#Plain Wrapper Press

[uwmspeccoll]

It’s Fine Press Friday!

Suite Lirica: En Homenaje a Wallace Stevens is built around a poem by Spanish writer José María Martín Triana. The book opens with Wallace Steven’s poem, “Final Soliloquy of the Interior Paramour,” which served as Martín Triana’s inspiration; his own poem is then presented in Spanish, after which follows a translation into English by Alastair Reid. American writer and children's book illustrator Leo Lionni illustrated the book with intaglio prints pulled by Gino Berardinelli. Gabriel Rummonds and Alessandro Zanella of Plain Wrapper Press printed the book in Verona, Italy, in 1982, in a limited edition of ninety copies, each signed by Triana and Lionni.

Handset monotype Dante was printed on Cartiere Enrico Magnani handmade paper. The top edge of the paper is gilded, and the sides and bottom finish in deckles. An author’s note before the colophon was translated by Rummonds. The Plain Wrapper press printer’s mark adorns the burgundy box. The spine is quarter bound in goatskin, with dyed vellum covering the boards.

In his note, Martín Triana explains his “devotion” to Stevens, an artist after “the true meaning of things.” He contrasts this impulse with what he disparaged as the “Carnavalesque falseness” of contemporary Spanish literary trends. He suggests that the book “could easily have been called Variations on the Final Soliloguy of the Interior Paramour, not only as an homage of devotion to Stevens, but also as an indication of my complete acceptance of the ideas of the most European of American poets” of the 20th century.

This book comes to us from the collection of Jerry Buff (1931-2025).

See other books from Jerry Buff.

See other Fine Press Friday posts!

--Amanda, Special Collections Graduate Intern

[wintersera]

heatstroke || omega!winter x alpha!reader

notes: i’m back after a long ass time HIII saw these pics and i had to cook something up really quick… like lord, PLEASE LORD TAKE THE WHEEL

cw: omegaverse, g!p reader, alpha reader, omega minjeong, breeding kink, biting. one mention of weed

wc: 2.9k

it’s the third day in a row where minjeong invited you over to her house in the countryside. blades of grass rustling in the late afternoon breeze while the sun still beamed brightly in the cloudless sky.

you sat outside the house, sitting on the cool wooden porch as you stared out into the distance, contemplating the last minute choice of staying over at your friends house.

this week's forecast showed a constant 35 degrees celsius and above— 95 fahrenheit and above if you’re american, across the board. the humidity didn’t help either. it felt suffocating to even move around given that the humidity felt like it had raised the temperature up way more than it should have.

you would hate it less if there were ac, but since you were staying over in her small traditional house, you had no other choice than to deal with the excruciating sun rays beaming down on your exposed skin.

sat in a simple thin tank top and short shorts, you lift up the fabric of your top, flapping it around to generate some sort of cool breeze.

as sweat dripped down your face, minjeong appeared behind you, also dripping with salty sweat down from her forehead all the way to her chin “here” she tossed you a cold beer without much care. she knew you’d catch it anyway.

“didn’t you say your fridge broke down?” the cold metal pressed against your nape felt blissful in these times. you rubbed the can all over your body before it unfortunately warmed up from both your body temperature and because of how you were sitting out in the blistering sun.

“i ran over to the vending machine down the street” minjeong sat fairly far away from you on the porch. not because she didn’t like being near you, but because somehow you were quite literally a walking heater “there was a whole line of people” the girl chuckled, popping open the can she got for herself “almost all the drinks ran out, it was crazy y/n. you should’ve seen the old lady scolding this guy for buying, like, ten drinks”

the burn of the alcohol slid down your throat. it almost sort of tasted sweet in a way, but still, it was beer, and beer was annoyingly bitter on your taste buds “i’d honestly do the same if i was there” though it was downright disgusting, the slight coldness made you chug the entire can in one go “why are you wearing that big ass long sleeved shirt, minjeong?”

“i told you~” the shorter girl whined “the electricians won’t be coming soon, so it fucked up the neighbourhood and no one has working outlets anymore”

“you don’t have any spare clothes laying around then? might as well take it off”

“yeah, no i don’t…and no, y/n. i’m not taking it off” she retorted back with an attitude “oh crap, i almost forgot to give you this” minjeong laid down to reach her bag, conveniently having stored a few ice packs in there, and took out two pre packaged ice cream cones. one strawberry, and one plain vanilla.

“yours is definitely vanilla, right?” knowing her tastes, your hand instinctively reached out for the strawberry flavoured ice cream cone. due to the heat, the cream had leaked a little bit out from the wrapper, but i guess that was to be expected anyway.

minjeong nodded, her back still against the now warm wood of the porch, unwrapping the ice cream and taking a few kitten licks.

the both of you sat in a comfortable silence for a while, watching the birds fly around whilst the cicadas buzzed loudly in the background.

“ah—“ minjeong’s little squeak caught your attention briefly, then you were back to watching the birds fly around in the sky. a few pigeons and crows flying by, nothing too out of the ordinary.

“nooo~ i’m all sticky now” you take a glance once more, then your attention returned back to the blue sky, spacing out all over again, but before you could even utter anything snarky about minjeong dropping her ice cream on herself, your head whipped around to do a double take. melted ice cream stained her last clean shirt she had, with no other choice she had to deal with the sticky fabric or just take the whole thing off.

for a second, your eyes caught a spot dribbling down her fingers and onto her wrists. her plump lips parted open for her tongue to dart out. cheeks reddened at the sight of her licking the melted… white cream…

“you know you could—“

“i’m not taking it off. it’s too embarrassing” she definitely could, after all it wouldn’t bother you all too much. you’ve seen people naked. it wasn’t that big of a deal.

“eh… too lazy to move” whilst sprawled out on the floor, her hand pulled up her shirt a little more “ahh~ that feels so much better” toned midriff exposed to the golden sun rays, the reflective light bouncing off her smooth and silky skin.

“whatever floats your boat, i guess” actually, maybe this was bothering you a little more than you had anticipated.

besides the outrageous heat, there was another issue you had that was on your mind.

although you were long term friends with minjeong, probably since you met her in highschool, you had always told her, and the people around you, that you were a full fledged beta. nothing more, nothing less.

god knows how she would react if she had found out you were a pure blooded alpha.

speaking of… you began to feel a little strange “mmm… something smells nice” images of minjeong flashed in your mind. her exposed milky thighs, that oversized shirt she pulled up to show her huggable waist and tummy, melted ice cream on the corner of her lips, and how she was so vulnerable sprawled out across the floor.

shit. oh shit… she looked way too good. so good that you could easily pick her up and do whatever you want with that petite and fragile body of hers.

before you knew it, your cock started to strain against your shorts. uncomfortable, you shifted as you sat in a less revealing manner, taking the ice cream to your lips to calm the heat rushing to your face.

now is not the time for an unexpected rut. fuck. “i’m gonna head to the bathroom real quick” it took a lot of mental strength to avoid gazing at minjeong… a lot of mental strength considering you were covering up your horrendously hard dick as you rushed past her.

“where… where is it—“ usually you had a couple rut suppressants laying around in your pockets, if not, then your bags. and if it wasn't in either, you’d run to the local pharmacy to buy a fresh set of both suppressants and scent blockers. but unlucky you had to be in the middle of the fuckass countryside with a pharmacy that sells neither.

minjeong’s scent was getting stronger, heavier. a pinch of spiced apples wafted into the bathroom unexpectedly. intoxicating. it wasn’t like she was in heat, that’s if your scent didn’t occupy her nostrils by now.

to distract your mind from plunging further into the pit of no return, or rather fantasising about plunging into minjeong’s soft thighs to bury your face right into her pussy, a cold splash of water to your face would do the trick. hopefully.

the faucet was pretty much shut tight, and living in the city for pretty much your whole entire life, you would rather stay hot and bothered— both ways, than to go out and douse yourself with cold water from the hose.

defeated, you walk with your imaginary tail between your legs, eyes averted from minjeong as you sit somewhere else in her house. preferably the furthest room away from where she was laying down.

minjeong, however, followed behind you “do you smell something weird? it smells like cedarwood and a little bit of tobacco” you froze in place for a second. maybe you should straight up tell her the truth. better off than losing your composure and submitting to your instincts in front of her.

she sat close to you despite the suffocating heat. being this close in proximity… her scent was stronger than ever. your cock throbbed in your shorts as she inspected you with curious eyes, her concentrated face wrangling in more indecent thoughts as the seconds flew by “must be someone smoking a blunt out there…” you gulped nervously.

what an obvious lie you told. she rolled her eyes at you, lightly hitting you across the shoulder with a small, amused laugh “we’re in south fucking korea, y/n. i doubt someone is openly smoking weed out in the streets” which was true god damn it.

heart drumming loudly in your chest, your eyes zeroing in on minjeong’s body, every shred of composure seemed to crumble once she checked your temperature with her shockingly cold hands “don’t…” you huff, grabbing her wrists gently “i’m okay”

“you don’t seem okay. you’re showing signs of heatstroke” to be honest, that might be the case as well, but you doubt it was heatstroke given the fact that you were obviously flustered and hot by her sudden approach “crap, and almost everything in this house is broken— y/n, come here”

“mmm…” without any access to cold water, and the cold drinks already gone alongside the ice cream, you had no choice but to suffer in silence. that is until minjeong pulled on the ends of your top. again, that rich spiced apple scent…

“take it off, it’ll be cooler for you” seeing her tiny hands on your top, sliding it off gently with her glossy eyes carefully wandering all over you shattered your last wall of composure.

you rolled minjeong over the futon mattress, her puppy dog eyes staring holes into your face “y-your scent. it’s just way too strong, minjeong” without further ado, you dived into minjeong’s neck, breathing in her delicious scent as you nudged your covered bulge against her clothed pussy.

“i knew it” a soft moan escaped from her lips, the friction between the two of you becoming hotter and hotter with each grind of your hips “you’re way too obvious”

“shut up…” the sliding door was still open to the outside, it would be risky to carry on what you were doing, especially knowing how your scent was particularly stronger in comparison to other alphas. but really, who cares? “is this even okay with you?” albeit concerned, your teeth still grazed her neck gently, kissing and sucking her skin in a way to not so permanently mark her up.

“why else do you think— mmm… that i’ve been inviting you around so often. just… hurry up. you’re triggering my heat” her words alone made you ecstatic. to be fair, you were pent up lately. you continued to rut into her, holding up her thighs as your bulge was threatening to burst through your shorts. in due time, slick began to drip from her hole, dampening both your shorts and her panties.

“can i let loose?” you were already sliding off her panties, following the removal of yours straight after. minjeong’s legs spread wide open for you, her pretty pink folds slathered with her slick, and her puffy clit that looked so sensitive to touch. she stared right into your eyes and gave you a nod of approval.

you manage to push yourself all the way inside of her tight pussy, molding her walls to accommodate the size of your girthy cock. minjeong wrapped her arms around your neck, her nails digging deep and breaking the skin on your back, only making you push as deep as you can in return. her wetness made your entry much easier than you had thought. she just looked way too tiny to take your entire length. this girl was just full of surprises.

sooner or later you would give into your biological urges, and so would minjeong. you could feel it now actually. the primal desire to breed her until she would bear your pups, the need to mark her, to make her yours. you could feel your rationality being thrown out the window, replaced by pure animalistic lust “je..jesus christ, so fucking thick…”

minjeong tried to gather what was left of her scattered thoughts into coherent sentences, but the way your cock filled her up rendered her speechless. you hadn’t moved at all, and yet she was digging her claws into your back as if you were slamming your hips into her.

“i haven’t even moved yet” you chuckled, moving your hips slowly to test the waters. her warmth coated your entire length, feeling as you were melting by simply being inside of her.

testing the waters was not enough for you, you craved for more. a rougher and faster pace would suffice, but you didn’t know if minjeong could handle you that well. after all, the two of you never fucked before.

no, it really wasn’t enough. you had to fuck her hard whether or not she was prepared “gonna… go rough” hands on each side of her waist, using her body, you pushed and pulled her onto your cock. you met with each thrust, burying your tip further and further inside with as much vigour as humanly possible.

buried between the crook of her neck, your lips feverishly pecked at her skin once again, savouring the salty taste of her sweat on the tip of your tongue all while inhaling her addictively sweet and rich scent. all for you to keep for yourself.

on the other hand, minjeong was fairly inexperienced. her thighs began to slowly close, but with your strong grip, you kept them wide open for you to easily slide in and out of her pussy “mi…njeong” you call out to her as you push down on her tummy, locking eyes with the teary eyed girl “g-get on top of me”

you leaned back onto the futon mattress, straightening minjeong’s back as she straddles your lap. the position you were in made it possible to go as deep as minjeong wanted to go, but that didn’t mean she was in control.

“s’too… too big” strings of slick dripped down her thigh, pooling onto your pelvis. you paid no mind to the mess, rather, you encouraged it even further by toying with her overly sensitive clit “f-fu..ck— oh my god, y/n”

every moan urged you to play with her more. not one, but two fingers rubbed circles against her clit, collecting her slick time to time before going back in to do the same motions. it was a win-win situation. each circular motion caused her to clamp down hard on your cock.

but still, it wasn’t enough for either of you.

changing position for possibly the last time, minjeong laid flat on her stomach, as you pound her pussy from behind. with each thrust, the sounds of your hips smacking into her ass sounded throughout the room, and possibly bleeded out onto the empty streets of the village, disrupting the neighbourhood with your moaning and groaning, and minjeong’s cries of pleasure too.

poor minjeong couldn’t speak properly. words she wanted to moan, came out as garbled nonsense, cries and whines too as your relentless rhythm fucked her until she couldn’t even think properly anymore.

at this point, the room was steaming. the scent of you and her mingling with the sweat formed from the intensive heat outside, and the heat generated between the both of you. to say the least, the room reeked of sex.

messy and rough sex.

seconds into kissing her nape, you could feel the tightening of minjeong’s cunt restrict the movement of your thrust, making it a lot more difficult to catch your high, yet somehow the grip brought you closer towards the limit.

now, you could see minjeong clawing into her mattress, scratching the fabric that held all the foam together. her breath became jagged, grunting and groaning harshly till her voice became hoarse with how much she was calling out your name.

“god… i’m gonna— fuck, y/n i’m cumming, i’m gonna cum” claws ripping the linen fabric of the mattress, minjeong lets out a high pitched whimper, her body convulsing as you thrust relentlessly into her.

quickly, your sharp canines sank into her nape by instinct as she came, lessening the pain for marking and replacing it with searing hot pleasure.

still, with you still raring to go, you kept on going until you couldn’t last much longer either. your grip of minjeong’s ass as you pounded harshly into her overstimulated pussy was the final straw. your knot swelled eventually, locking the two of you in place as thick strings of semen poured into her, filling her up to the brim.

laid on top of minjeong, your breath slows, and so does hers “s-sorry… i didn’t mean to claim you” you say, yet your actions speak otherwise, inhaling in her scent to calm yourself down from the intensive orgasm “it’s kind of your fault though. teasing me with that ice cream and that shirt”

“to be honest, i just wanted to see how far you’d stick with that whole beta persona” minjeong huffed into the pillow, stroking your arm as your knot began to lessen, semen now oozing out from her hole “so worth it actually…”

“yeah, but now you’re gonna bear my pups now…” you huff into her neck.

“so worth it” now that your knot began to shrink in size, minjeong turned around, gazing longingly into your eyes with a look you’ve never seen from her before “that just means that you’re gonna be stuck with me forever now, right?” she smirked, placing a sweet kiss on your lips.

“mmm, yeah i like that thought”

[bluelockmaniac]

BITES OF AFFECTION ⋮💋

𝜗𝜚 ft. itoshi rin, itoshi sae, michael kaiser x gn!reader

synopsis. you kiss them by nibbling along a pocky stick .ᐟ

content warning. pet names & lots of making out . 2k wc .

⸝⸝⋮ 𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐑𝐈𝐍

“what are you doing?”

rin’s frown deepened, his eyes narrowing in curiosity as you straddled his lap, a carton of pocky sticks clutched in your hand. instinctively, his hands quickly settled on your waist to steady you.

“just tryin’ something,” you giggled, unboxing the carton and tearing open the crinkling wrapper. with a cheeky grin, you pulled out one chocolate-coated stick, twirling it playfully before rin's face.

“ready?” you asked, placing the biscuit between your teeth and leaning in slightly.

rin’s brow knitted together in confusion, his hand rising to brush a stray strand of hair away from your face. “for what?”

you rolled your eyes, bringing your hand to his lips and gently pressing his bottom lip down with the pad of your thumb. you maneuvered your mouth to align the plain end of the biscuit between his lips.

“eat.” you commanded, though your voice was muffled by the flavoured biscuit pressed over your tongue.

blinking, he resigned himself to your whim, despite the almost inevitable regret that always seemed to follow in these situations. (un)fortunately for him, this time would prove to be no different.

his hunched over slightly, shifting his hands to your hips as he began to cautiously nibble along the biscuit, maintaining eye contact with you. you smirked, noting the way your boyfriend's nose crinkled in distaste at the flavour of the classic biscuit, while you savoured the rich, chocolatey explosion on your side.

eventually, the stick was reduced to a mere fragment, and your noses were brushing. without a moment's hesitation, you leaned forward, crashing your lips onto his, eliciting an audible gasp from the startled football player.

caught so off-guard, rin– though you hadn't intended it– choked on the remaining piece of pocky in his mouth, impulsively pushing your body away as he struggled.

you instantly detached your lips, disentangling yourself from his lap, watching in concern as he coughed lightly and then buried his face into his hands in embarrassment.

you snorted once you made sure he was alright, quickly springing to your feet and making your way to the kitchen. you opened the cupboard, retrieving a glass, and filled it with water.

he took the glass, shooting you a glare, his ears and cheeks adorned with a rosy shade of pink.

“don't ever do that again,” he muttered, setting the glass of water down on the table with a dramatic thud. his gaze fell on the darned pocky stick packet. he quickly grabbed it and flung it somewhere behind him, away from his sight.

you cupped a hand over your mouth, trying to stifle your laughter, “i–i’m sorry, pft– i didn't think you'd choke on a biscuit, hah–”

“hey.” he cut you off, gently seizing your wrist and pulling you back onto his lap. he turned his head to the side, his eyes fixated on a random spot on the floor, avoiding your gaze.

“if you want a kiss, then just ask.”

⸝⸝⋮ 𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐒𝐀𝐄

“these fucking cleats always disappear when i need them!” sae grumbled, pacing back and forth in your shared master bedroom, his eyes scanning every corner of the room for his football cleats.

“mm, i think i’ve ‘sheen them on the shoe rack near the ‘frontch door,” you mumbled through a mouthful, sliding yet another pocky stick into your mouth from the pink, thin paperboard box. you kicked your legs rhythmically against the wooden frame of the bed. “you should look there.”

he paused to look at you, “i already looked there, though.”

“check again?”

“. . . alright.” the door creaked as he exited the bedroom, and you shrugged nonchalantly, stuffing your face full with the strawberry flavoured biscuit.

after a while, he re-entered, holding a pair of white cleats in his hands. the corners of his lips were turned downwards in guilt as he tossed his shoes somewhere on the floor and approached you, ruffling his hair in exasperation.

“i swear on my football career i checked there,” he groaned, collapsing onto the bed beside you. he eyed you from the side before turning his body to face you, reaching out to cradle your cheek. “you still eatin’ that?”

you nodded, inching closer to his touch. swallowing your bite, you pulled out one stick, pushing the strawberry-coated end between his parted lips while you took the flavourless end.

his eyebrow arched but obliged nonetheless, biting along the dipped sweet with you. as soon as you finish two quick bites of your part, just enough to reach the strawberry coating, you noticed sae's face scrunch up, his nose wrinkling in disgust. he hadn't even managed to finish the coated portion.

your boyfriend's fingers glided to your waist and gently pushed you away, his tongue sticking out in disgust. “yuck. this tastes like shit. the chocolate one's better.”

your bottom lip jutted out petulantly as you crossed your arms, glaring at him with narrowed eyes. “it isn't that bad . . . but that's besides the point— we haven't even kissed!”

“what?” he raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly in confusion. “you didn't ask.”

you sighed, “we were supposed to nibble along the pocky till our lips meet, baby.”

his lips curved into a round shape as he stood up. he caught you by surprise, using his index finger to gently push against your chest until you were lying down on the bed. he climbed over you, pressing one knee between your thighs while the other knee nestled on the mattress beside your right leg.

“wanna kiss?”

without a second wasted, you nodded eagerly, your hands sliding up to find where they usually rested on his broad shoulders. you hooked your ankles around his, watching as he dipped down and sealed his glossy lips against yours.

you were going to be the death of him— he was absolutely sure of it.

with the way his mouth was slotted seamlessly against yours, you were almost certain he intended to leave you breathless by the time be was finished, gasping for every last bit of air. your hands moved from his shoulder to cup his face, pulling him even closer to further deepen the kiss.

you gasped softly into his mouth, then pulled away to swipe your hot tongue over his lips. you lifted your head up, your eyes meeting his. “f-fuck, your lips taste like strawberries…”

the maroon-haired man hummed indifferently, dragging his thumb over his bottom lip to wipe off your lingering saliva. “but i just said the strawberry flavour was disgu—”

“delicious.” you corrected, pinching the plump of his cheek. “dee–li–cious.”

he rolled his eyes and lowered his body onto yours, burying his head into the crook of your neck. he shifted slightly to press a tender kiss to your temple.

“yeah, yeah, whatever. only ‘cause the flavour was on my lips, though.”

⸝⸝⋮ 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑

“hmm, mihya–” you nudged him with your elbow. once he turned his attention to you, you handed him your phone. “— i want to try this super cute pocky stick trend with you.”

he took the phone and glanced down at the screen; a romantic couple biting through a pocky stick till their lips locked. kaiser’s face contorted in disgust at the cheesy, clichéd display of faux affection, but his expression soon morphed into a smirk as he looked back at you.

“it seems boring,” he shrugged playfully, setting your phone on the coffee table and leaning his head back against the couch. “don't wanna.”

your brows furrowed together in disappointment, and you instinctively wrapped your arms around his, leaning your weight against him. “baby, please?” you pleaded, fluttering your soft lashes at him purposefully, trying to coax him into doing the challenge with you.

he rolled his eyes at your desperate expression before gently extricating his arm from your grasp and patting your head. your adorable, puppy-eyed look managed to have this effect on him every single time.

“fine, get the pack.” he feigned an exhausted sigh. you quickly bounced off the couch and returned with the cookies-and-cream flavoured pocky stick pack.

once you finished unwrapping the foil, you pulled out a stick and prepared to place the flavoured end between your teeth. but before you could, you felt kaiser's firm grip encircle your wrist, pulling it back.

“nuh-uh, i’m taking the flavoured end,” he asserted, snatching the treat from your grasp. he then flicked your forehead with a smug, triumphant smirk. “you can have the boring end.”

“what? no!” you scoffed, reaching up to try and reclaim the sweet. but he raised his arm and leaned away, evading your grasp with ease. “that's not fair, you take the plain end!”

“it's fine, schatz– you'll reach the cookies and cream part in no time! besides, this is what i get for agreeing to do this dumb challenge with you. it's only fair.”

you crossed your arms and huffed, “fiiine, whatever.”

he grinned and slid the biscuit between his lips, inching closer to you and you took the initiative to put the plain end in your mouth. his large hands held onto your cheek, thumbs rubbing against your soft skin as you both took one synchronized bite.

one bite through the pocky was all it took for kaiser's eyes to widen slightly. in an instant, he pinched the biscuit near your side, snatching it from your mouth and greedily securing it for himself.

“what the fuck–?” he exclaimed, his voice muffled by the treat, pulling away from you gently. “this shit's pretty good.”

you gaped at him, mouth hanging open in disbelief. your body remained frozen, unable to process the audacity of him devouring the sweet that you generously offered. but that's besides the point— you felt offended that he had pushed you away for a mere biscuit?

“really, michael?” you whined, crossing your arms over your chest. “that's not how the trend goes...”

he shook his head, placing the biscuit pack on the table. then, with an unexpected movement, he pulled you onto his lap, taking you by surprise. his cool, slender fingers slipped beneath your shirt, trailing languidly up your waist.

“i'm sorry, meine liebe,” he whispered, leaning closer until his lips brushed against your ear, his breath tickling the skin. “but we can kiss anytime, can't we?”

the way his words fell of his tongue with such assuring confidence made your breath catch in your throat. you slid your arms around his neck and nodded; he wasn’t wrong– there was no rush to complete the challenge right now... the opportunity to enjoy it later was just as appealing, especially with a whole packet of pocky beside you.

his cobalt blue eyes flickered down to your plump, inviting lips. teasing you with the anticipation of a kiss, his lips hovered over yours– but he soon gave up and finally pressed his soft lips against yours. your hands instinctively grasped the fabric of his shirt, your fingers curling tightly into the material. the contact of your silken lips moving against his in such a sloppy, disheveled manner elicited a soft, breathy mewl that slipped into his mouth.

the blond seized the opportunity presented by your parted lips, pushing his tongue into your kiss-bruised mouth. a gasp escaped you as you quickly threaded your fingers through his hair, gently tugging on the strands of blue.

“m-mihya . . .”

he withdrew from the kiss, his gaze lingering with satisfaction at your kiss-drunk visage– lips glistening with his saliva, droopy eyes, and the corners of your mouth twitching in a hazy smile. a pleased smirk spread across his face as he pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead.

“just like i thought, meine liebe,” he murmured, playfully tapping the tip of your nose,

“you taste way sweeter than that shitty snack.”

© 2024 bluelockmaniac — do not repost, copy, translate, modify, etc my work on any platform !

[mariasont]

A Simple Rinse Would've Sufficed - A.H

summary: sweetheart!reader is completely convinced hotch's first aid response is overboard

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x sweetheart!reader

warnings: dbf aaron hotchner, teeny tiny cut on readers hand, pre-relationship, reader being lil obsessed with hotch

wc: 0.9k

"This really isn't necessary," you murmur, but the words lack conviction, trailing off before they can land.

Hotch doesn't look up. Doesn't hesitate. Just finishes unscrewing the cap on the antiseptic like he didn't hear you, or more likely, he did, and didn't care for the argument.

It was just a scratch. Practically invisible. Nothing to fuss over. But apparently, Hotch is operating under some kind of every minor injury is a security threat policy.

Which felt especially ridiculous considering you'd just walked away from an arrest unscathed. You'd spent the last twenty-four hours proving yourself, running down leads, securing evidence, even keeping up with the rest of the team during the suspect pursuit. You were proud of that. 

And then you got back to the precinct, went to grab a file from one of those awful old metal drawers, and bam. A tiny, inconsequential scrape across your palm. You had survived actual violence, only to be bested by office furniture.

So now you were getting a full medical exam over something that wasn't even visible unless you really squinted.

You shift on the edge of the table, legs swinging, mostly because sitting still feels impossible under his touch. His hands are big, bigger than you realized until now. Strong, but you'd say also careful, the pads of his fingers pressing lightly against your skin as he holds you in place. The sensation sends an unsteady type of warmth curling up your spine, landing somewhere behind your ribs.

"It's barely even a cut," you say, attempting to sound exasperated instead of, whatever this was. "Like, I'm pretty sure I've had worse from opening candy wrappers."

That earns you a look, and you instantly shrink under it.

Not a harsh look, not even an annoyed one, just Hotch's look. That's explanation enough. The kind that makes you feel like you should probably quit while you're ahead, but also makes you realize you're probably not capable of quitting while you're ahead.

So, naturally, you keep talking.

"I mean, I really don't think this requires a whole medical response, sir," you add, the nervous energy bubbling under your skin making it impossible to shut up. You clamp down on the urge to chew your lip, shifting slightly under his attention.

The antiseptic meets your skin with a sharp little sting, and you suck in a breath, fingers twitching like you might actually yank your hand away from your boss.

Hotch doesn't even blink. Just presses a little firmer, holding your wrist steady like he already expected you to flinch. "Hold still."

And gods help you, but something about it turns your thoughts into white noise.

It's nothing. Objectively, logically, nothing. Just Hotch being careful, thorough, like he is with everything.

Except his hands are warm. Rough in a way that makes your breath feel a little short, moving over your skin with a level of care that shouldn't make you feel nearly as dizzy as it does.

You blink, zeroing in on the plain, standard-issue bandage he's peeling open — completely unremarkable, completely ordinary. Like forcing your brain to register on the most boring detail in the room will make you stop spiraling. 

"It's just funny," you blurt, because the silence is suffocating, and you're panicking a little.

Hotch gives you a look, not quite questioning but not dismissing either.

You clear your throat. "I mean, you do realize you've done more for this than most people would do for, like, a full-on stab wound, right?"

A pause. Just long enough for you to start regretting speaking at all.

And then, to your absolute horror, something shifts. A flicker of amusement. So quick, so barely there, you might've imagined it.

Oh no.

You'd almost prefer it if he just ignored you. If he shut you down with that infamous serious look he always wore. This, the possibility that you might've entertained him for even half of a second, was infinitely worse.

His thumb smooths over the bandaid, pressing it into place, and your body locks up.

Because he doesn’t move away.

For a second, maybe less, maybe nothing at all, his touch stalls, the warmth of his skin bleeding through the thin adhesive. He’s still holding your hand. His thumb still resting against you, light, thoughtless. Like he doesn’t even realize it.

You should move.

You should say something.

You should not be sitting here, waiting to see if he notices.

Then, as quickly as it happened, it’s over. Hotch lets go, caps the antiseptic, and steps back like it never happened.

"There," he says, so even, so unaffected, like none of this was anything. For him it probably wasn't. "You'll live."

You exhale a laugh, too thin. “Well, thank God. I was getting worried.”

He doesn’t react, doesn’t even glance up at you as he secures the first-aid kit back in place. “Check in with Prentiss before you go.”

You nod and push yourself off the table, legs feeling weirdly unsteady, like you’ve been sitting too long. That’s all this is. You just need to walk it off.

And then he's gone. You stare at your hand, fingers flexing experimentally. 

“You do realize that was entirely unnecessary.”

You jolt, turning so fast you almost trip over yourself. Reid is standing there, arms crossed, head tilted slightly like he’s studying something under a microscope.

You blink. "I — what?"

Reid gestures toward your hand. “That wound wasn’t significant enough to require antiseptic or dressing. A simple rinse would have sufficed.”

You stare. Your brain is still buffering, half stuck-on Hotch, half trying to figure out how Reid manages to be the weirdest and most correct person in any given room.

"I — uh." You clear your throat. "Good to know."

Reid nods. "Just thought you might find that interesting."

taglist: @readergf @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @broadwaytraaaaash @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @crouchingapple @navia3000 @aaronlovesava @bakugocanstompme @pansexualhailstorm @averyhotchner @looking1016 @everythinglizzy @sky2nd @alexxavicry @spencerssatchel @candyd1es @storiesofsvu @pleasantgardenwitch @kodzukenmaa @hiireadstuff @dilflover-3 @spennciesslut @phoenix-le-danseur-de-pole @jstcln @just-here-to-read13 @c-losur3 @wondergal2001 @oliver-1270 @ssahotchbabe @savagemickey03 @justanotherbimboslxt @imoonkiss @estragos @khxna @de-duchess @raysmayhem-72 @piinksdoll @justyourusualash @whimsicalpolitical @kcch-ns @cool-light32 @reidfile @sugarbutterbailey @ssamorganhotchner @persephonestears @moonyxstars @spookyysinsanity @proxxyshouse @spoolsofgreenspoolsofblack @imsonotweird @jungchloe @she-wont-miss @duchesz @may-machin99 @historicallyweirdandqueer @in-the-kosmos @lcvealwayss @p13rc3-th3-m4tt13 @babyhoneybyhs @reire11

taglist is closed for now until i can figure out the best way to include more than 50 mentions :(

[brklynbxby]

closed starter for @mysteriousxgirls

Medellín, 7:03 a.m.

The gates slid open with a mechanical groan, like they hated letting anyone go. Diego stepped through them without looking back, clutching a small plastic bag that held five years of state-issued life: a worn Bible, a couple of letters, and a photo of Liyana so creased it had white veins spiderwebbing across her smile. He wore what the prison gave him — a plain grey shirt that clung awkwardly to shoulders that had grown broader with time, khaki trousers stiff at the seams, and slip-on shoes that felt like cardboard under his feet. Over it all, a cheap navy hoodie hung off his frame, the zipper sticking halfway up. It wasn’t cold, but he kept it on anyway. It felt like armour, flimsy as it was. He was twenty-four when they took him in — caught with two kilos in the backseat of a borrowed car, set up to carry the weight for someone higher on the ladder. He’d known better. He just hadn’t been given a choice. Or maybe he had, and he picked wrong. Prison was what people said it was: cold, loud, brutal in the quiet moments. Fights over nothing, guards who didn’t give a damn, food that tasted like wet cardboard and regret. Bland oatmeal for breakfast, beans and rice on repeat, sometimes a mystery meat that smelled like burnt rubber. He never asked what it was. You learned not to.

Now he stood outside, breathing air that didn’t smell like bleach or desperation. The sun felt surreal on his face. A battered red pickup rolled up to the curb, horn tapping twice. Mateo. A friend from school, before everything. They hadn’t talked in years, but Diego had called him last month — just to see if anyone from his past still picked up. A lot didn’t but Mateo did. “Damn,” Mateo said, leaning over to push the passenger door open. “You look older.” Diego smirked faintly, sliding in. “Fuck, I feel older.” As they pulled onto the main road, Mateo glanced at him. “So what’s the move, hombre? You want a beer or a burger?” “A burger,” Diego said without hesitation. “Biggest one they’ve got. And fries. Real fries. Not that half-cooked cafeteria shit. You know they served this one thing, they said it was chicken, but it was grey. Grey, man.” Mateo laughed, shaking his head. “Welcome back to the real world. You’re getting a double with bacon and cheese.”

They hit a drive-thru just outside the city. As Mateo ordered, Diego pulled out his phone — cheap, secondhand, barely holding charge as the red bar kept reminding him. He stared at Liyana’s number. A picture of them still as the contact photo. A picture back when life was simpler. A date they went on at a milkshake shop, they must’ve been around 18 years old. His thumb hovered over the screen before he pressed call. It rang. Once. Twice. Straight to voicemail. He stared at the screen for a second, then tucked the phone into the pocket of his khaki trousers. Mateo didn’t ask — just handed him the burger. “Liyana?” Diego nodded once. “She still in the city?” He asked again. “I think so?” Diego announced before he peeled the wrapper back slowly. The two had been together since high school. “She wrote me letters. Visited. Then one day she said she couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t keep her life on hold for me. I don’t blame her, man. She deserves the fucking world and she was always way more than just my girl. But I told her — when I got out, I’d find her. I’d make it right.” He took a bite, chewing slowly, like the flavour hurt. “I lost her once. That’s on me. But I’m not losing her again.” Mateo looked over at him for a long second, the truck humming under them. “You sure that’s a door that’s still open?” Diego didn’t answer right away. He just looked out the window as the city came into view, bright and busy and full of things he hadn’t touched in five years. “I don’t care,” he said. “I’m knocking until my fingers bleed.”

[rafecamerons-national-anthem]

PICNIC UNDER THE STARS-DREW STARKEY The day had started like any other, but by evening, Drew was acting strange. He kept glancing at the clock and pacing the living room, muttering something about “timing it perfectly.” When you asked what was going on, he only smirked and said, “You’ll see,” before grabbing your coat and insisting you follow him.

“Drew, what are we doing?” you laughed as he led you toward the stairwell of your apartment building instead of the front door.

“Patience,” he replied with a teasing grin. “And close your eyes. No peeking, Y/N!”

You rolled your eyes but obeyed, your heart fluttering as his warm hand wrapped around yours to guide you up the steps. The sound of your footsteps echoed in the stairwell, the air growing cooler with each floor you ascended. You were about to ask again what he was up to when Drew came to a stop.

“Okay,” he said, his voice soft now. “You can open them.”

You blinked your eyes open, and the sight before you stole your breath. The rooftop, which had always been plain and unremarkable, was transformed into something out of a movie. A large blanket was spread across the ground, covered with pillows and surrounded by strings of fairy lights that cast a warm, golden glow against the night sky. A small portable speaker played one of your favorite songs softly in the background, and a wicker basket sat at the center of it all.

“Drew,” you whispered, turning to him in awe. “Did you, did you do all of this?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, a bashful smile creeping onto his face. “Yeah, I did. Took a few trips up here earlier today, but I really wanted to make it special.”

“Why?” you asked, though your heart already knew the answer.

His blue eyes met yours, earnest and full of affection. “Because you deserve it,” he said simply.

You felt your cheeks flush, the warmth of his words settling over you like a blanket. He reached out to take your hand again and led you to sit on the blanket.

For the next couple of hours, you laughed and talked as you shared snacks from the basket. Drew had packed all your favorites, he even managed to bring that obscure candy you’d once mentioned loving as a kid.

“You seriously remembered that?” you asked, holding up the wrapper in disbelief.

“Of course,” he said, grinning. “I pay attention to the important stuff.”

The night deepened, and the stars seemed to shine brighter as you and Drew cuddled under a blanket. His arm rested around your shoulders, pulling you closer as the music played softly in the background.

“You know,” he said after a while, his voice low and thoughtful, “I’ve always wanted to do something like this. Just sit under the stars with someone who matters.”

Your chest tightened at his words, and you turned your head to look at him. His face was lit by the soft glow of the fairy lights, and he looked so at ease, so content, that you couldn’t help but smile.

“Well, mission accomplished,” you said, leaning your head against his shoulder. “This is perfect, Drew. You’re perfect.”

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through you. “I wouldn’t go that far. But I am glad you like it. I’ve been planning this for weeks, you know.”

“Really?” you asked, tilting your head up to look at him.

He nodded, his lips curving into a soft smile. “Yeah. I just I wanted to see you smile like that. Makes it all worth it.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you didn’t say anything at all. Instead, you leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, lingering just long enough to feel the way his breath hitched in surprise.

“Thank you,” you whispered, pulling back to meet his gaze.

His eyes softened, and he pulled you closer, resting his chin on the top of your head. “Anytime, Y/N. Anytime.”

The two of you stayed there for hours, wrapped up in each other and the beauty of the night, the world fading away until it was just you, Drew, and the stars above.

[voxofthevoid]

Skirtfic Wednesday #3—and the last one!

"Gojou in a dress" ended up being Gojou in a skirt and then half a dress and then a full schoolgirl get-up, and the fic itself turned into a whole 18k across 4 chapters...even after I scrapped the initial intercrural+intergluteal sex scenes that birthed this plot bunny.

Instead, there's some dick stepping, a whole lot of tit groping, and gratuitous cocksucking. You're getting none of that today though.

“Aren’t we having fun,” Gojou murmurs, his amusement gaining back its usual edge. “So tell me, Yuuji—what am I wearing?”

“Stockings,” Yuuji blurts out.

“And?”

“A skirt.”

“What else?”

“Uh, a shirt?”

“Almost there. Aren’t you missing something?”

“I don’t—” Yuuji freezes, equally hopeful and wary. His palms are still pressed to the stockings, but the insides of his forearms are brushing the skirt. There can’t be more than a few centimeters of bare skin between them.

But there’s a part of Gojou that he hasn’t touched.

Yuuji swallows a question, sliding his hands back up instead. They find the hem of the skirt—and slip under.

More warm skin molds itself against his palms, and Yuuji realizes he’s gripping way too hard. He tries to ease it, but it’s hard to think about anything except how Gojou’s skin gets hotter and softer the further up he goes, and he knows it’s not much, what with how short the skirt is, but it still feels like an eternity passes before his fingers touch more fabric.

Yuuji groans, a thousand violent hungers bursting to life in the pit of his belly.

“There we go.” Gojou sounds obscenely satisfied. “What’ve you found now?”

Underwear, Yuuji could say and it’d be right—but Gojou would make him pay for it, wouldn’t he? He’s that kind of mean.

“Panties,” Yuuji rasps. “You’re wearing panties.”

“I am,” Gojou practically purrs. “All for you, Yuuji.”

Yuuji shudders, and the hand on his nape clamps tighter like it’s trying to hold him together. “I want to see. Sensei, please—”

“Such a polite boy,” Gojou teases. “Alright.”

The blindfold is gone before Yuuji can react, plucked right off his face. The light makes him wince but not much. When Gojou blindfolded him, there was only the dying natural light coming from the windows, but now those are curtained. The room is lit up soft and gold—overhead lights that are definitely not there in the guest room.

Gojou’s golden too, the light and his soft smile sanding off all his edges.

And Yuuji likes him the way he usually is, but he likes this too.

He throws his arms around Gojou’s neck and kisses him full on the mouth.

There’s no resistance, only that smile widening until it opens up, turning the kiss wet and hot, and Gojou’s mouth still tastes sweet, but the flavor’s changed—probably the candy he had on the drive back here. It’s still better on Gojou’s tongue than it’d ever be straight out of the wrapper, and Yuuji finds himself pushing up to his maximum height and straining closer and closer, every cell in his body urging him to climb into this man, and Gojou holds him tighter too, pressing them together from lips to hips. A part of Yuuji’s still screaming about the clothes Gojou’s wearing—the ones Yuuji didn’t even really look at in the end.

Gojou breaks the kiss, licking his lips. His thumb swipes over Yuuji’s bottom lip, coming away glistening.

“Hungry thing,” Gojou murmurs, “aren’t you?”

Yuuji can only pant for air.

It’s Gojou who takes a step back, slipping out of Yuuji’s arms. He doesn’t go far, barely putting a few feet between them before spreading his arms and arching an eyebrow at Yuuji.

“Well?” he asks. “Am I to your tastes?”

“Yes.”

Gojou laughs at the vehemence of Yuuji’s reply, but he sounds pleased. Looks it too, from the curl of his mouth to the gleam in his eyes. This light is doing unfairly pretty things to them, bringing out shades of blue Yuuji didn’t know existed.

Maybe that’s because of the clothes too. Gojou’s dressed almost like a schoolgirl—plain white shirt with a collar, pleated blue–black skirt. But no way would those sheer, silky stockings pass any kind of school regulations. They’re just too…sexy. Bare legs would look more modest somehow.

“My eyes are up here, you know.”

Yuuji gapes incredulously. “You want me to look!”

Gojou pulls a surprised face. “That’s a serious accusation, Yuuji. Are you calling me easy?”

“Sensei, c’mon,” Yuuji sighs. “Don’t play games.”

“But they’re so fun,” Gojou says with a pout, which twists into a toothy grin. “You’re fun.”

“To tease, you mean.”

“That,” Gojou admits shamelessly. “But in many other ways too. Come closer and I’ll let you show me a few.”

Any thoughts of refusing Yuuji may have had die a fiery death when Gojou holds out an arm, fingers curled in a come-hither motion. Yuuji stumbles forward, reaching for that hand, and he’s allowed to catch it and keep it, and then Gojou’s walking backward and tugging Yuuji with him, closer and closer to the sprawling bed that’s clearly bigger than even the one in the guest room, and he must decide that’s not enough of an assault on Yuuji’s sanity because his free hand plucks at the first button of his tight white shirt—and the next and the next.

A little V opens up, exposing bulging muscles and bruised skin. The shirt was already stretched tight across Gojou’s chest, but the unbuttoning only seems to make his flesh even more eager to burst free, his pecs straining against the fabric and bunching up together at the middle. It’s like—

Cleavage, Yuuji thinks a little hysterically.

He stumbles, but Gojou just pulls him mercilessly forward. And he doesn’t stop even when the back of his knees hit the bed, and he doesn’t do anything as normal as sit down either, instead falling on the mattress with enough force to make him bounce on it, once and then twice, finally settling with a violent ripple of the baby-blue bedsheets.

Yuuji, he realizes, didn’t fall with him because Gojou had let go of his hand in the nick of time. It’s still stretched out, his fingers curled forlornly in thin air.

“Sensei?”

“Closer,” Gojou beckons.

Yuuji sways closer—and is stopped by the foot that flattens itself against his chest.

Hey, he thinks, this already happened.

Gojou seems intent on repeating it though, his foot sliding down Yuuji’s chest, slow but sure, every second of pressure a taunt as mean as the grin that’s made its way back onto Gojou’s mouth, and Yuuji knows where it’s headed, he knows what will happen afterward—he lived it all and dreamed of it too, all in the course of less than a day.

There are differences too. The foot sliding achingly down his torso is clothed in sheer white instead of bare. The angle has made the skirt peel back almost all the way from the offending leg, exposing that thigh almost to the crease.

And this time, in the forbidden dark between Gojou’s legs, there’s a flash of blue.

Yuuji grabs Gojou’s ankle and yanks it away from where it was digging into his underbelly, pushing it to the side to spread Gojou well and open.

“Yuuji-kun,” Gojou gasps, mock scandalized, “is that how you treat a girl?”

Yuuji takes a moment out of staring at the lacy blue panties to blink up at Gojou. “But, sensei, you’re not a girl.”

Gojou snorts. “Clearly, but that’s your type, hm? A tall woman with a big ass.”

There’s something very weird about hearing that from Gojou’s mouth, even though he’s definitely talked dirtier to Yuuji.

“Yeah,” Yuuji says dubiously, “but why are you bringing that up now?”

“A real mystery,” Gojou deadpans. Then he cocks his head, his fringe resettling over his eyes in new, insanity-inducing ways. “Well, I am tall. Good ass too, if I say so myself. And you did seem quite into these.”

Gojou punctuates that with his hands over his pecs, gripping tight and heaving like he’s weighing imaginary breasts.

Yuuji’s cock is trying really hard to poke a hole in his pants.

“Sensei,” Yuuji rasps, “that looks—”

“It could be enough for you to pretend, if you’re desperate.” Gojou lets go of his tits, folding his arms under them instead; it looks too stern for the lewd sprawl of his body. “Is that what you’re doing, Yuuji?”

It takes Yuuji a long second to figure out what Gojou’s asking—what he’s been saying all this time.

“Huh? No. You’re a man. Why would I pretend you’re a woman?”

“Why indeed,” Gojou muses, his tone casual but his eyes sharp. “Alright. I wouldn’t dare doubt my cute little student.”

“That sounds a little—”

The rest of Yuuji’s words slip back down his throat to heat up his lungs as Gojou reaches down and lifts his skirt, fingers pinched around the hem with perverse delicacy.

Despite the lacework, the panties are wide and thick, easily containing the impressive bulge underneath.

“Show me then,” Gojou says, “how you’d fuck a man.”

[tsvwords]

The afternoon sun is drifting slowly down towards its final resting place. The sky is alive with polluted hues of violet.

And quite suddenly, as the car wheels along the country road, the horizon pulls away, and I’m gazing out across a great plain of trash. Broken-down sofas. Rusted and burnt-out cars. Smaller fragments of metal detritus, glinting like shards of glass, amongst a million rippling black trash bags.

There are stacks of trash, towering high like hills amongst the flats. Here and there, great clawed machines direct the filth, lifting and placing and pressing down beneath their roiling tracks.

And in amongst the wreckage, I realise, as we pull in through the gates, underneath a sign which reads, ‘Fisherman’s Rest Incorporated Waste Disposal’…are the staring and ghastly faces of redundant gods.

Their stone beards and twisted, neon eyes gaze forebodingly upwards or comically downwards, half-buried in plastic sheets or beneath the avalanches of cans and wrappers and radios and things.

The older ones are buried deeper. Sometimes there’s just a pointed finger or grasping tendril of statuary poking up through the landfill.

There are houses, too, built amongst the garbage and of the garbage, and there are people walking here. Families. Children running back and forth.

One woman turns towards me. She carries a heavy sack upon her back, packed with rubbish, or what looks like rubbish. She raises a hand in greeting. The index finger and small finger are entirely missing. Only a raw stump of her thumb remains.

— Chapter 11: My Voice Cries Truths I Never Knew.

[yourreddancer]

Gavin Newsom is Meeting The Moment

When fascists play cosplay coup, real leaders plant their feet and light them the F up—with lawsuits, facts, and an actual spine.

JoJoFromJerz

Jun 10

It’s another day in American dystopia, and the Speaker of the House—an evangelical paperweight with the charisma of a dial tone—just said Gavin Newsom should be “tarred and feathered.” Not figuratively. Not as some bad-faith hyperbole he’ll later pretend was misquoted. No, Mike Johnson—he of the Accountability Porn Pact with his teenage son—tossed out an 18th-century mob punishment like he was ordering from a Cheesecake Factory menu of fascist nostalgia.

This is where we are now. Theocratic cosplay meets colonial cosplay, all wrapped in flag pins and white grievance. Lynch threats in business casual. Historical violence repackaged as tough talk from men who hide behind prayer breakfasts and assault rifles with Bible verses etched on the barrel.

And it’s not just Johnson. The whole MAGA apparatus has been softly moaning the words “arrest Gavin Newsom” like they’re testing out a new slogan for the next insurrection. They haven’t gone full goon-squad yet, but they’re workshopping the fantasy in plain sight—floating it on right-wing radio, reality TV news, and Capitol Hill like fascism is just another focus group. It’s not policy. It’s provocation. It’s crisis theater. They toss it out, wait for outrage, then pretend they’re the ones under attack. That’s the whole game.

No, no one’s signed the arrest warrant. Yet. But the signal’s clear. They’re flirting with it. Winking at it. Floating it like fascist fanfic on AM radio. Tossing around “arrest the governor” like it’s just Tuesday talk—not the first domino in a full-scale democratic collapse. It’s soft-launch authoritarianism, tested in real time, wrapped in plausible deniability and dumber than a bag of bricks.

And Newsom? Newsom isn’t just holding the line—he is the line.

While Trump practically drools at the thought of tanks rolling down Melrose—Marines redeployed like set dressing for his collapsing fascist dinner theater—Newsom is suing. Not for press hits. Not for vibes. He filed a lawsuit because the Trump administration didn’t just cross a line—they napalmed it, pissed on the ashes, and dared anyone to notice. They deployed National Guard troops and U.S. Marines into California without consent, without request, without a single shred of legal authority. That’s not a policy dispute. That’s a constitutional smash-and-grab. It’s not just unlawful—it’s banana-republic bullshit in a Pentagon wrapper. The kind of move history captures in grainy black-and-white footage, the kind you show in classrooms with the caption: This is when it all started to slip.

And while he’s fighting that fire in court, Newsom is also out here doing the other half of the job: keeping the streets calm. Because unlike Trump, he doesn’t need chaos to function. He doesn’t want violence—he wants a functioning goddamn democracy. And he knows exactly what Trump is after.

Trump doesn’t just want unrest—he needs it. He’s starving for it. He’s out there rattling the cage, begging the crowd to break something, throw something, give him one frame of chaos to loop on repeat. He wants a brick through a window, a trash can on fire—anything he can weaponize into propaganda. He’s not watching protests, he’s scouting footage. He wants to jab his finger at the screen and growl: See? Only I can crush this. Not fix it—crush it. He’s not preserving order. He’s staging a spectacle. He’s the arsonist dialing 911 so he can blame the blaze on the folks who show up to douse the flames. This isn’t about safety. It’s about control. It’s about declaring martial order from manufactured mayhem—and dressing it up as salvation.

And that’s exactly why Newsom is doing the opposite.

He’s not spinning in circles or screaming into the void. He’s not hiding behind a podium made of clichés and interns. He’s not filtering his words through a team of consultants terrified of verbs. He’s been in constant, unapologetic contact with the people of Los Angeles, the people of California, the people of America—and the people around the world watching this slow-motion constitutional dumpster fire. He’s not just tweeting out limp solidarity or issuing thoughts-and-prayers in a serif font. He’s showing the fuck up. Calm. Clear-eyed. Accountable. Unshaken. While others are busy writing statements no one reads, Newsom is writing the goddamn playbook.

And yeah—look, it’s exhausting. It’s easy to feel jaded when half the damn Democratic Party treats rising fascism like a scheduling conflict. Easy to lose hope when their go-to strategy seems to be “express concern and then immediately go on recess.” We’ve all seen the shrug-speak, the sternly worded letters, the press conferences that feel like Ambien in a suit. But when someone actually meets the moment—when they show up with spine, conviction, and zero patience for fascist bullshit—we need to say it. Loudly. Unapologetically. With fireworks and a goddamn brass band. Other Democrats should be taking notes—hell, they should be auditing the class. Because this? This is what it looks like to fucking lead.

Is Gavin Newsom perfect? Not even close. Lord knows I don’t agree with everything he does or how he does it. But perfection isn’t the assignment—courage is. Conviction is. We don’t need saints in this moment. We need fighters. We need people who don’t just recognize the breach—we need people willing to plant their feet in it. To hold the damn line while the Constitution buckles and the cowards in Congress avert their eyes. And right now, Gavin Newsom isn’t looking away. He’s not flinching. He’s standing.

And when Trump’s goons—mush-mouth Tom Homan, the human neck vein who thinks yelling is a policy platform; Mike Johnson, the sanctimonious sock puppet who thinks the Constitution is a devotional; and Tommy Tuberville, the CTE mascot in a Senate seat—start spitballing fantasies of arrest and public humiliation, Newsom doesn’t cower. He doesn’t compromise. He doesn’t obey in advance. He calls their fucking bluff.

Tom Homan floats arrest? Newsom says, “Let’s go.”

Tuberville tries a drive-by tweet? Newsom delivers a stat check so cold Alabama needed a jacket.

And Mike Johnson—our vacant-eyed theocrat cosplaying as Speaker—says Newsom should be tarred and feathered? This from a man so devout he had his son monitor his porn habits like it was a youth group activity. That’s not morality. That’s repression in a cardigan. And now he’s fantasizing about colonial mob violence from the pulpit of American power? Please. That’s what happens when fascists start running out of euphemisms: they reach for the pitchforks and pretend it’s patriotism.

And while they’re flailing and foaming and spitting into the void, Newsom is doing the one thing they can’t comprehend: governing. Communicating. Staying calm.

He’s not tweeting cryptic nonsense from a golden toilet. He’s not sulking behind blackout SUVs. He’s governing. With composure. With law. With contact and conviction—and the gall to trust people with the truth.

Because this is what leadership actually looks like. Not posturing. Not performative martyrdom. Not cosplay coups or Civil War roleplay in the Walmart parking lot. Real leadership shows up, speaks plainly, stands its ground, and doesn’t flinch—especially when fascism shows up dressed like Sunday morning and preaching freedom while plotting control.

So let’s be crystal fucking clear: this is the moment where you do not comply quietly. This is the time to get loud, get clear, and get organized—without giving them what they want. Because authoritarians love chaos. They feed on it. They use it to demand more control, more power, more troops, more laws, more silence.

But they hate ridicule. They hate resistance. They hate being outsmarted by someone who doesn’t break a sweat while doing it. And Gavin Newsom? He’s not just standing in the breach—he’s laughing in their faces, reading them their own playbook out loud, and underlining every fascist footnote with a lawsuit and a smirk. He’s not just saying “Not this time.” He’s saying, “Nice try, jackass. I brought receipts.”

He’s showing what it looks like to lead in a moment of manufactured madness. Not by escalating. Not by hiding. But by staying calm, staying loud, and refusing to back down.

This is how you face fascism. You don’t normalize it. You don’t soften it. You don’t hug it and ask it to please use its inside voice. You call it what it is. You shine a fucking light on it. You fight it—legally, peacefully, publicly, and relentlessly.

And you never, ever obey in advance.

This is the way.

*Oh, and by the way… Newsom heard the tar-and-feather shit too—and served it right back with a deadpan that could cut steel 👇

That’s not panic. That’s precision. That’s a man calmly dismantling authoritarian cosplay with one tweet and a full tank of receipts.🔥🔥🔥

I love you guys!

Stay sane(ish), stay sassy, stay standing your ground like Gavin Goddamned Newsom.

[uwmspeccoll]

It’s Fine Press Friday

Gabriel Rummonds is an extraordinarily fine letterpress printer who wrote the definitive manual Printing on the Iron Handpress (1997). Rummonds was a set-designer in New York, an industrial designer in Japan for Fraser China, a book designer at Alfred Knopf, and a commercial attaché at the U. S. Embassy in Quito, Ecuador, before establishing his Plain Wrapper Press in 1966. He was also the founding director in 1982 of the well-noted MFA program in Book Arts at the University of Alabama, Tuscaloosa. 

The title shown here, Circhi e Cene (Circuses and Suppers), with two poems in Italian by Andrea Zanzotto, English translation by Beverly Allen, and two, color etchings by Joe Tilson, was printed in a limited edition of 150 copies in 1979 on an 1847 Washington handpress by Gabriel Rummonds and Alessandro Zanella (who became a partner in the Plain Wrapper Press the year before) in Verona, Italy. The type was handset in Jan van Krimpen’s Spectrum and printed on handmade Cartiere Miliani-Fabriano paper made especially for the press. Calligrapher Golda Fishbein produced the the title lettering and the etchings were pulled by Giorgio Upiglio in Milan. The edition is signed by the poet and the artist, and our copy is a gift from our friend Jerry Buff.

View another post with work by Gabriel Rummonds.

View more Fine Press Friday posts.

[schoopsahoy]

i'm holding every breath for you

steve harrington x nextdoor neighbour!reader {8.2k} based on the song i’d lie by taylor swift. friends-to-lovers. lots of pining, a bit of angst, steve being oblivious to reader’s feelings. reader uses she/her pronouns. no use of y/n. not proofread

You root through the glove compartment of Steve’s car, bent over at the waist to peer into the small space trying to find the lip balm you swore you left there the last time he gave you a ride. 

“Why d’you have so much crap in here? How am I meant to find anything?” You pull out random scraps of paper, food wrappers and notes scribbled in a hurry that were barely legible.

“You wouldn’t have to look through it if you didn’t forget something every time you’re in here.” 

You shoot him a glare, no malice really behind it because he was right, you did have a bad habit of constantly leaving your stuff in his car. Though to be fair, you were constantly leaving things behind in the places you’d been, it wasn’t exclusive to his car.

“S’not my fault, I just forget.” You’ve got a pile of rubbish on your lap now, the glove box empty enough for you to actually see its contents. When you finally see the plastic tube you’ve been searching for you let out a small ah!, inhaling quickly as you pull it out with a victorious smile on your face. “Got it.” 

“Best put it somewhere safe, god forbid you have to root through my stuff again.” Steve’s eyebrows were raised, a sarcastic twang to his voice, but you know he’s not really mad. He was never mad, not at you anyway. 

“I know, sorry, could have all sorts of secrets in here.” 

You put all the rubbish you’ve accumulated back into the compartment, really you should keep hold of it to throw it all out. But the thought doesn’t cross your mind until you’re back home in your room.

“Think you know all of my secrets anyway, I’ll let it slide.” 

You sit back in your seat, pulling down the sun visor to shield your eyes from the summer evening sun that was hanging low in the sky. You have your own car, and were perfectly capable of driving it, but Steve insisted on driving you around because your car was old and rickety and ‘should not be allowed on the road’. He was at least a little bit right, and you can't say you mind him picking you up from your shifts at the grocery store. His passenger seat had always felt a bit like home, even through high school and the girlfriends that would come and go, your presence up front was a constant. 

You undo a few of the buttons on your work shirt, the sticky heat of the day clinging to the fabric and your skin. The air conditioning near the checkouts in work was temperamental at best, and today it had decided to pretty much pack in altogether. The first thing you’d done when you got into Steve’s car was crank the AC up to try and lower your body temperature from feverish to just plain old hot. 

“You coming to the lake this weekend?” You pick at your chipped nail varnish, Steve finally able to actually start the drive home now you’ve dug through his mess successfully. It was a Hawkin’s summer tradition to spend at least one day down by the lake, drinking and smoking a bit too much and getting a little dizzy from a full day of sun exposure. 

Steve hums, nodding in response as he pulls out of the parking lot. “You’ll never guess who asked me that at work today.” 

“At work? Robin?” You look away from your nails, brows furrowed and nose scrunched with confusion. 

“No, not Robin.” Steve chuckles, your response typical of your mind, always a little ditzy and in your own world. It was endearing in a way, your world view simple and honest and good. “Tammy Thompson.” 

Your mouth opens to a small ‘O’, head nodding slowly. “You gonna go with her?” 

“No, absolutely not. Couldn’t pay me to go with her.” 

“She’s not so bad, in the grand scheme of Hawkin’s.” 

“If my best option is Tammy Thompson, I think I’ll just stay single forever.” 

You press your lips together, nodding again. You were overly familiar with Steve’s dating woes, both throughout school and now into adulthood. Maybe if you were bolder, with less to lose than your best friend, you’d just tell him to date you. Bite the bullet and take the leap and just give it a try. But you weren’t bold, you were safe and comfortable in the familiar and not ready to jeopardise that by confessing some big feelings that Steve was oblivious to.

“You just gonna hide from her the whole time then?”

“Maybe, use you as a human shield.” He grins at you, watching as you scrunch up your nose again. It was one of those mannerisms that you did all the time, whenever something confused you or if he teased you a little. It was a dead giveaway for your emotions, even if you were unaware of it. 

“But you’re bigger than me, I don’t think I’d be very good at it.” 

“Y’not even gonna try? I’d do it for you.” He pouts at you, you’re sure he’s doing his best puppy dog eyes behind his sunglasses too. 

“Sure, I’ll try. But don’t blame me when she spots you, I can’t grow like 3 feet taller in a few days.” 

“Don’t think you’d need to grow 3 feet, honey.” 

“To do a proper job I would.” 

Steve just nods, smiling to himself as he pulls into the street you’ve both grown up on. Carpooling was pretty easy when you only had to make one stop, though he’d take you to the other side of the world if you asked him to. 

“You gonna need a lift to work tomorrow?” Steve parks up in his driveway, turning the ignition off and cutting off the AC you’ve been basking in, a small sigh coming from your lips as the cool air stops fanning on your skin. 

“S’okay, I start at like 6am so I can drive.” You pick your backpack up out of the footwell, corduroy straps held tightly in your hand. 

“You’re not driving that death trap when you’re half asleep, you know I don’t mind dropping you off.” Steve’s car keys dangle from his pointer finger, the collection of keyrings you’d gotten him over the years from every holiday you’d been on jingling against one another. “Just bang on my door if I don’t knock before you need to leave.”

“You’re silly for doing this, y’know that?” 

“Only for you, sweetheart.” 

Steve leans over to ruffle your hair, earning him a huff from you as you try to move your head away. You smooth out the mess as you climb out the passenger side, slinging your bag over one shoulder as you start to make your way over to your own house. 

“You forgetting something?” Steve calls after you, and as you turn you see him holding out the same lip balm you’d left behind before. 

“Oh, thanks Stevie.” You hurry back over to take the tube out of his hand, giving him a sweet smile before heading back home again. 

—

You’re used to early mornings, pretty good at pushing past the grogginess after having to work so many opening shifts and be alert when the sun is still climbing in the sky, but being jostled about the back of Eddie’s van with the rest of your friends when you’re all still half asleep hurt your head a little bit. 

It was the easiest option, meaning you could all make your way to the lake together and only have one designated driver, but you did miss seatbelts. 

The heat was still yet to break, the air thick and clammy despite only wearing a tank top and some jean shorts over your bikini. You’re already slathered in sunscreen, the artificial coconut smell a bit overwhelming in the enclosed space and it doesn’t seem to lessen even once you’re out in the fresh air. 

“I wish we had one of those big umbrellas.” You stand with your hands on your hips, watching the boys lug the bags filled with snacks and the cooler of beer and soda out of the van. “It’s so hot.” 

“That’s what the lakes for, cools you right down.” Eddie smiles, shaking his curls out of his eyes as he stands up straight. 

You shrug, staring out at the glistening water. “I don’t wanna get my hair wet.”

“It’s gonna get wet.” 

“Shame.” You chew the inside of your cheek and hold your arms out to take one of the picnic blankets that’d been brought along. 

It took you about fifteen minutes to all settle on a spot along the shore, Eddie and Robin wanting to be as close to the pier as possible so they can dive-bomb into the water but Nancy saying there’ll be too much foot traffic there and nobody will be able to relax. You stand back, letting your friends argue it out and laying down your blanket once the issue had been resolved. 

The sun feels nice on your skin, the lake having more of a breeze than the rest of town making it bearable to lay out in. It doesn’t take too long for the midday heat to have you peeling off your tank top, shorts unbuttoned and rolled down a little so you can feel the heat on your stomach. 

Eddie hands out one of the joints he pre-rolled for the occasion, something about needing to start early so he can sober up before he drives you all home. The smoke has your head feeling a little fuzzy, mixing with the beer you’ve been sipping slowly and slowing your mind down. 

“You’re going pink.” Steve sits down next to you, cross legged and shoulders almost brushing. 

“I thought it was green?” You tilt your head to one side, putting the back of your hand to your head to feel your temperature. “I feel okay.” 

“No, not that, your shoulders.” 

You lift your sunglasses onto the top of your head, looking down to your shoulders which were turning a little pink. Your freckles coming out where the sun had kissed your skin. “Oh, right, I am.” 

“C’mere.” Steve leans over to reach for the sunscreen, not moving from his seat next to you as he stretches his arm over the blanket. “Your mom will be mad if I let you get burnt.” 

You shake your head, shuffling around so Steve can get to your shoulders easier. “You’re her favourite, she’d just tell me to be more careful.” 

The sunscreen feels cold, even as Steve rubs it in carefully against the hot patches of skin on your shoulders, being careful to get it under the straps of your bikini. You’re used to his gentle touches, him always looking after you ever since you were kids, but now you’re older and you’re more aware of the way his hands move and how he treats you like you’re precious and it makes your heart skip a little. 

He moves a hand away to take the joint off Robin, inhaling as he keeps massaging the sunscreen in with his other hand. He can feel the heat radiating off your skin, not yet in the sunburn territory, just a little warm. Your skin always feels soft, he’s not sure if it’s some moisturiser you use or if it’s just how you are. He leans his arm over your shoulder, holding the joint out to you as you take it between your fingers. 

You inhale, careful not to press your lips against the roach too hard in case your lipgloss transfers too much. Steve finally finishes rubbing the cream into your shoulders, and you shuffle again so that you’re facing him. “Is my face pink too? My nose feels kinda warm.” 

Steve lifts his own sunglasses up so he can look at you clearer, hair pushed back by the frames and his hand shielding his eyes from the sun's glare. “A little, you want sunscreen on there too?”

You nod your head, closing your eyes. Your eyelashes cast little shadows on your cheeks, something Steve hasn’t really noticed before but he likes it. Likes seeing you up close, even after all these years. His movements are careful as he brushes the cream across your nose and over your cheeks, just using one finger to rub it into your skin. 

You enjoy the sweet moments, but sometimes they’re too easy to get lost in. It's easy to pretend you don’t harbour all these feelings for Steve when you’re apart, even when you’re just hanging out at a safe distance. But when he’s close, your mind gets a bit carried away. Dreaming up scenarios where he might press a kiss to your lips whilst your eyes are still closed, hold your hand once he’s done and keep it there for the rest of the day. You’ve got a big imagination, it’s a real bother sometimes. 

Steve finishes his careful application, and sets his hand down in his lap to look over your face once more to check he hasn’t missed anywhere. He takes a moment to just watch how you breath steady, a small smile on your lips that always seems to be there without you even knowing. “Okay, you’re done.” 

You open your eyes, instantly squinting from the bright sunlight. You quickly bring your sunglasses back over your eyes, the red heart shaped frames contrasting against your complexion. “Thanks Steve, you’re the best.” 

“I know, s’why you love me.” 

If only you knew, you think. You have to force your face not to react to his words, simply giving him a smile as you lay back down to sunbathe some more. 

The heat and the smoke and the alcohol makes you clingy. They always do, even on their own, so mixing all three was sure to have you craving closeness. 

The boys had all been in the lake, splashing and tackling each other and making enough noise to draw attention from most of the people on the lake. When Steve walks back to the blanket, you hold out your arms to him as if to summon him. 

“Hey, honey. You good?” He sits in that same spot next to you, you instantly lean your head on his shoulder and hum a response. His body is still wet, but you suddenly don’t mind your hair getting a little damp. Steve knows what you’re like when you’re high, having spent enough nights on his back porch sharing a joint when his parents were out of town. Knows how you like to be close to him, he doesn’t mind it so much either. 

“M’good.” You mumble, pushing your face further into his neck. He smells like the fresh water, that same strong sunscreen but somehow still like Steve. You wish you could bottle it up, it's probably your favourite smell in the world. 

Steve puts his arm around your waist, head resting on top of yours. If it was anyone else the close contact in the heat would probably be too much, but it’s okay if it’s you. You’re like an extension of him at this point. “You had enough water today? Don’t want you going loopy.”

“Yeah, drank like two bottles.” You nudge your head in the direction of the empty water bottles discarded next to you, keeping them in a pile to collect at the end of the day. 

“Oh, must just be loopy anyway then.” He teases, giving your side a gentle squeeze. It feels like his hand has an electric current running through it and each movement sends shockwaves through you. 

“Thought you already knew that.” 

“I do, it’s cute.” 

“So you’ll visit me in the loony bin then?” You shift your head slightly so you can look up at him through your sunglasses, everything tinged some muddy colour from the lenses. 

“Every day, if they don’t lock me up with you.” 

“God, can you two get a room? Even Robin and Vickie aren’t this bad and they’re actually together.” Eddie shouts over from the other end of the mismatched collection of blankets, your cheeks heat up more than they already are with his words. The sun at least gives you an excuse for the flush of colour. 

“Can it, Munson.” Steve flips him off with the hand that isn’t still on your waist, the other boy returning the signal with a smug grin on his lips. 

You kind of want the ground to swallow you, suddenly aware that everyone probably knows you’re in love with your best friend. You don’t want the pity smiles or the sorry stares, but then if everyone else knows, why doesn’t Steve? Surely someone must have let something slip by now. Hopefully they haven’t. It’s even worse to think he knows and is ignoring it to save you from the rejection. You squeeze your eyes hard to try and push the thoughts away. 

You lean further into Steve’s side, the cool water on his skin feels soothing against your own. His hand finally moves from your waist up to stroke your hair. His thumb brushing slowly over and over. 

“You seen Tammy Thompson yet?” You want to put the question back inside your head as soon as you’ve said it. 

“Yeah, think you did a pretty good job at being my shield though. Took one look at us and turned on her heel.” 

You smile to yourself, a small laugh coming out as you put your arms around Steve. “That’s good. Maybe I’ll get a job as a bodyguard.” 

Steve chuckles and you can feel the movement against your body, the vibrations making your hairs stand on end. “Don’t think they usually let bodyguards do this sorta thing.” 

“Oh.” You hold your bottom lip under your teeth and exhale. “Maybe not then.” 

—

You’re wallowing. It’s maybe overdramatic, and you’re glad nobody else is there to see it, but you are. You have the house to yourself again, and the whole day off work, but you’ve spent most of it laid out on your lawn with a book trying to distract yourself from the fact that Steve is on a date. 

He told you yesterday, as he was dropping you off from work again, that some pretty girl had been in Family Video and he’d asked her out and she’d said yes. You’d smiled, told him you were happy for him, because he was your best friend and you wanted him to be happy more than anything else in the world. But it hasn't stopped you from moping about the entire day.

The grass tickles the skin on your back that’s exposed from where your shirt is riding up, the feeling irritating you more than it usually would. You’d managed to read about twenty pages in the past hour, having to re-read each paragraph at least three times because your mind keeps wandering. 

Your book is left at your side, defeated by the words that jumbled in your brain, your arm over your eyes to block out the last of the day's light. 

“Hey, you.” Steve chimes from over the shared fence, you hadn’t heard his car pulling up and his voice spooks you a bit as you quickly sit up. 

“Steve, you’re here.” You furrow your brow, confused by his presence. You were no expert on dating, but you had assumed he’d be out much later than this. 

“Can I come over?”

“Stupid question.” 

He smiles at your response, giving you a nod as he walks down the fence and back around into your back garden. “You been out here all day?” 

“Almost. I had to go inside for a bit because it was too hot.” Your legs stretch out in front of you as you lean back on your palms, head tilted up to look at Steve who’s still standing over you. His body blocks the sun, his shadow gives you some relief from it.

“It was pretty hot today.” Steve agrees, lingering in his spot for a minute before he finally takes a seat next to you mirroring your posture. 

“How was your date?” You try to sound interested, like you’re hoping he had the best time and was going to see her again and maybe she was the one. The thought really made you want to die a bit. 

“Bit of a bust.” Steve shrugs, he doesn’t sound too phased by it. You curse yourself for wanting to smile. 

“That’s a shame.” You say, shifting your weight off your palms so you can sit up straight and pick at the grass under your hands. “Not gonna see her again?”

“Probably not, just didn’t have much to say to each other.” 

“But you can talk anyone’s ear off.” You tease, looking at him with your eyes squinted a little, corners of your mouth turned up. Your features look soft in the evening sun, shadows rounding out your cheeks and the little bump on your nose bridge. 

“I can talk your ear off.” Steve corrects you, and gives your shoulder a light shove. The light reflecting off his hair has it turning the colour of honey, the same with his eyes. You wish he wasn’t so pretty, his face was far too easy to look at. 

“Sorry it didn’t go well.” You twist your mouth to the side, eyes all apologetic because you do want him to be happy even if it does hurt your heart. 

“Don’t be. It was nice enough, just not second-date nice.” 

“Y’want to watch a movie? We can watch A Nightmare on Elm Street, might make you feel better.” 

“Why would it make me feel better?” 

“Because you’re not getting chopped up in your sleep.” You say it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Touche. Okay, let’s do it.” Steve pushes himself up off the lawn, holding his hand out to you to help you up. You put your hand in his, his grip solid but still gentle as he pulls you up from the grass. 

You brush your legs off, little indents from the grass left in the bare skin of your calves. “I’ve got the good popcorn too.” 

You walk into your house through the patio doors, the laminate floor cold underfoot as you pad your way into the kitchen. You root through the cupboards, pulling out the various tins and boxes of health food your mom had stocked up on until you finally find the popcorn. 

“See, cinema quality.” You hold the packet out to Steve, pointing at the words printed on it. 

“You’re too good to me.” 

“Tell me about it.” You roll your eyes, all affection and sweetness really. You turn the stove on, placing the biggest pan you can find on the hob and letting it heat a little before tipping the kernels into it and putting the lid on top. 

You hop onto the counter beside the cooker, legs dangling and ankles hitting the cupboard below you as you swing them a little. “Now we wait.” 

Steve’s leaning against the island in the middle of your kitchen, hands in the front pockets of his jeans as he looks at you. You’re suddenly very aware of the fact you’ve been lazing around in the sticky heat all day, hair probably a mess and skin a little dewy and definitely not looking your best. 

“Can I ask you something?” He asks, head tilted a little as his eyes stay locked on you. 

You shrug your shoulders, trying your best to keep your breathing steady and not give away the fact that such a simple question has your throat drying up and your stomach twisting into a knot. “Sure, ask away.” 

“Do people ever just, like, assume we’re dating?” He asks the question so casually, like he was just asking how your day had been. “Like, when you’re trying to date, do they ever say that?” 

You scrunch your nose up, tongue pressing against the inside of your cheek as you try to come up with an answer, try to pull words out of your brain that currently feels like it’s been scrambled. “I d’know, I don’t date much, so I guess not.”

Steve pauses, just nodding at your response. He knew you didn’t really date, not after high school anyway. He’d never given it much thought, you’d always come away from dates complaining they were boring or got too handsy or didn’t laugh at your jokes and he’d always thought that those guys must be crazy. Because you were great, the best person he knew if he was being honest. 

“Why?” You force the question out, hoping your voice doesn’t audibly crack from how much effort it's taken to say just one word.

“I was just wondering. Heard it a couple times now, and I was just curious if you had too.” 

Heard it a couple times now. The words echo in your brain, bouncing around over and over to the point it was making you a bit dizzy. Your hands grip the counter beneath you to try and ground yourself. 

The sound of the kernels popping against the lid of the pan breaks the silence before you have to, a silent prayer of thanks to whatever God is watching over you in the moment. You hop down off the counter to get a proper look at the pan, watching as the kernels expand and pop until the little bangs slow and you can turn the stove off. 

You stand on your tiptoes to reach the cupboard above your head, fishing out the largest bowl in there and carefully tipping the popcorn into it. You finally turn back to Steve, bowl held close to your chest with both hands so you won’t drop it. “Okay, let’s go watch some people get slashed up.” 

Steve laughs, the little creases at the corners of his eyes deepening with his smile. “You’re morbid.” 

“No, I’m creative.” You say the words bluntly, but your eyes are still full of warmth for the boy in front of you. Even the coldest words wouldn’t be able to take away from the way you always look at him, a bit like a lovesick puppy. 

You put the bowl of popcorn on the table in the middle of your living room before trying to find the tape you need from the stack around the television set. You have to check a few cases, because most of them weren’t in the right one and there was no point trying to logically work out which one it’d be in. 

“Didn’t you loan this from Family Video like, two months ago?” Steve asks, already in his usual spot on your couch as he watches you open your fifth case to no avail. 

“Probably, yeah.” You don’t sound too bothered by it, the late fee something you’ve never had to pay thanks to Steve always wiping it for you. Finally, on your eighth try, you pull the correct tape out and hold it up to Steve with a grin. “Got it.” 

You eject the tape that’s currently in the VCR player, putting it into the case that you’d found A Nightmare on Elm Street in without checking if it was the right one, and push the right tape into the player before you stand up. 

“That seems like a flawed sorting system.” Steve nods towards the scattered cases on the carpet as you sit down next to him. 

You shrug. “It works for me. We don’t all work in a video store, Steve.”

“You’re right, my bad.” He holds his hands up in defeat. 

You lean forward to grab the popcorn bowl and pass it to Steve. “Try it, I need an unbiased opinion on it.” 

“Why would you be biased?” His question is muffled by him throwing some popcorn into his mouth. 

“I bought it, I want it to be good.” 

“Makes sense.” Steve nods and takes another handful of popcorn. “It’s good, but not cinema good.” 

You sigh, taking a handful for yourself now that Steve had given his review. “They always lie on the packets.” 

You and Steve had watched this film about ten times, including when it was in the theatre and you made him go twice. Knowing the plot back to front was really not helping to distract you from how close Steve is sitting to you, you didn’t have to pay attention because you know what’s about to happen so instead your brain is entirely focused on the fact you can feel Steve’s body heat, his leg pressing against your own and his arm resting on the back of the couch behind you. 

You’re really trying to keep your mind on the movie, eyes stuck to the screen barely blinking, but your brain just won’t cooperate. It’s not like Steve doesn’t always sit this close to you, because he does. But you’re still reeling from what he said in the kitchen and your thoughts show no sign of slowing. 

Steve sits up to put the half eaten bowl of popcorn back on the table, his movements making your breath hitch in your chest and your muscles tense. You think you must look crazy. 

“You feelin’ okay?” He puts a hand on your shoulder, which only makes you tense up more.

“Mhm.” You hum, turning just a little to glance at him and give him your most convincing smile. “Probably just got sun sickness y’know? Brains been cooked all day.” 

“You mean heat stroke?” He rubs his thumb over the curve of your shoulder, the feeling comforting in a sickly sort of way. 

“Nah, different things.” 

“You wanna go to bed? We don’t have to watch the movie.”

You shake your head, eyes focusing back on the gory scene on the tv in front of you. “I’m okay, I think it’s helping.” 

“Watching people get chopped up?”

“Exactly.”

—-

The Hideout is dark and loud and warm, and you’re a bit out of place. You promised Eddie months ago you would come and watch his band play, always meaning to do so but things never lining up the right way, but tonight you were making good on that promise. 

You try to dress the part, at least to the extent your wardrobe allows, a strappy black top and a short skirt - that definitely used to fit fine but was now bordering on indecent - all covered up by a big denim jacket that you thrifted a couple years back. A bit of eyeliner smudged across your lids, messy and already creasing with the heat of the venue. 

Steve is at your side, obviously. Because he heard you were planning to go to The Hideout and there was no way he was letting you go alone, not when you look like that and the place would no doubt be crawling with creepy guys. Not that he told you all this, he just said he wanted to come along. He was always protective over you, but this felt different to him for some reason. Like, he didn’t want creepy guys to bother you, but maybe he didn’t want any guy to bother you? Those were thoughts he’d have to unpack later. 

You pull at the hem of your skirt as you linger near the outskirts of the room, shuffling from one foot to another in your doc martens that aren’t quite broken in yet. You look up at Steve through your mascara coated lashes, eyes wide a bit like a deer caught in headlights, mouth open a little with your tongue pressing against the back of your teeth. 

“You all good?” Steve has to shout a little to be heard over the music thumping through the venue, the old sound system struggling to keep up with the heavy bass. 

You nod, eyes darting between Steve and the bustling space around you. Your hands stay at the hem of your skirt, finding a loose stitch to pick and pull at as a distraction. “I think I need a drink.” 

“Yeah? What d’you want? I’ll get it for you.” Steve could see the way you were staring at the bar, it’s at least two deep the whole way along and you’re definitely smaller than at least 90% of the people waiting. It just made more sense for him to be the one to try and fight his way through. 

“Just a lemonade. Unless they don’t card, then I’ll have a beer. But lemonade's totally fine.” The words fall out of your mouth quickly, the heat of the room suddenly sticking to your chest and making you feel flushed. 

“Okay, just wait here and I’ll be back.” Steve steps away, but turns back to put his hands on your arms. He locks his eyes with yours, your pupils still blown from the dim lighting. “Right here.” 

“Right here.” You look down at your shoes and then back up to Steve, giving him a reassuring smile that you weren’t going to move. 

You watch Steve make his way to the bar, feeling a bit exposed now you’re standing alone. He turns back to you from his spot in the queue - if you could even call it that - only briefly, just to check you’re okay and haven’t moved. 

It doesn’t take Steve that long to get served, probably about ten minutes from him leaving you to actually having the drinks in his hands. He tried to keep an eye on you, but the closer he got to the bar the more people crowded behind him and blocked his view. So he curses himself a little when he finally breaks through the mass of bodies to see you talking to some guy. Some guy who is definitely at least ten years older than you, and is definitely drunk. 

“Um yeah, my friend is in one of the bands playing tonight.” You try to be polite, making small talk has never been your strong suit but you don’t want to be rude. Especially not when you’re on your own. 

“Oh right, cool.” The guy - you think his name is Mark? He did tell you but you didn’t really listen - nods enthusiastically. “Just a friend, though? No boyfriend?” 

“I, erm -“ You laugh awkwardly, not really sure what to say. You want to lie, it’d be the easiest way to end this conversation. But you’re even worse at thinking fast than you are at small talk. 

You don’t have to lie though, or say anything at all, because Steve is back at your side and standing so close your body’s are practically pressed together. He holds out a cup for you to take without a word, and as soon as you take hold of it his arm snakes around your waist to hold you to him. 

“Hey, honey. Who’s this?” Steve looks between you and the other man who’s now looking much less interested in talking and much more interested in leaving.

“Oh, I was just telling him that we know Eddie.” You dodge the question of who he is, because you can’t give a real answer. 

“Right, and that’s it?” Steve sips his drink, not taking his eyes off the guy in front of you.

“Relax dude, I get it. I don’t want your girl.” Mark, or maybe it was Matt, holds his hands up before he skulks off back into the crowd, most likely to find his friends or another girl to try and hit on. 

Hearing the phrase your girl makes your head spin, especially with Steve’s arm so tight around your waist and his body pressing into yours. You take a deep breath and a shaky sip of your drink as you try to calm yourself, because everything is fine. Steve is here and people think you’re together and it’s so fine. 

“You alright?” Steve finally breaks the silence, squeezing you somehow closer to him as he speaks. 

“Yeah, thanks Stevie.” You grin up at him, the low lighting doing you a favour by covering up the pink that was spreading over your cheeks. 

“You didn’t wanna speak to that guy, right? Because you can totally speak to any guy you want, he just looked a bit…” He trails off, scrunching his face a little and shrugging in place of words.

You laugh, shaking your head. “I don’t want to, I’m here with you.” The words come out before you really think about them, your eyes widening a little as soon as you realise what you’ve said. 

Steve doesn’t seem to react, if he heard what you said - or more so what you meant - he doesn’t show it. “Okay, good. As long as you’re happy, I’m happy.” 

You just smile at him, enough confirmation that you are happy. Perfectly content just in his presence. Even if the room is too close and the beer is kinda warm and you feel like you’re dressed up in a costume instead of your clothes. 

When you see Eddie walk out onto the stage you step away from Steve, tugging on his hand to pull him closer so you can actually watch your friend and hopefully get his attention to prove that you held up your promise and came out to a show. 

Even when you settle in a spot close to the stage, you don’t drop Steve’s hand, and he doesn’t drop yours. Your plastic cup in one hand and Steve in the other, it all feels a bit surreal. Maybe it’s the heat making your brain a little mushy. 

You manage to catch Eddie's eye at some point, grinning and holding your drink up at him. He looks between you and Steve, down at your conjoined hands, and nods dramatically with a wide smile. You’re going to have to tell him it’s not what it looks like later, not sure how to articulate that with just one hand and facial expressions. 

It’s nice seeing your friend so in his element, the energy of the room lifted by the band's energy on stage. You feel bad for waiting so long to come and watch, even if it was always out of your control. 

Their set isn’t too long, only five songs, but they really make the most of their slot. The whole place seemed to get involved, everyone cheering when they finally finished up and headed off the small stage. 

“You wanna get some air?” Steve asks, some loose hairs falling into his face as he looks down to you. 

“Yeah, s’pretty hot in here.” 

Steve leads you through the crowd, still holding onto your hand, and out through the venue doors into the parking lot. There’s a few people outside smoking, little groups gathered together all talking and drinking and looking like they belonged. It made you laugh a little to think about what you and Steve must look like here. 

“That was fun, Eddie is so good.” You look down at the almost empty cup in your hand, swirling the remaining liquid around in it til it nearly splashes over the sides. 

“Yeah, it was. Don’t think I’ll become a regular here though.” Steve laughs, giving your hand a squeeze as if to acknowledge that he is still holding it. You try not to read into it.

“Yeah, the place doesn’t really scream ‘Steve Harrington’.” You shrug, finally drinking the last of your beer. If it wasn’t warm when you first got it, it definitely was now. 

You see Eddie walk outside and finally release Steve’s hand to skip over and hug him, already wishing you hadn’t let go because what if he doesn’t hold it again. You push the thought out of your head and try to focus on Eddie. “That was so good Ed’s, you looked so cool.”

“Thanks short stack.” Eddie leans back to pat you on your head. “‘Bout time you finally came.”

“I know, I don’t break promises.” You speak matter-of-factly, face all serious as you cross your arms over your chest.

Steve was beside you again, though not so close this time. “Good job, Munson. Guess you’re not all talk.” He teases, Eddie giving his shoulder a playful

shove in response. 

“It’s good to see you two together. About time.” Eddie points between you and Steve, and your chest tightens as you process what he’s said. 

“Oh, no, we’re not-“ You laugh, but it comes out awkward and forced and you look between Steve and Eddie and the floor and try to bargain with the powers that be to strike you down. 

“Oh, shit, my bad.” Eddie looks around the parking lot, pressing his lips together as he sighs. “Better hurry it up Harrington, or someone else’ll snap her up.” He pats Steve on the back, and you look at him like he’s gone absolutely insane. 

Steve nods, a weak laugh at Eddie's comment giving nothing away about how he feels about it. 

You take a deep breath through your nose, hoping the cool night air might stop you from passing out on the spot. 

“I better get back inside, have a good night kids. Stay safe.” Eddie waves you off as he walks back inside, disappearing into the dark room and leaving you outside with all the tension and awkwardness in the air that he’d put there. You’d be mad at him if he wasn’t such a nice guy. 

You and Steve are both quiet for a minute, and you think this is finally it. You’d managed to keep your friendship untouched by your feelings for so long but it’d finally come crashing down. 

“Reckon we head home?” Steve cocks his head as he looks down at you, you must look a sorry state given the pity filled smile he’s giving you. 

“Yeah, probably for the best.” Your voice is quiet, and you drag your feet along as you walk to Steve’s car. You toss your cups away in a bin along the way, all over dramatic and woeful as you sigh with the movement. 

The drive home was quiet. Steve would try and spark up a conversation but your brain was whirring and everything felt like too much and you could barely force a coherent sentence out. 

When you finally arrive at Steve’s house, and your house respectively, you feel frozen in your seat. Because what if you get out and go home and that’s that? Steve stops giving you rides to work and stops watching movies with you and stops letting you stay in his bed when you drink a little too much and don’t want to be alone. 

Steve says your name, and you force yourself to stop spiralling in your own thoughts to look over at him. “I had a really nice time tonight.” 

“Really? You didn’t think the place was a bit gross?” You pulled the sleeves of your jacket down over your hands, holding them in your lap.

Steve laughs, shaking his head at you. “The Hideouts always been gross. I had a really nice time with you.” Even under the dim street lights Steve can see your puzzled expression, brows pinched together and a little pout on your lips. 

“Well, yeah, we always have a nice time Stevie. S’why we’re friends.” 

Steve sighed, because you were right. But it’s not what he was trying to say. He was never all that good with his words, and he also didn’t really know exactly what he wanted to say. “Y’know what Eddie said?”

“We don’t have to talk about it, it’s just Eddie, he just says stuff.” You can’t make eye contact as you speak, in half a mind to just bolt from the car, hop your fence and lock yourself in your house for the rest of your days.

“Well, yeah, he does. But I guess lately I’ve been thinking about it, about us.” 

You swear your heart was moments away from actually bursting from your chest it was beating so hard, your hands feeling clammy as they gripped tightly onto the denim of your jacket sleeves. “What about us?” 

“Just that we’re so close, you know? You’re my best friend, but then sometimes, lately, I look at you and it feels different.” Steve tries to gauge your reaction to his words, but your eyes are staring down at your hands in your lap and your hair is falling so that it covers your face. Maybe he’s got this majorly wrong, completely misread things between the two of you. 

“Different how?” All you can manage is stupid questions pushing him for more, for him to just be clear and concise and put you out of your misery. 

“Different like sometimes I think I want to kiss you.”

You stop fiddling with your jacket then. The words hitting you in the chest like a semi-truck. You’re not sure you actually heard him right, because you’ve been so certain all this time that your feelings were one sided. A hopeless crush that would just burn in your chest forever, longing for more but never getting it. 

“You think you want to? Or you want to?” You finally look up at Steve, turning slightly in the passenger seat so you’re facing him. Seeing the way he’s looking at you, so full of affection and like you put the stars in the sky, makes your stomach flutter like there’s a hoard of butterflies in there waiting to be set free. 

“I want to.” Steve breathes the words out, soft spoken like if he says them too loud it’ll scare you away. “If you want me to.” 

Your mouth hangs open a little as you try to speak, words failing you completely. So you just nod, blinking quick a few times to make sure you’re actually awake and this isn’t just a cruel dream. “Yeah, I want you to.” You eventually manage, your voice cracking a little. 

Steve moves carefully, his hand cupping your cheek so softly it’s almost as if he’s not touching you at all. You breathe in deep through your nose, closing your eyes in anticipation. You’re still not entirely convinced it’s happening until you feel his lips press against yours. 

It’s slow and shy at first, a little unsure of what’s allowed when you’re kissing your best friend, when you finally cross that boundary. You tilt your head into his hand some more, as if to say it’s okay, permission to kiss you the way you’ve been dreaming about. 

Your hand moves to Steve’s jaw, thumb running along his cheek against the stubble that was there after a couple of days of not shaving. You part your lips a little, and Steve takes your movements as a green light. He kisses you a little harder now, still gentle but with more behind it. His tongue brushes against your bottom lip making your breath hitch in your throat. 

It’s a simple kiss, nothing crazy or wild but it’s just what you want. Because it was Steve, and he wants you. 

When he finally pulls his mouth away from yours, he rests his forehead against your own. “Was that okay?” 

You can’t help but giggle, because it’s such a ridiculous question to you. Of course it was okay, God, it was so much more than okay. “Yeah, Stevie, it’s okay.” 

“So I can do it again?” 

You’re both whispering, faces still so close that you don’t need to speak any louder. “Yeah, any time.” 

Steve presses another gentle kiss to your lips, just a quick one this time but still as full of affection as first. You have to blink hard when he properly pulls away from you to try and stop your head from spinning. 

“I wanna do this properly, y’know. Not just kiss you in my car. I wanna take you on a real date, wine and dine you.” Steve nudges your chin with his finger, head cocked to the side as he looks at you.

“I don’t really like wine.” You shrug. “I’ll give it a try though.” 

“You’re a real trooper.” 

“Anything for you.” You smile sweetly, and you mean it. You think you’d do absolutely anything for Steve Harrington. But it’s fine, because he’d do absolutely anything for you, too.

thank u so much for reading + thank u to the anon for the song rec / request <3

[haikyooot]

Language of Love

Pairings: Itoshi Sae x gn!reader Tags: angst, hurt no comfort, breakups

a/n: let it be known sae fics are exclusively angst unless otherwise noted. 

There are five languages of love. You are fluent in all five.  

"I love you, Sae." "Why?" "Because it's you, I do."

Why? How can you not? It's all too easy. So deeply enamored are you, by his silken lashes. Each blink makes your heart flutter. Serenaded by the sound of your name rolling off his tongue. Satisfied by the feeling of warmth when you are in his arms. It's only right that he knows just how much you love him.

To begin is the language of affirmations. It's forever endless and bountiful. There are countless words to describe Sae. In more languages than you will ever know. Numerous ways you tell him in plain words how much you adore him. The beauty he embodies. The talent he beholds. If Sae counts the notes you leave to him, he'll even know that the words you write most are no longer your own name.

Governing all desire to be helpful is the language of service. It's in the special lunchboxes that you make while tossing another bandage wrapper into the trash. Crisp collars, freshly pressed not a single crease in sight. Driving to the next pharmacy because the only medication that will work for him is sold out. Thank you. That's what you know he'll do.

Next is a gift, the physical manifestation of your love. Words are merely whisps of noise, but this is the proof—the formation of atoms representing your heart. Yarn crossed and looped in a way that reminds you of your nerves when he's there. Cameras will see your love wrapped around him. It protects him, accompanies him as an extension of you when you can't be right next to him.

And the language of quality time, when every second is an infinite journey of joy. The moments you spend in a car, on a train, or on a plane. The moment before parting when he walks to the locker room and you find your way to the bleachers. The hours into the night on the couch watching game replays. Just having to be there with him, in the same space at the same time.

Finally, touch. The familiarity of skin. The sensation of heat. You caress perfection. You undo tight knots and replace them with soft kisses. Love is between the way you melt into him and how your fingers tangle into dusty-rose tresses.

Love. Is Sae. Is Love.

And that's where the end begins. It's a song in reversal. A hairline crack that's barely noticeable, but it's spreading throughout the vase.  Folded arms hide his hand away. A grumble after turning in bed. The shape of his back is an unreadable book. He seems to float away. So close, but entirely out of reach.

And the day turns to night turns to day turns to night. Time zooms by, passing faster than you can catch your breath. There's no time at all. To see him, you pick up your pace. To catch a glimpse of him, you'll try to wait. You stay up late. You wake up early. A weekend? Just an hour? His schedule never clears. Quality exists elsewhere, but not in time with you.

And emptiness, where there are no gifts. No reminders.  When the special dates come around, nothing special. Not even an afterthought. No proof, it's all just a theory, a hypothesis. Everywhere, there are reminders of him. There are things belonging to you. But the memories of "us" and "we" stop at some time in the distant past.

And weariness moves into your body like a speck of mold now consuming the entire fruit. Because everything you do is unwanted. You cut and chop and discard. Every attempt to serve what remains leaves you with nothing left. Scraps.

Finally, you wake up and realize that affirmation is actually spelled as confirmation. How can the vase not shatter when its base falls apart? Your suspicions receive an answer. The pleads finally come to a stop. He looks at you bewildered and slightly confused.

"I'm leaving, Sae." "Why?” "Because..."

There are five languages of love. But Itoshi Sae doesn't know any.

[blu-joons]

Accidental Gender Reveal ~ Han Jisung

A sigh came from you as you lowered yourself down onto the sofa in the dorm, feeling Jisung hold onto you to help you down. The rest of the boys all watched on, as ever they were prepared to step in if they needed to and try their best to help you out.

“Can we get you anything Y/N?” Hyunjin asked you once you appeared to settle, resting your hand against your bump.

Your head shook back at him with an appreciative smile, “I’m alright. I don’t quite know what it was that you ordered for dinner, but whatever it was, it was absolutely amazing.”

“I remember the days when you used to be terrified of spice,” Jeongin smirked from across the room, “these days you eat it with every single meal.”

None of the boys could believe how much your pregnancy had changed your interests in food. These days you wanted spicy everything leaving everyone stunned, with everyone being used to ordering you plain spice on everything.

The food wrappers were still lying around the living room floor and table, everyone was far too full to tidy up just yet. You had reluctantly gotten up to use the toilet, with your baby pressing down and leaving you with no other choice but to dart across the room.

“How far along are you now Y/N?” Chan quizzed as he watched you with a wide smile.

“It’s nearly six months,” you grinned, looking around at each of the boys who were all listening to you. “I dread to think how everything will be in three months, my bump will be huge, I’ll be needing the toilet constantly too.

Every single one of the boys were excited, none of them could wait for your baby to arrive. They had all been pretty much glued to your side, helping you even when Jisung was there too.

“We’ll be able to help you with everything that you need,” Changbin quickly assured you, “I mean we already sorted out your baby shower, and we gave no clues on the gender too.”

Be quiet,” Jisung instantly called out as soon as the gender was mentioned.

It was the one thing that he wanted not to know, whether you were having a boy or a girl. Unlike Jisung, you decided that you did want to find out, agreeing that you would keep it a secret from him until your baby arrived with the two of you.

“Why can’t you just know?” Seungmin asked Jisung, “all we want to do is be able to buy you things with a bit of colour, but we can’t because you’ll guess the gender.”

Jisung’s shoulders shrugged in reply, deciding that it wasn’t his problem to worry about. He trusted the boys, you, and everyone else around him to be careful enough to not let it slip and ruin the surprise that he was looking forward to.

“It’s ridiculous,” Felix sighed back across at him.

“We’ve got three boxes hidden in your old room of things that we’re only going to be able to give you once the baby arrives because of you,” Minho added, shooting a glare across at Jisung. “Why wait another three months?”

Jisung returned the stare, moving it around at all of the boys, “I decided that I don’t want to know, you’re not going to be able to change my mind however much you try to.”

“You’re so boring,” Hyunjin teased, shaking his head at Jisung.

In response, Jisung picked up one of the cushions from the sofa and threw it across at him. “One day when you all settle down, you’ll understand.”

“But everyone else knows,” Jeongin tried his best to get Jisung to see, “you’re the one that’s making us have to tiptoe around and be careful. Your baby will definitely be dramatic like you.”

In the middle of their squabbles, you found yourself having to stand up from the sofa again. The call for the toilet was loud from your baby, barely giving you the chance to get comfortable before you had to move across the dorm.

“Y/N, are you alright?” Chan asked, noticing you slowly rising to your feet. He stood up to help, but your head nodded, assuring him that you were alright.

You were slower than usual, but the boys didn’t mind. Instead, they moved the furniture around a bit to make moving around the dorm a little bit easier for you.

Their eyes were all on you once again as you moved, making sure that if you needed them, that they were there. Jisung especially moved to sit on the edge of the sofa, knowing that you were far from stable on your feet anymore as you tried to carry your bump around.

“Is she making you go to the toilet again?” Changbin asked you, calling out to you. As his mouth closed though, all eyes were on him with no idea as to why. Changbin stared back at everyone cluelessly, trying to figure out what was going on.

“She’s making Y/N go to the toilet?” Jisung enquired, making sure that he hadn’t misheard.

When Changbin sunk down in the sofa and stayed quiet, Jisung looked across to you. The nervous smile that was on your face let him know that he had in fact heard right, with Changbin accidentally spilling, without even realising that he was doing it.

Jisung stood up from the sofa after a few moments, making his way across to you. As soon as he was close enough, his arms wrapped around you, twirling you around. “I’m so happy that we’re having a girl Y/N,” he whispered into your ear.

“You’re not mad that you know?”

“Honestly, I was hoping for a girl all along,” he replied as he placed you back down on his feet, “I wanted to have another you.”

“Another me?” You laughed back at him, “you constantly complain that it’s hard work having one of me, let alone two.”

Behind the two of you, Changbin was getting a scolding, but Jisung had forgotten all about that with his eyes focused on you instead, with a wide smile on his face too.

“I’m only ever joking when I tell you that,” he smiled, “I’d have thousands of you if I could.”

Your eyes rolled as Jisung squeezed against you, glancing down at your baby bump excitedly, relieved to know that he had a little girl growing inside there.

“I can’t wait to be a dad to a little girl,” Jisung whispered, leaning forward to press a kiss to the tip of your nose. “I can’t wait to be a family of three and to have all of the fun things that families get to do together.”

“Does this also mean that we can hand those stupid boxes that we’re keeping to you guys?” Minho called out, interrupting the two of you.

Your head nodded with a chuckle, “we can take any pink, red, orange, purple, or anything else, you guys don’t need to hide anything from him anymore.”

“What about all of the blue things that we bought as a decoy?” Felix asked you both with a smirk on his face.

Your head nodded once again at him too, relieved at least that you didn’t have to be careful around Jisung anymore. “You know that this now means that you can throw our baby shower with the gender involved, you don’t have to be careful anymore.”

“We’d just brought a load of black and white,” Hyunjin frowned.

“That sounds perfect to us guys.”

---

Masterlist

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

The amnesia!verse confuses me but I DESPERATELY need more 🫠

Dick looked out at the town from the top of the hill, watching you out of the corner of his eye. Lights twinkled in the distance, mirroring the stars overhead. The moon, so big and so bright it almost felt like if he reached out, he could touch it.

There were no sirens. No gunshots. No siblings bickering in his ear. Just frogs and crickets. And Sammy gnawing on a beef rib. And as he watched, lights winked out, here and there. Porch lights and bedroom windows. Making him think of the gaptoothed smiles of first graders.

"Have you ever wanted to leave?" he asked.

For a moment, he half thinks you won't answer him. But when you do, first with a half a shrug and then a huffed laugh, he turns to really look at you. "I did leave, for a while," you tell him, "Went to school, you know? Even managed to finish."

"You could make a lot of money-"

"Yeah," you answer shrugging, "But then grandma got sick and Sarah needed help with the kids. And it just didn't feel right."

Dick nodded, taking the hand resting next to his. If there's more to the story, he doesn't press.

"What about you?" you ask, "Your car should be done tomorrow. What's next?"

It was Dick's turn to shrug, stretching lazily and laying back against the windshield, still holding your hand, "Haven't really thought about it," he admitted. And he hadn't. Not today. Not yesterday. Not any time he was with you.

For the first time he could remember, there wasn't a weight in his chest. A pain that never went away. All that mattered was now. And for the first time in a long time, he felt free.

Bruce looked at the things they'd pulled out of Dick's car. Commandeered from the wreckage. A baby blue jacket with 'Eel River Antiques' in a fancy script on the left breast- with the small amount of blood spatter Tim mentioned. A collar- brown leather with a brass tag that said 'Sammy'. Sundry snack wrappers. And found hanging from the rearview mirror, a chain. The kind usually used for dogtags, and on it was what looked like a wedding band. White gold and plain but for the date engraved on the inside.

"Did the blood turn anything up?" he asked, stomach turning. There was a picture forming in his mind and it wasn't a pretty one.

Barbara nodded and passed the file over to Bruce, the expression on her face unreadable.

He took it and opened it, hoping he was wrong. But then, Barbara was never wrong. If there was anything out there, she would find it. And she did. A life compressed into a handful of pages. A birth certificate. College transcripts. A puff piece from a local paper about a home town kid made good. And a marriage certificate. Pictures. Parking tickets. And the 'missing' poster. The pictures of the house- leveled. And more photos of fire fighters putting out the flames.

So many pieces. So much information and yet- not enough.

"Jesus Christ," he hissed, taking a shaking breath.

Barbara swallowed hard, "He keeps saying he feels like he's running out of time-"

"It's been almost a week-" Tim said slowly.

"So we better get moving," Bruce said firmly. "We need to find her."

"Or what's left of her," Damian said frowning.

[angelsdean]

Ahh thank you!! it's not done and I do have a bigger plans for it, but I don't have any SPN friends so idk if it's good at all or just plain dumb *0* I hope you like it <3

__

Summer sits on baited breath, one exhale from spilling over. The dandelions have all but flown away, save for a few stubborn patches that sporadically dot the field. The air smells damp with anticipated rain, the dark clouds over the mountains crawling closer and closer. 

He can still taste sweet honey and orange on his lips, the remnants of breakfast swapped kisses and warm wandering tongues. Castiel’s fingers are sticky when they brush lightly against the inside of his wrist, and Dean resists the temptation to lick them clean. Thunder rolls in the distance. 

“We should go before the storm reaches us.”

“Afraid of getting a little wet?”

Castiel raises a dark brow at the question and a shiver runs down Dean’s spine. He licks his honey wet lips and grins at the sharp glint in those baby blues. Anticipation is sweet and curling under his ribs.

“Ah…” it’s nothing more than a hum. “I see.”

Broad hands cup Dean’s jaw as Cas rolls them over in one smooth motion. Dean’s back hits the ground as the first crack of thunder rumbles overhead. Castiel’s tongue is hot in his mouth and he sighs into it, delighting in the citrus spice of sweet oranges and grace. 

Wrappers from their makeshift picnic crinkle by his head and he can feel the blanket they’re laying on twist until his back is half on the hard dirt beneath them. He’ll regret this tomorrow, the aches of movement meant for a younger age, but for now he basks in the pleasure-pain of being recklessly in love. 

“Fuck, Cas,” he breaks away with a gasp, unable to catch his breath when Castiel immediately turns his attention to the hollow of Dean’s throat, mouth open and wet as he sucks a bruising kiss into his skin. He trails down to his collarbone, stretching the hem of Dean’s shirt to create more room for his ministrations. 

He’s leaving visible marks, a possessiveness that Castiel will vehemently deny, and Dean relishes in the feeling of being wanted. He feels so selfish these days, letting himself be loved so endlessly. 

It’s overwhelming, sometimes, the power he knows he holds over Castiel. The power Cas holds over him. They have defied every celestial plane of existence to find each other, to remain together, and it’s terrifying in its enormity. 

“You think too much,” Cas breathes heavily and damp against his skin. He slides a hand under Dean’s shirt, the pads of his fingers sweeping gently over a nipple before circling loosely around his throat. 

Dean hums a partial acknowledgement and blinks his eyes open, watching in a daze as vibrant green leaves sway above their heads against the graying sky. Thunder rumbles again, and Castiel’s grip on Dean tightens, tethering him to his body.  There is quiet strength behind Cas’s grip, and Dean is dizzy with the knowledge of how easily he could crush his windpipe. 

“Dean,” Castiel’s voice is ragged as the hand around his throat slides up, his thumb pressing against Dean’s bottom lip. Dean doesn’t hesitate sucking the digit into his mouth, finally giving into the temptation to lick it clean, syrupy nectar bursting to life on his tongue. Once it’s sufficiently clean, he tilts his head to find the rest of Cas’s fingers, eagerly sliding them between his lips. When he glances up Castiel is watching with unrestrained desire.

Dean can’t help the way his mouth curves into a smug grin when Castiel’s face flushes darker, his pupils blown so wide his eyes match the stormy sky above. Their bodies are pressed tightly together, and Castiel’s hips make an abortive jerk before he’s pulling away entirely, his fingers leaving Dean’s lips with a wet pop. 

“I would have you on this field,” Castiel pants, his voice nothing more than flint on steel, “right here, right now, if not for -”  Thunder cracks immediately over head, the ground shaking with the force, and in Dean’s periphery he sees the afterimage of lightning

“Not for that, yeah,” Dean finishes for Cas with a grin. “S’quite the story though, getting struck by lightning while having sex. D’you think that’d make your orgasm better?”

“No, I think it’d kill you,” Castiel shakes his head, his tone fondly exasperated as he sits back on his heels. He glances at the sky then back at Dean with a decisive nod and pushes to his feet as the first drops of rain begin to fall. Dean grabs the hand that’s offered to him, and is half pulled to his feet beside Cas. 

“You’re no fun,” Dean sighs, shooing Castiel off the blanket so he can roll everything up before it gets soaked. He catches Cas trying to hide a pout and grins despite himself. “Okay, you’re kinda fun.”

omggg i love this !! beautiful descriptions and imagery<3 i love their dynamic in this too, flirty and fun and so so loving. it's also abt to rain here rn so this excerpt fits the vibe so well. thank you for sharing this with me! and feel free to share more in the future if you'd like, or send me a link if you post more somewhere<3

[junkjounral]

This got insanely long, feel free to ignore me aahhhh. this is mostly just a dump of a bunch of things i consider while journaling. I hope some of it is helpful to you!

When I'm making a spread I usually start out with a few elements I really like, like a piece of patterned paper, a color scheme, or a theme/idea I want to expand on. Then I go through my scraps and find additional pieces that fit the vibe. Do i want to have a clean, neat feel? more grunge? These influence the sorts of pieces I grab. I also normally want at least a piece or two to be visually compelling-- maybe i've got a sticker/cutout with a distinctive silhouette, or mostly solid scraps with one patterned piece, mostly rectangles and a circle, something like that. And I want to have a mix of different sized pieces. And then you start layering!

An easy way to start is with a big scrap or two on a blank piece of paper, then a layer above that you can use some medium sized pieces over top, then smaller pieces as a finishing touch on top. Rectangles overlapping but off center from each other are always great. I like to get the main elements all glued down and then add finishing touches using small stickers or drawing something with markers.

If you want to fill up most of the page with writing, then what I would do is pick a few spots (usually 2-4) on the page that are somewhat spaced out and are close to the borders of the page. Then I would do several mini versions of the above paragraph of layering. The only real difference here is that I would only want about 1 of the little groups to have the visually interesting piece, and the other little groups can be more "plain".

Another fun element to consider is what your scraps are/where they come from. Buying paper, stickers, washi tape, pens, etc. is nice and all, but traditional junk journaling uses junk. Is this candy wrapper fun? What about this spam mail I'm about to throw away? What if I press some leaves/flowers from outside? how about some actual trash from the ground? These sorts of materials can be a great way to save money and have really interesting scraps.

Over time you get a sense of what you like and find visually interesting. there are also lots of journaling, scrapbooking, and even penpal youtubers who you can get ideas from. as well as just looking through the tags for cool ideas and trying them out yourself!

To the people who journal, I got a question

Why / how do people journal ?

I don't mean the diary entry / bullet journal

Rather the ones where you tear off various bits of papers in various textures to create like a collage and write on it ?

I absolutely respect it ofc and it's so aesthetically pleasing to look at - but i don't quite get the meaning behind it

Also how do I get started - how do y'all create those beautiful scrap books kind

Can someone pls send help ༎ຶ⁠‿⁠༎ຶ◖⁠⚆⁠ᴥ⁠⚆⁠◗༎ຶ⁠‿⁠༎ຶ