actually gets all blushy and squirmy and tells you he might want to try it.

[thedwarrowscholar]

🧾A Note From Behind the Beard

Every now and then, I receive questions that stray a bit (or a lot) from Tolkien, Dwarves, or (Neo-) Khuzdul. Nothing too intrusive—don’t worry—but more personal curiosities: “What are your hobbies?”, “What’s your background?”, and even, after the release of our semi-nude calendar (yes, that happened), “What’s your orientation?”

I’ve always made it a point to keep my personal life in the background here. Not out of secrecy, but simply because I wanted The Dwarrow Scholar to focus on the Dwarves, their language, and lore—not on the one behind the curtain. With the possible exception of my end-of-year rambles, I’ve tried to stay behind the runes, so to speak.

I never set out to make this about me. But after years of questions—and kindness from this community—I figured it was time to offer a little glimpse at the one behind the stone wall. Heads-up: if you're just here for Dwarves, Khuzdul, and the like—feel free to skip this one entirely.

📆 About that Calendar...

Let’s address the elephant in the forge.

Yes, there was a semi-nude Dwarvish calendar. No, it wasn’t entirely serious.

It started as a simple, genuine idea—I wanted to create a physical Dwarvish calendar with proper Neo-Khuzdul months, cultural motifs, the whole nine yards.

Then a friend casually joked:

“Oh, like those fireman calendars?”

And I couldn’t unsee it: Half-naked dwarves posing with hammers, anvil glistening, beard windswept. Too absurd not to bring to life. So we did. You’re welcome. Or I’m sorry. Possibly both.

🌱 Hobbies

Over the past few years, gardening has become my main thing ("obsession"?). I now live in a beautiful, hilly part of Flanders called the Flemish Ardennes—a land of rolling hills (Think The Shire—but with better beer. Truth. Deal with it, Hobbits.), known for its cycling mainly.

A look at a section of the garden I've created

Plum trees are abundant in my garden (amongst other trees), and I've even started making homemade plum liqueur from them. It’s surprisingly decent. Brewing beer has somewhat crept into the background too (when in Rome).

I don’t watch sports often, but I do have a few faithful loyalties:

As a somewhat fierce fan, I’ve resigned myself to the Toronto Maple Leafs’ yearly playoff disappointment.

Luckily, my joy levels were high thanks to Wrexham’s earlier promotion to the EFL Championship. (And no—I didn’t hop on the Hollywood bandwagon. I��ve followed Wrexham since I was a kid. Still, I’m cheering them on.)

Why these two teams, far from the Belgian coast where I grew up? Well, trips to Wales and fanatic hockey-fan uncles go a long way toward explaining that.

And I’d be remiss not to mention Lili, my white Chow Chow—a four-year-old ball of fluff and sunshine who’s easily the friendliest creature in the entire Flemish Ardennes. She supervises all garden activity with quiet dignity (and frequent naps).

These past two years I’ve also been developing a fantasy management game—a single-player project where you run a Dwarven fighting stable.

You’ll train warriors, forge gear, negotiate with sponsors, go on quests, learn the lore of the land, mine for resources, and aim to win the Emperor’s Cup. It’s a blend of tactics, unique rich lore, and stubborn Dwarven grit, naturally.

More on that when it's ready to leave the mountain.

🎭 Background

Believe it or not, my background has nothing to do with linguistics, fantasy, or Tolkien studies. I actually studied the arts, and ended up in a completely unrelated career. But languages? That’s been a passion since childhood.

Long before I knew the word “conlang,” I was creating imaginary languages in my notebooks for fun. I grew up in a multilingual family and country, which helped—but really, I just enjoyed puzzling through grammar systems like some people enjoy crossword puzzles.

I speak Dutch, English, French, some German, and have dabbled in Japanese, Italian, Spanish, Arabic, and Hebrew.

🪓 Why Khuzdul?

Khuzdul pulled me in not just because it’s the language of the Dwarves, but because it’s very unlike anything else in Middle-earth.

It’s Semitic in structure—structured, yet mysterious and methodical. There’s beauty and hidden meaning in every root. Yes, it can be daunting at first—especially without a Semitic background. But you don’t need to be a trained linguist to enjoy or explore it. Curiosity and patience go further than any degree.

🌈 The Other Question...

Some asked about orientation—fair question, given the tone of my calendar. I’m a straight fellow, with an open and accepting mind. Been happily married to my wife for nearly ten years (together for twenty), and I deeply respect the spectrum of identities others bring to this community. You're all welcome here.

✨ Fun Fact Speed-Round!

First Dwarvish word I ever coined? Honestly, I can’t recall—it’s been thirty years...

Favourite Khuzdul root? Probably [KhGR], which is one of the rare winks to my local childhood dialect. A “kegge” is West-Flemish for “big nose,” and that’s exactly where KhGR came from—it’s now the Neo-Khuzdul root for “nose.” Most personal Khuzdul word I’ve coined? That would be ugloriskhûna—meaning “wise woman known for kindness, humour, and the ability to enjoy life.” The word (and its meaning) was inspired by the nickname of a dear friend of mine.

Most surprising moment? When I visited HobbitCon in Bonn, Germany. I dropped by the booth of the German Tolkien Society to say hello to a kind acquaintance—only she wasn’t there. Instead, someone had a full-on fan moment and asked for a picture with me.

Most moving request I’ve ever received? Someone once asked me to translate a poem for the funeral of their brother.

Best compliment I’ve received? I get more praise than I feel I deserve—but one that truly warmed my heart was:

“You would have made Tolkien proud.”

Most ridiculous runic request? Well, aside from someone asking me to translate The Hobbit in its entirety (which would take me years), nothing truly “ridiculous.” Folks ask because they’re curious—and that’s never a bad thing. That said... the biggest chuckle? A tattoo request for “Meat is back on the menu”—to be inked on a very private part of the body.

And just so you know who’s been rambling behind the beard all this time—here’s a noble mashup a friend made of me, in full Gimli regalia. (Yes, that’s me. No, I don’t imagine I swing an axe nearly as well.)

If you’ve read this far—thank you. Thank you all for being part of this strange and wonderful journey. Your curiosity, kindness, and shared love for Dwarves have kept the forge warm. I hope this answers some of the more personal questions that found their way into the queue. Now, let’s get back to the runes, shall we?

Ever at your service, The Dwarrow Scholar

[apomaro-mellow]

Every Baby Needs a Daddy 6

Part 5

Come for the sugar daddy fantasy stay for my everybody-loves-steve agenda

Eddie insisted on helping Steve with his suit the night of the soiree. Steve allowed him into his apartment for the first time, after some extensive cleaning. Eddie was already dressed in his suit, red, no shirt underneath. He took the garment bag from Eddie, kissed his lips, and then went to his bedroom. Eddie got a glimpse of his nest before the door was shut.

"Uhh? Baby?"

"No peeking", Steve said from behind the door.

"Babyyyy", Eddie whined, pressing his face to the wood.

Steve grinned to himself as he listened, getting dressed on his own anyway. "I don't want to be late. And if I let you 'help' that's exactly what will happen."

It wasn't just what Eddie would do. It was what Steve would let him get away with. It would be very easy to let Eddie in and then tumble in his nest. The thought of letting Eddie's scent mix in... Steve wondered if he could get away with sneaking a piece of his clothing away. But Eddie had promised him a fun night out and said he'd be meeting his bandmates as well.

He finished getting dressed and came out. Eddie stumbled, being nearly glued to the door. Steve almost made a joke about falling for him.

"You gonna be this attached to me all night?", he asked instead.

Eddie righted himself and stood up straight. "If I let you out of my sight, the wolves will descend on you Lil Red."

Steve put his hands on Eddie's chest and leaned in. "Good thing I've got a big, strong woodsman to keep me safe~"

Since it was a band event, Eddie had a personal driver this time. That meant he could sit in the backseat and play with Steve the whole way. Eddie's hand was firm on Steve's thigh while the other held his hip. He'd wanted to bury them in Steve's tresses but one firm tap and reprimand 'don't touch the hair' and here they were.

Eddie was nibbling on Steve's neck, wishing he could put something more permanent on him. Let others know who he belonged to. When they arrived, Steve took a moment to get himself together. Eddie thought he looked just as radiant now as he did with sex-tousled hair but he liked seeing his baby primp too.

Eddie led him, arm in arm, into a nightclub. The music was energetic but didn't really seem to fit with Eddie's usual metal scene. Steve had done some research on the band, listened to a few songs, learned the other members names too. So even through the blaring music, he was able to understand when Eddie brought them over to a reserved table where the rest of them awaited.

"So this is the guy?", Jeff asked.

"This must be the guy", Gareth nodded.

"Can't be anyone else but the guy", Grant raised his glass to Steve.

Steve smiled at Eddie. "You've been telling them about me?"

"You're a secret I don't wanna keep, babydoll", Eddie smiled back.

"DJ here is mixing a set around one of our albums", Jeff said. "Kind of a little promotion for us. And when we share the video, he'll get a bump too."

"I thought this was a little out of the box for your sound", Steve said.

"You listen to our music?", Eddie asked.

Steve shrugged, playing it off. "I've dabbled." He leaned into Eddie's space to take a sip from the drink in his hand. "What about you? Do you dabble in this?"

"Not quite my scene, no. I'm an appreciator of most genres though."

"Can we finally break the silence on Eddie's jazz phase?", Gareth said.

"What's wrong with jazz?", Steve asked.

"Music was fine", Grant clarified, "He just got super pretentious about the different subgenres."

"He was insufferable", Gareth added.

"What about you guys, then?", Steve pointed the question to them. "Are you into this kind of music?"

"It's something to dance to", Jeff replied.

"That's exactly what I wanted to hear. Care to dance?", Steve asked.

Jeff gave a look to Eddie, asking permission. Amused, Steve also looked to Eddie for his response. Eddie's arm had been wrapped rather possessively around him for most of the night, so he could feel how antsy Steve was getting. Eddie gave his hip a pat.

"Go have fun."

Steve kissed his cheek and then went down to the dance floor with Jeff. He loved to move and he'd been itching to dance all night, but Eddie didn't seem like a dancer, at least not to this kind of music. And he wasn't about to just go out and dance with someone random in the club. Jeff was the perfect partner, knowing when to be close and when to give him space.

He felt a finger tap his shoulder and when he turned, Grant was there. Following the beat of the music, Steve gave him his attention. He was able to catch Eddie's eyes just once and saw the hunger in his eyes. When Gareth came to dance, he was a little more hesitant to touch Steve until Steve himself pulled Gareth's hands to him.

The way they all touched him was polite but there was an underlying desire. They were showing appreciation, but they weren't going to challenge the pseudo-claim Eddie had on him. He caught Eddie's gaze again and it was darker this time. He began to walk off the dance floor, ignoring a few calls from voices he didn't recognize.

Steve returned to Eddie and straddled his lap. "Sure I can't tempt you to dance?"

"There's not a thing you can't tempt me into, sweetheart. But you'll have to give me something dance-able. Liked seein' you have fun though. My boys take care of you?"

"Mhm, they were very gentlemanly." Steve's hand dipped under Eddie's suit jacket, needing skin to skin contact.

"Music to my ears", Eddie said against Steve's lips before meeting them. He growled against his mouth as he was able to detect the scents of his friends on him. Steve was pack. Steve was his.

Eddie practically dragged him out of the club and back into the car. The door was barely closed before Steve was in his lap again. He was writhing, probably very close to ruining the nice suit pants.

"Come with me", Eddie breathed.

"Yes, Daddy", Steve moaned into his ear.

"No I mean, on tour. Come with me on tour baby."

Steve paused in his humping to look in Eddie's eyes. "You want me along for the ride?"

Eddie nodded, eyes wide and big as if there was ever a chance that Steve would say no. But he also couldn't just say yes.

"For how long?"

Eddie licked his lips. "Two months."

"My job..."

"I'll take care of anything you need", Eddie said quickly.

"My apartment-"

"I'll handle it, baby. Just please say you'll come."

Steve's head tilted to the side. Robin's words echoed in his head. Wasn't this the scenario he'd been running from? An alpha having control over his life? If for even a moment, Eddie changed his mind about him, he'd be out a job and a home. Steve looked back down at him and that was his undoing.

"I'll need a new suitcase, and wardrobe, and-"

"Done, done, and whatever else you can think of, it's done." Eddie kissed him in elation, much sweeter than anything else they'd done all night.

-------------------------

Steve at least tried to sell the whole 'can I bounce for two months and come back later' at his job but obviously that didn't fly. It was fine. It wasn't really the work or even the miniscule paycheck he was attached to. It was simply the comfort of doing the same thing in the same place every day. He could fill out applications on the road and get the same job anywhere.

True to his word, Eddie took him out shopping just a couple of days later.

"I meant to tell you", Eddie said as they walked through the mall. He was dressed very casually in jeans and a t-shirt under a vest with the band's logo on the back. His hair was pulled back in a ponytail and he kept his shades on inside. "That lunch meeting with sushi? Went pretty good. Your advice worked."

"You sound surprised", Steve teased. He was wearing a green sweater and light jeans.

"Not surprised, beautiful. Just in awe." Eddie put an arm around him as he led him into the first store.

Just like at the tailor's Eddie let Steve loose, letting him pick and choose what he wanted. After the third store, Steve was looking at him hesitantly.

"You're really going to spoil me. Going to turn me into a brat and anything."

"What? You? My sweet angel babydoll? Never", Eddie smirked. "You're acting like no one's ever lavished you like this."

Steve shrugged. "Well, not like this but-", then he thought better of it. "Never mind."

"I don't think so, baby. I think I deserve at least one story of past-Steve. You got to google search my life story."

"How do you know I didn't ask Jeeves?"

Eddie put a hand to his heart, then took his hat off like a sign of respect. "RIP to a real one. But you're not gonna distract me, Stevie. I feel like you've been keeping something from me. Not something big, just something you don't think I should know."

Breaking his gaze from Eddie's, Steve spied a restaurant inside the mall. "Let's eat."

Eddie had them get a booth in the back, figuring Steve would want some modicum of privacy for this. He wasn't expecting a bombshell, but he figured it must mean something to Steve.

"So, when you met me, you probably thought I was this... downtrodden, poor omega with nowhere to go." That rainy night seemed so long ago.

"That's not what I thought at all", Eddie said with a shake of his head. "Honestly thought you were waiting for someone. Made no sense to me that you were all alone."

Steve smiled. "Well, I wasn't always alone. Not physically, at least. My parents are Layton and Margaret Harrington. They've got a hand in a lot of things but most of our money comes from apple orchards of all things."

"So you're the heir to a vast apple fortune", Eddie surmised.

"Was the heir to a vast fortune."

"Is there a story behind that?", Eddie asked, watching Steve pick at his food.

"Not an original one", Steve said with a chuckle. "They paraded the alpha sons of their associates. I was also paraded. I was offered a life where all I had to do was look nice and speak little and eventually bring up the next generation of whatever old money family my parents chose for me... It was suffocating."

Eddie's leg stuck out from under the table and rubbed against his. "You got your own place. And your own job. You got out. Why would you keep this from me though? Doesn't sound particularly scandalous."

"I don't know", Steve shook his head. "Maybe I didn't want you to think I was a gold digger, or maybe I didn't want you to think I had super high expectations, or-it just felt like I shouldn't tell you. I'm tired of carrying my parents around."

"They're really that loaded?"

"Didn't you hear me say 'old money'?"

"Is there some scorned ex-fiance I should be worried about?"

"Hmmmnope."

"You sure about that, sweetness?"

"I'm sure. None of them are looking for me. And none of them hold a candle to you."

Eddie could understand wanting to leave the past in the past. After eating, they continued their shopping spree. Eddie paused at a costume shop that showed a few of the outfits on mannequins in the window. Steve followed his line of sight and grinned.

"Gimme your card."

"Sure, what for?", Eddie asked as he handed it over to Steve.

"For a surprise. Go get a pretzel. I'll text you when I'm ready." He kissed Eddie's cheek and then went into the costume shop.

Whipped like cream, Eddie did in fact go get a pretzel, fantasizing about all the little outfits Steve could be buying right now. When they met up, he wasn't allowed to peek. So while he knew there must be a costume of some kind in Steve's wardrobe now, he was oblivious to the lingerie he'd bought as well.

Part 7

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[veritas-scribblings]

lip gloss - @jegulus-microfic - words: 1,171 [explicit / NSFW]

James would like it on record that he did not have an ulterior motive. It was a little bit of innocent fun. His curiosity had got the better of him. So when Sirius said, ‘Can I do your make up?’ James had eagerly replied, ‘Sure!’

Sirius had gone through this stage while back at Hogwarts, see. He called it his ‘cheek and chic’ stage, in the spirit of David Bowie and Freddie Mercury. Glam rock. Flamboyant and larger than life, much like Sirius himself. Kind of rock and roll, but with a heavy dosing of glitter and sparkles. 

And make up.

Because Sirius is a rebel. He had spent years trying to find himself, trying to define himself, and he can never do anything quietly. These days, Sirius is more subdued—there’s less glitter and sparkles involved—but he’s still an artist at heart and every once in a while, he likes to dabble. Dip his toe back in.

That’s how they ended up here, with Regulus pinning James to the couch, his gaze fixed, charged. 

Regulus runs his hands through the hair Sirius had so meticulously styled, kisses, licks, sucks a pathway up James’s neck. He’s unbuttoned James’s shirt, pushed it open, so he can get his hands on every square centimetre of skin exposed. 

James wants to ask Regulus what he wants: what can I do, what can I give you, what do you need? But Regulus’s movements are determined, hungry, desperate and soveryintentional that all James can do is gasp, hiss through his teeth, grip Regulus’s silky locks in his fist. And then carefully, he releases them, pats Regulus’s hair back down in apology because he knows that Regulus hates it when James pulls. Gently, James cards his fingers through a few times, biting back a deep moan. 

It’s just that Regulus hasn’t said anything to him yet since he walked through their front door, spotted James on the couch and all but attacked him. Now, James is laying on the couch, Regulus straddling his waist, the friction against James’s arousal overwhelming, and he keeps dodging James’s attempts to kiss him. 

Preferring, instead, to tend to James’s chest, rubbing the pad of his thumb over James’s sensitive, hardened nipples. He leans down and takes one into his mouth, gently licking, sucking, grazing his teeth over it, swirling his tongue around it. James cries out, the sensation washing through him like a wave, knows that he’s swearing. Because Regulus is a menace, an absolute menace. A beautiful, beautiful menace. He rocks in James’s lap, swivels, rolls his hips in sharp thrusts and deep grinds, all but riding James.

The movements pull ragged, breathy moans from James. Gripping Regulus’s waist, he curses, slamming his head back against the couch cushion in frustration. Certain that Regulus is trying to kill with sosomuch and notnearlyenough. James tugs frustratedly at Regulus’s shirt as Regulus’s hips reach a tortuous, merciless pace. With the sweetest of smiles, Regulus pulls his shirt off, giving James a wide expanse of flushed, milky skin to run his hands over. 

‘Reggie,’ he warns, low and shaky, ‘keep it up and I’m going to finish in my pants before we get a chance to actually do anything.’ 

Regulus leans back, hands gripping James’s thighs, fingers scratching at the fabric of his trousers. ‘Are you wearing make up?’ he demands at first, then quickly changes his phrasing. Because it’s not a question. He knows James’s hair, James’s eyes, James’s cheeks and lips and colouring intimately. 

And, oh…oh, is that it?

‘You’re wearing make up,’ Regulus says.

Regulus takes James by the chin, tips his head to the left, to the right. With a quizzical expression, he drags his thumb over James’s lips, a pink nude colour, Sirius had informed him. His lips are sticky, James knows, and he can tell that Regulus isn’t so sure about that part. That Regulus has been weighing the pros and cons of kissing him.

That being said, Regulus does appear to be quite the fan of the other parts. 

‘Careful, dear,’ James says between laboured breaths. ‘You’ll smudge me.’

Regulus just frowns and leans back again, swivelling his hips, eliciting a chesty groan of, ‘ohshitohshit,’ from James. Regulus’s expression darkens, his movements pooling straight through James so he’s that much closer to teetering on the edge of his orgasm.

And then where would they be? Because ever since Regulus had walked through the door and all but tackled him onto the couch, James has known exactly what he wants, and that’s to get Regulus naked and to worship his magnificent body. But what James also always wants is to give Regulus what he wants, and what Regulus really seems to want right now is to pry an orgasm directly from the depths of James’s soul with how very into James he currently seems.

And James can never not give Regulus what he wants, so here lies James: conflicted

When Regulus plants his hands on James’s shoulders and rocks again, James hastily rushes out, ‘Fuck, Reggie, stopstopstop, just wait.’

Regulus diligently stops. Waits. He shuffles backwards so he’s no longer seated directly on top of James’s achingly hard erection, and then has the audacity to give James the sweetest, most innocent of smiles that James can’t help but smile back. James closes his eyes, because looking at Regulus all flushed and incredibly turned on and slightly mussed and shirtless is doing nothing to stem the pleasureblissarousaldesire rushing through his veins. 

‘Just give me a moment,’ James says, breath heaving, heart racing marathons in his chest.

‘Then we continue.’

‘Yes, then we continue.’ James groans, has to grab Regulus’s hands, which have started to trace a pathway to the waistband of his pants, and warns, ‘Don’t touch me if you want to continue. Don’t even look at me.’

Regulus laughs quietly. ‘I like the make up,’ he leans over and whispers by James’s ear. ‘You should wear it more often. You look so lovely.’ To his credit, he’s being careful not to touch James, hovering over him, James left feeling somewhat bereft, but…fuck.

James moans, grips the couch cushion beneath him, hips jerking up into the air. Regulus’s words have hit James straight in the groin, and he shudders, twitches. Feels the energy of Regulus’s words like static, electric, a buzz in the air, on his skin.

‘You’re so pretty like this, Jamie, so beautiful,’ Regulus whispers by James’s ear, his breath warm, ghosting against James’s skin. ‘Did you do it for me, Jamie? You did, didn’t you. You’re so good like that. So good for me. I love you like this.’

James whines, teetering now. Teetering so close, and when Regulus finishes with a quiet, ‘I love you,’ James’s eyes roll back and he’s seeing stars, seeing white, the full force of his orgasm hitting him so intensely that he is lost to the world for a moment. 

When James comes to, Regulus is kissing him. Regulus pulls back, brushes James’s hair from his forehead, studying him with an expression so enamoured that James’s heart flutters in his chest. Distantly, James thinks that Regulus may be right. And that maybe make-up should come with some sort of warning label.

‘I love you too,’ James murmurs drowsily as Regulus lays down, humming, so they’re chest-to-chest. ‘Just give me ten minutes to recover and I’ll get you back.’