#Refilling a notebook case

[zhalfirin-binds]

Refilling an old notebook case with a new inner book

I got this notebook with the inner book cut out already from a friend with the request to make a new inner book for it.

First of all I went to prepare the case. Which meant to take out the old endpapers, or what remained of it anyway, to check how big the inner book has to be to cover up any possible marks from the former endpapers and get rid of the pocket that way never in use anyway. I also get rid of the cardstock they used for endpapers to avoid warping from gluing in another set of endpapers on top of the old.

In the process I also peeled off the top layer of the board as well, which was not intended but not a bother either. Once I was done I smoothed down the boards again with a bonefolder and they were smooth enough to not show marks through the new endpapers later on.

For the inner book I know it's going to be a notebook so I went for a double fan binding. Instead of gluing it up with a rounded spine, as the case demands, I went for a straight spine first for ease of working after the glue had set enough to not be sticky any more I trimmed the edges to the final size and rounded the spine.

For rounding it's much the same as rounding a sewn book. One wacks the spine area gently with the flat side of a hammer until it gets a rounded spine on one side, then flips the book over and works the other side. I usually have to repeat this a few to get a nice shape.

I did a quick fitting test before going on, but after ll looked fine I went on.

Then I add another layer of glue, some mull and put it back between boards and under weight to dry completely before adding endbands and an oxford hollow.

[zhalfirin]

Refilled notebook

case materials

case - bought paperblank notebook with the (used) inner book cut out.

inner book material text paper - copy paper (double fan bound) endpapers - satogami (black) endbands - satogami paper and linnen thread

format: 12cm x 18cm

WIP steps Preparing the case and making the inner book see here Making paper endbands see here

[st4rbwrry]

𝓒𝓞𝓒𝓞𝓐 𝓑𝓤𝓣𝓣𝓔𝓡 𝓚𝓘𝓢𝓢𝓔𝓢.    onyankopon.

ᰔᩚ . . .8.5k. fem!reader, lowercase intended, set in university, relationship building, barista!reader, football player/scholar!ony, fluff, strangers to lovers, cabin sex, oral ꒰ f.꒱ , kinda slow burn?, teasing, foreplay, some ass eating, choking, dirty talk, biting, pet names ꒰ ex. mama, ma, baby ꒱, usage of aave, size kink, spanking, dacryphilia, heavyy dirty talk, minors aren’t welcomed! reblogs + comments are appreciated. <3

꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎’𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒 ꒱ . . . took me absolutely forever to finish this fic so i hope yall rlly enjoy it. here’s some grown folk links. <3 visual. visual. visual. this is also ony’s redemption fic from the bullshit in why don’t you love me lmao.

you got it by bryson tiller thumped loudly from his airpod max’s, orangish-red leaves scattered and scrunching beneath his heavy black timberlands as he strolled along the sidewalk of the town heading to his destination; the cafe. a newfound obsession with the tranquility of studying there. the weather is fairly cold, a slight breeze making his nose wrinkle and sniffle, fighting any threat of sickness. this cozy little cafe was his haven, a place he escaped to when he needed to clear his head. or in this case, injure his brain by studying two weeks ahead of finals for the fall semester. 

the warm aroma of brewed coffee and soft lo-fi music enveloped him once he pushed open the front door. the cafe is somewhat occupied, with very few seats stuffed with students gossiping or discussing daily topics of the world. the scent of freshly ground coffee beans and baked goods wafts through the air, his tummy growling at the allure. comfortable armchairs and plush sofas are arranged in cozy nooks, perfect for curling up with a book or engaging in intimate conversations. natural light streams in through the large windows, casting a warm glow over the space and highlighting the rich, earthy tones of the wooden decor. despite the bustling activity, the atmosphere remains relaxed and unhurried. 

within his deepest of graces, he spots you behind the counter, a tug of a smile breaching onto his face. you’re moving around the cafe, refilling drinks, and chatting with regular customers. little did you know, your presence is a comforting constant in his increasingly chaotic life. clearing his throat, onyankopon approaches you.

“hey, handsome," you say with a warm smile, your voice smooth like honey. "it’s nice seeing your face. what can i get started for you today?"

as you speak, you continue expertly frothing milk for a customer's latte, the sound of the steam hissing filling the air between you. “hey, pretty. i’ll just take my matcha latte with one pump of syrup, cold foam, and cinnamon. lemme try the avocado toast with bacon today, please.” 

“sure thing, love. the bacon is pork, will that be okay?” he watches the fluff of your falsies blink up at him, deep brown eyes glowing from the soothing lighting of the cafe, accentuating your features. freckles sprawled along the bridge of your nose, black hair styled in a cute pixie cut with soft waves. jewelry on your nose, ears, neck, and henna-tatted fingers. there’s red ink on the side of your neck of a dragon he always admired. full lips outlined with dark liner and smeared with gloss. a pretty little thing. 

“yup, that’s cool,” he digs into his pocket for his phone, double clicking the button on the side to access his digital card as you tap quickly on the touchscreen to ring up his order. 

“okay! your total’s g’na be twelve sixty-four.”

“thank you,” he nods appreciatively.

“i’ll bring it over to you when it’s ready.” 

onyankopon’s making his way to his usual spot by the window, a comfy corner with views of brightly lit shops, couples holding hands, and trees dancing in the window. the sun had set, and the street lamps flicker on. he adjusted into his seat, pulling his sleek macbook from his black jansport backpack along with notebooks with different colors and sizes, a pen and pencil, and lots of sticky notes. in his palm where he held his iphone, he switches the music to his ‘unwind’ playlist, needing zero distractions. 

the past two months have been tough for him. a lot of things happened that pushed him to second guess not only the way his life was playing out, but the people he chose to surround himself with. a lot of heavy influence gets to those who are weak and in desperate need of escape. he’s never been a big fan of peer pressure, and college is full of it. after winning the homecoming game, being betrayed by someone he had deep feelings for on top of getting into an almost-brawl. . a lot of things started altering the way he thought and carried himself. onyankopon’s always been a mature person. coming from a family of doctors, athletes, and gentle, loving parents. for the most part always laid back, concise, and respectful. so when people brought him out of character to become someone he wasn’t, it frustrated him and made him go into isolation mode where he did nothing but refocus on himself and his goals—leaving behind all the immature, childish shit. 

glancing up from his laptop, he can hear you approaching, catching your gaze and giving a gentle smile as you set his beverage and food on the table, your eyes sparkling with kindness. “here you go, love.” 

“thanks again.” 

“you’re welcome.” 

the vibrant green matcha mixture soothes him after he takes a well-needed sip, savoring the creamy texture and subtle bitterness. the hint of cinnamon adding a pleasant warmth that spreads through his chest. you always know just how to make his drink. 

he’s always stuck in the cafe for about five hours, drowning in his studies. it’s become his routine now. right after practice he freshens up and makes his way over here. usually, when it’s short-staffed, he notices you closing the shop alone. as the hours tick by, the cafe gradually empties, leaving only a handful of people scattered throughout the space. he remains hunched over his laptop, concentration unwavering, but interrupted when he notices the lights beginning to dim, the soft jazz giving way to silence. realizing the cafe must be closing, he suddenly yawns, arms stretching above his head and shoulders rolling to release the tension from sitting in one spot. going to stand and gather his things, he spots you crouching behind the counter, wiping down surfaces, and organizing supplies.

“hey, need a hand wrapping things up? i didn't realize we were the last ones here."

your smile brightens as ony approaches, his tall frame looming over the counter. “oh, you don't have to do that, i can’t let you work for free.” 

"nah, i insist. i can finish up. hand me a broom or sum,” he suggested, that charming smile making your heart flutter nonstop. 

“okay, here,” you nod, retrieving a broom from the storage closet to hand him. 

the soft swish of the broom against the hardwood floor provides a rhythmic accompaniment to the quiet intimacy of the moment. onyankopon steals glances at you, watching you count the register with a few peeps of your own, smiling to yourself when he notices. his face lights up, shaking his head as he maintains his focus on his chore. as he continues, you try your best to stop blushing, your attraction for this man strong ever since you laid eyes on him. the two of you never hung out. he attended your finance class and you’ve held a minor conversation, but that was all. of course, since he was the quarterback for the panthers, you’d catch a game now and then and see him. you didn’t do parties, mostly stayed to yourself. 

considering his chaotic schedule, when he finally started coming into your job for drinks, that’s the best time to see him. he began as an acquaintance, having casual talks while doing your job. but then he started asking you about your day, complimenting your tattoos, giving you tips, calling you pretty . . now we’re here. you’re locking up the shop after cutting off the lights and calling it a night.

standing idly by, onyankopon’s got one hand on his backpack strap while the other nestled warmly into his black northface parka’s pocket. his teeth are pearl white as he smiles, a dimple on his cheek sinking in. it’s pure, and cute. his body is looming over your own, the moonlight casting across his chiseled features, emphasizing the sharp lines of his jaw and the intensity in his dark eyes, your eyes glossing over the silver stud he has pierced into his left ear. a faint mustache above his dark, full lips and a small goatee on his chin. he’s attractive as hell.

“c’mon, lemme walk you to your dorm. it’s too dark out to be alone.” 

the gentlemanly gesture sends a flutter through your chest, the cool air brisking over your face as you bury your chin into your cocoa brown scarf shyly. “okay.” 

together, you stroll along the quiet campus path, your black telfar decorated with keychains stacked with hot wheels and sonny angels hitting against your thigh as you walk, arms folded. usually, you’re not a person to be nervous about speaking to a boy, but something about him felt completely different from others. he’s calm, respectful, and friendly. and not to be stereotypical, you figured he’d be the opposite considering he’s an athlete. their factors consist of being hard-headed, loud . . whores. granted, you didn’t fully know him as a person. it felt nice to flirt with someone grounded. 

“so, got any plans for fall break?” 

“nah, not much,” onyankopon shakes his head, wrinkling his nose. “i’m taking these two weeks to focus on studying for finals. my birthday’s coming up, so i'm sure my family has sum planned for me. i don’t care for it much.”

“like every man in the world,” you joke.

he chuckles. “yeah, i used to like all that party shit, but i ain’t in the mood for it, at least not now. i’m good for sum low key.” 

“that's understandable. i’m not doing much for break besides thanksgiving. my family and i usually do it big. watch the game, get tipsy, shit like that.” 

“yeah? maybe me and you can hang out then. i w’na talk to you more.” 

a shy smile spreads across your face as you consider the possibility. "yeah, sure. i’d love to.” 

the two of you depart after saying goodnight, ony making sure you’re safely into your dorm before leaving to sleep in his. days past and the routine continues. as the semester winds down, ony finds himself relying more and more on the comforting routine of visiting the cafe, knowing that amidst the chaos of finals prep, he can count on seeing you. your conversations grow longer, less about schoolwork and more about shared interests, inside jokes, and subtle flirtation. finally, the day arrives when he can breathe a sigh of relief. finals are done, and he’s aced his tests. that heavy weight on his chest dissipating. walking into the cafe, he’s greeted by the familiar warmth you bring, a smile spread over your face when you lock eyes.  

"hey, you," he says, gripping the corners of the counter, shoulders popping forward as he arches over to find you searching for oat milk. 

“heyyy,” you upturn your neck, the giddy on your face evident. “i figured you’d be on your way home by now, the campus is practically dead.” 

his jaw shifts as he chews his gum, fresh peppermint flavor flowing through his nostrils. “wanted to come see you first. also to let you know that i passed my tests.” 

you gasp, springing up in an excited leap. “oh my god, that’s so good, ony! congratulations.”

“thank you, love,” he bows his head appreciatively. “what about you? what’d you get?” 

“hmm, did really well for microbiology. passed everything else but math. it’s never been my strong suit,” you pout, ony humming apologetically. 

“it’s okay, as long as you did well for everything else, that’s still something to be proud of. i know you’ll get back up.” 

you bat your lashes, digging your chin into your shoulder. “thanks, ony. you’re the sweetest. becoming a vet is harder than i thought, but i know i can do it.” 

“good thing is we can finally relax, my brain's been fuckin’ killing me,” he rolls his neck, your eyes falling to the adam’s apple in his throat. 

"literally. i'm definitely looking forward to some downtime. finals were brutal this semester.” 

a sudden realization dawns on you, and you feel a rush of nervousness pass through. you’ve been wanting to ask him something, needing to express the feelings you’ve been harboring subtly. "listen, i was thinking ‘cause i remember you saying your parents are gonna be at a banquet for the holiday . . if you wanted to join me and my family for thanksgiving? my mom’s make the best everything ‘n there’s always leftovers.” 

a slow, pleased smile spreads across his face at the invitation, eyes crinkling at the corners. "i’m down as fuck, that sounds good. your place sounds like a better alternative.” 

you grin, twisting in your spot. “great, my mom’s would love to meet you. they’re very sweet. you have any allergies? i’ll make sure they’re careful.” 

“nah, baby. i eat everything,” onyankopon responds, the rasp in his tone suddenly making your skin hot, his comment on top of the pet name abruptly short-circuiting your brain.

“ ‘kay,” you play it off, gathering yourself quickly from your perverted thoughts. “i’ll text you when they’re ready to have guests over.” 

“cool. need me to bring anything? a pie? some drinks?” 

“i like stella rosè.” 

on the morning of thanksgiving, onyankopon arrives at your doorstep, a handful of red roses in one hand and your bottle of wine in the other. surprisingly, your parents wanted him to come over early, really so they could have a helping hand with prepping. he awaits in front of your house, a beautiful cape cod style surrounded by bushes and tall gates. he sees the silhouette of your shape approaching the door, pulling it open to find you smiling wide. ony clears his throat, scanning you from head to toe with adornment. you’re dressed in an espresso sweater dress with sheer tights and doc martens. there’s light makeup on your face, and you smell like tom ford’s lost cherry. the smell of pinewood and soulful music coming from within the home alongside laughter immediately has his brain conjuring up a future with you. you’re breathtaking, and you can say the same for him. 

“hi,” you breathe out, gnawing at your darkly lined lips. 

onyankopon’s attired in a black knit sweater that’s almost loosely fitted, his muscles daring to make it fit tightly. baggy, chocolate cargo pants, and black new balance 550s. a gold chain sits around his neck and a brown fossil outlet watch on his wrist. he smelled really good, dolce and gabbana’s the one lingering on his body. you could fall out, really. 

ony extends the flowers for you to grab. “happy thanksgiving. i got these for you. you look real pretty.” 

you giggle from how fast he rushed that sentence. “thank you, i love them. you look real good, too. come in.” 

he takes a step inside, taking in the cozy atmosphere of your home. the aroma of roasting turkey and savory spices fills the air, marvin gaye’s ‘i want you’ bumping from the surround sound along with the thanksgiving parade playing soundly on the mounted television. you guide him through the archway, setting the roses into a vase at the entryway table before entwining his hand with yours and pulling him towards the grandeur kitchen. in it stands both of your mother’s, the clinking of wine glasses, and slow dancing. the sight makes ony’s heart thump, it’s adorable, to say the least. now he understands why you smile so much. 

“mom’s! ony’s here!” 

turning in your direction, the two women greet him with loving smiles, your birth mother gasping at his gorgeousness, placing a hand over her heart with bulging eyes. you already caught on to what she was thinking, shaking your head. 

“oh my god, hi! you’re handsome!” 

your birth mother is the spitting image of you, the thick, luscious blowout curls the only difference in appearance aside from tattoos. she’s petite like you are, brown eyes and earthy-like jewelry. a pale green hippy skirt and tight black long-sleeve her attire. her wife contrasts her perfectly with a slighter darker edge. tall, slim, forest green faux locs that graze her shoulders and full sleeve tats. dressed in a dark sweater like ony is, skinny jeans, and loafers. they looked like the richest, happiest couple. 

after proper greetings and conversations, a few more family members pour into the home as hours pass, mingling in the living room to watch the football game. cheers and groans emanating from uncles as you and ony stand side by side in the kitchen fixing up the last dish for the table. you’re flirting more, leaving teasing touches as you work. sipping wine with your parents before they dispersed into another part of the house. the smell of apple pie baking in the oven, the slight buzz from the wine, and the warmth of everyone together makes him feel special. it felt intimate being here with you on such a special day. onyankopon turns to face you, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that makes your face hot. unfortunately, something you won’t be able to change. 

"can i ask you something?"

you pause mid-chop, turning to face him fully. his proximity makes you acutely aware of the space between you, the heat radiating off his body.

"sure, what's up?" your voice is a little softer than usual, butterflies in your stomach. 

the kitchen had long cleared out, occasional bodies flowing in and out to dig in the fridge after waiting impatiently for food, but the way he stared at you made you feel like it was just the two of you. the abrupt sensation of his fingers caressing your cheek stuns you, his face inching closer while carefully observing the surroundings, flickering his eyes back to yours. 

“ony?” 

“i really like you,” the admission burns your stomach, his full lips brushing amongst yours erotically slow, damn near kissing you. it feels somewhat inappropriate given your family was around, but he kept it cute. he intakes air, sucking in your own before speaking again. “my parents gave me the keys to this cabin for my birthday. my dad has some kind of partnership with this guy or whatever. i want you to spend the weekend with me.” 

the intensity of the moment makes you swallow. he’s so close to your face it makes you scared to back away. luckily, no one’s around. you could hear your own heart pound. hesitation sits in your chest. it sounds romantic, and of course you like him too, but a man asking you to come to a cabin in the woods with him seems a little . . scary? or maybe you’re being dramatic.

“u-uh, um . . a cabin? in the woods? i watch a lot of crime documentaries, mister,” you whispered, threatening jokingly to ignore the way he was making you feel.

he bursts out laughing at your comment, immediately putting you at ease. “pretty, i would never. you don’t have to say yes right away. i just thought it’d be a good way for us to spend more time together. have that low-key birthday i wanted. i promise i have no ulterior motive. scouts honor.” 

you nod, biting your lip and cocking your head back to catch your breath. “yeah, i’ll think on it.”

“okay,” he pressed his forehead to yours, noticing you were deliberately trying to move back. “your mood changed. what you thinkin’, ma?” 

“thought you were g’na kiss me,” you admit, picking at the hem of your dress.

“you want me to kiss you? i was waitin’ on you,” ony replies slyly, licking his lips. 

a thumb comes up to trace the line of your jaw before he’s finally pressing his full lips to yours, and it’s deep. jaw locking and bottom lip falling to catch your own in a passionate, slow kiss. your hips prickle with heat the instant his hand goes to squeeze you there, ony breathing you in while covering your mouth with his. he’s inhaling the air from you, your hand coming up to cup his jaw to pull him away, the disconnect leaving both of you breathless. he licks your gloss off his lips with a clench of his jaw and dilated pupils. 

“hey, what y'all doin’ in here?” your mother's voice interrupts, ony pulling away to hide the smirk on his face. 

you step back, trying to compose yourself as your mother enters the kitchen. momentarily, you're at a loss for words. you offer a casual shrug. “just chatting, mom. nothing too serious.”

she observes the two of you, squinting her eyes knowingly. “unh huh. my pasta salad done?”

“yes ma’am. i’ll pop it in the fridge right now,” onyankopon speaks up, holding up the huge serving bowl proudly. 

“aweee, such a sweetie bean,” she coed. you roll your eyes. “we can start gathering to eat. g’na say a prayer then dig in ‘cause i’m starving and my body hurt.”

you and ony share a glance before he bumps your shoulder, laughing in sync.

dinner goes more than well. your entire family adored ony, and it put this feeling in your chest that goes far beyond just a crush. everyone crowds the long dining table, passing food while conversing and laughing. he felt comfortable, and more than anything, safe. sitting next to you, he holds your hand under the table, and after everyone’s tummies are full, leftovers are taken and goodbyes are said, that’s when you and ony find yourselves sitting peacefully on a hammock out back to watch the stars. 

“i’d love to come to the cabin with you.” 

and just like that, the next day hits, and he’s pulling up to your house in his black jeep wrangler waiting for you to come out. when he sees you, his chest warms up like clockwork, your nike duffle bag packed heavy as you wave excitedly, comfortably dressed in a blood-red tube top, gray sweatpants, uggs, and a black hoodie. the weather wasn't too bad today, warm enough for you to only hold your coat. onyankopon hops out of the car to properly greet you, his brooding body in a simple black crewneck, sweats, and a matching hoodie. 

“hi, pretty. you look gorgeous,” he lowers his head to kiss your cheek, taking your bag from you to carry to the truck. 

you giggle, raising your brow. “in sweats ‘n oversized clothing?” 

“your face is everything i need to see, mama.” 

you smile. “you love to call me that.” 

“you don’t like it? i can stop,” he says seriously.

“no, i love it. it’s very endearing.” 

“mhm. c’mon, the cabin awaits!” ony exclaims, following you to the vehicle to hold open the door for you. 

you slide into the passenger seat, feeling the supple leather conform to your body as you buckle up, the scent of black ice engulfing the truck. after tossing your bag in the backseat, he settles in beside you, giving you a wink as you giggle and kick your feet together.

“ready?” he asks. 

“ready.” 

the anticipation builds with each passing mile, the promise of a romantic escape bubbling in your stomach. the woods are dense, driving further away from civilization. hold on by the internet plays quietly from the car's speaker, air blowing in from the tiny cracks of the window. the scent he gives makes you sink comfortably into your spot, seat pulled back with your knees to your chest and a book on your lap as your soothing voice reads sentences aloud to him, his interest in the african mythology cultivating. 

"keep going," he urges, fingers tightening around the steering wheel as he navigates the winding roads. the rhythmic cadence of your voice is like music to his ears, and he relishes every syllable spoken, available hand gripping onto your thigh. 

the ride carries on for almost two hours, and the tranquility of each other's presence is palpable. as he reaches the top of the hill, ony kills the engine, sitting back into his seat while the two of you admire the area. it’s quaint, trees enveloping the dark oak cabin, the sun painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. the cabin's exterior exudes rustic charm, but the inside is sleek and modern. polished hardwood floors, a small kitchen, a two-seat table, and a large window that overlooks the surrounding forest with a queen-sized bed pushed up against it. there's a walk-in rainfall shower with multiple jets, and a fire pit directly outside where you were dying to make s’mores. it’s like a mini home, and you both loved it. 

the night air is crisp and cool, carrying the scent of pine and wood smoke as you lounge on the outside chairs, firelight dancing across your faces. after settling in, the two of you ran to a small grocery store in town to get a few things ony could throw on the grill. seasoning the burgers and chicken skewers together before playing music from your speaker and watching him work. he sips a beer, a few specks of sweat on his forehead but luckily as it got dark, the coolness dried them away. 

“y’know, i always think about the possibility of being mauled by wolves when i come up here.”

stopping from taking a sip out of your drink, you stare blankly at him. “now why the hell would you put that in my head.”

“my bad, my intrusive thoughts got to me. i promise there aren’t any around here. it gives real forks washington vibes up here.”

“not a twilight reference,” you giggle. “you don’t give me someone who’s into stuff like that.”

“whatttt, girl bye. team jacob all the way,” he playfully sways his hand, cracking a smile from your outburst of a laugh, playfully pushing at his arm.

the weather began to grow colder, onyankopon noticing the sluggishness in your tone as you speak, eyes low meaning it was time for bed. he let’s you head inside while he tidied up, the tranquility of you snuggled up in bed closest to the window sprawled out as he quietly cleans the dishes makes him smile. not long after he brushes his teeth and cuts off all the lights, he slides into the bed beside you, wrapping his arm around your waist and snuggling his face within the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent as you snore lightly.

as the morning approaches, the two of you awaken to find yourselves entwined with one another. legs tangled and skin close to skin. the morning light filters through the glass window, casting a soft glow over the entire cabin and your bodies. you softly mewl, not wanting to move an inch, savoring the comforting scent of his body and the warmth of his pressed against yours.

the two of you lay in bed for another hour, occasionally in and out of sleep before onyankopon makes a suggestion of starting the day with a hike to enjoy the nature. after getting ready and dressing comfortably, the two of you stroll along the winding trail, the path following through dense forests, trees filtering some of the sunlight and casting dappled shadows on the ground beneath your feet.

the silence is comfortable, punctuated only by the rustling of leaves and the distant call of birds as onyankopon holds your hand in his, swinging your arms and giggling like lovesick teenagers. as the trees thin out, then reveals a sparkling lake in the distance. you gasp at the sight of a waterfall beating down on rocks, the lake flowing heavily. it feels just like a disney film.

you’ve noticed something about ony. he was extremely affectionate in ways of kisses and hugs, currently holding your face within his palms to press his lips to yours, the soothing sound of the waterfall in the background making this all perfect. outside of that, he wasn’t super physical in terms of intimate touch. from his end, he’s afraid to do anything that would perceive him differently. he genuinely enjoyed your company, your personality, and you overall. physical intimacy was the last thing on his mind, but you wanted that from him including everything else. part of you didn’t want to blatantly say it, more so wanting him to make the first move so you could feel that pull from him.

he breaks away from the kiss, staring at your face intensely for a few seconds, wondering what’s on his mind. clearing his throat he says, “let’s go make some breakfast.”

after a nice breakfast of classic scrambled eggs, turkey bacon, and home fries, you spend the afternoon engaging in cute activities such as painting. you’d brought some of your crafts figuring it’d be a nice way to connect more. a paint and sip date. your playlist titled cocoa butter streams out of your speaker, playing mellow rnb tunes while you sip on stella rose and unwind. this was what he needed. he feels like he spent so much time thinking toxicity was necessary in a relationship to keep it alive. but being in this moment with you, coloring with crayons in a spider-man book while you paint on construction paper, listening to music and yapping about whatever — he felt happy.

ony finishes a random portrait he drew after getting tired of the coloring book, drawing you a giant pink heart with vines and roses, sliding it towards you shyly, and hiding his face. you laugh at his reaction, praising him for how good it looks and giving him a kiss on the cheek, telling him you’d admire it forever, even frame it.

hours slip by unnoticed, the two of you now standing side by side in the small kitchen to cook dinner. you decided on something simple; ribeye steak and broccolini. a voice in your head tells you to make ony feel more at ease with you, even if he did. caressing his arm as he sears the steaks, resting your head on the hollow of his back and chatting. you even guide him to grab your waist as you prepare a chimichurri sauce to pour over the steak. little things to give him a sign that it was okay.

once the night began to die down, ony opted to clean up since check out was in the morning. as he tidied up, you decided to take a shower to wash off the steak smell and grease on your clothing and skin. classic oldies still play lowly from your speaker, finding himself humming along to ‘good luck charm’ by jagged edge as he wipes down the stove with cleaner. ony turns his head when he hears a thud, a silent cuss, and a painful whine from you following.

he raised his head in curiosity, wanting to make sure you were okay. “aye, you good?”

he didn’t mean to push the door further open given it was cracked to make sure the bathroom wouldn’t fully fog up. but his elbow hits the door and he catches a glimpse of your entire figure. hot steam illuminating your skin and swirling around you like a mystical aura, water enhancing the pigment of your skin.

“ah, shit . . my fault. sorry,” he stumbles out, ducking his head to block his view of you.

“it’s okay!” you softly announced. “just dropped my bar, it hit my toe but i'm okay!”

“coo’, coo’. ”

clearing his throat, he closes the door to give you privacy, rubbing the back of his neck before tossing his head back and sighing. instead of letting his mind run, he jerks his attention back to the task at hand, tidying up the rest of the area. once the cabin is spotless, onyankopon gets comfortable in bed, waiting for you to finish in the bathroom so he can have his turn. when you exit, the room is filled with an awkward silence, the noticeable tension palpable.

ony catches you standing at the doorway, only dressed in one of his shirts. he’s lying on his back in the bed, legs spread as he holds the mythology book in his hands. turning to face you, he looks at you curiously, the sudden darkness in your eyes making his dick ache. he lays the open book flat on his chest, eyes never leaving yours. 

“what’s wrong?” ony asks, but your silence remains, biting at your lip before glancing at his toned v-line. only one thing on your mind. “talk to me, mama.” 

swallowing, you fold your arms in front of you, toes indented atop your other foot.  “i . . noticed you haven’t really touched me the way i want you to.”

you didn’t mean to say it with insecurity, having this stupid feeling that he didn’t want you in a way you thought he did. obviously that wasn’t true, you just needed him to physically be infatuated with you.

ony sits up, confusion etched into his features, immediately attending to your needs. his hands resting on his knees as he looks at you intently. "i’m sorry if it came off like that. i just didn’t want you to think of me that way. like, i didn’t want you to think that’s the only reason i wanted to bring you up here.”

“oh . . .” you bite your lip, feeling a mixture of relief and higher attraction. “that’s sweet of you, i appreciate you for being a gentleman. i don’t know, i had this stupid thought that maybe you were holding back because. . well, because you weren't sexually attracted to me." you admit quietly, chest tightening at the possibility.

the look on his face looks painful, like he was in disbelief that you could even say such a thing. ony stands immediately, the quickness almost scaring you as he approaches you with an intense demeanor. glaring up at his towering figure, you gasp when he backs you up against the wall, his nose molding to yours.

"never that.”

ony inhales sharply, your scent intoxicating him. he brushes his lips against your earlobe as he whispers, "i am so fuckin' attracted to you,” his hands roam around your hips, fingers softly indenting in the soft flesh covered by fabric. his touch makes your face heat up and the throb between your thighs worse, his lips trailing down to hover over your own. "i was scared, yeah, but not because i don't want you. it's ‘cause i want you too fuckin’ much."

mewling, you drunkenly press your chest to his, your horniness on top of the few glasses of wine in your system craving him horribly. it’s bad the thoughts you’ve been having. his knee finds its way between your legs where you press yourself down slightly, dragging your hand to grip the back of his neck and he copies by doing the same.

“i w’na fuck you,” you mumble against his lips, kissing him gently, the soft peck growing rougher when you go for another one and this time it sounds wet. “you w’na fuck me too?”

ony grunts, his fingers digging into your hips harder as he grinds himself against your stomach. “fuck yes, mama. ima show you how bad i want you.”

finally, he captures your mouth in a kiss, lips smacking with greedy attention. moaning into each other's mouths in heat, your shirt raising high as his hands smooth along your body, aching to touch the softness of your skin. rubbing the sides of your thighs before sliding them to your ass where he gropes and spanks you, a sound you’ve never made before falling from you when his fingers spread your ass cheeks apart with a bit of your pussy.

groaning in your mouth, he goes to grab your wrists and pins them above your head, raising you higher to grind his hips against your pussy, feeling the outline of him in his sweats. ony kisses your neck, open mouthed and following with tongue after gently nipping at your skin with his teeth. you feel like you’re going to faint from how aroused you were.

he breaks his mouth away after a few minutes, gazing down at you with lust-filled eyes. "gotta get you naked, mama. need to feel that pussy on me.”

with a swift motion, he drags the shirt you wear above your chest, maintaining the grip he has on your wrists, his gaze devouring every inch of your curves.

“fuck,” he utters, groaning before opening his mouth to lick and suck at your tits, gasping and grinding as you push yourself closer to him. each suck is lewd, loud in the quiet space, pulling your areolas into his mouth and sliding his tongue between the valley.

his mouth comes back to your neck, kissing once more before he’s fully pulling off the fabric so you’re completely bare. picking you up, he carries you towards the bed, giggling as he lays you onto the plush mattress, instantly bending you over and rubbing his hands over your ass after climbing behind you. reaching under your left thigh with his forearm, he drags your body on the bed so you’re facing the headboard, pressing the dip of your back further down, clothed dick against your core.

“can you show her to me, baby?” ony whispers, licking his lips as he lowers his face, your back arching and ass high up. his palm lands on it, a whimper flowing from you, expressing a needy pout on your lips.

“mm hm,” you nod, goosebumps on your skin. his voice makes your clit throb harder.

onyankopon inhales sharply as your hand reaches under yourself to spread your folds apart with two of your fingers, pussy drenched and waiting for his mouth to eat it. your hips stir in desperation as you rub at your clit, waiting for him to hurry. his jaw clenches, humming to himself as the ache in his dick grows painful, leveling his face and covering your pussy with his mouth. your hand drops, ony resting his wrist in your palm you grip as your mouth falls open. brows furrowed, he grunts and drags his tongue along your slit, savoring your taste as your wetness sticks to your thighs like honey. the vibrations from his throat causes you to clench, shakily moaning and softly rocking your ass back on his face, the scratch of his facial hair making you wetter.

"ony, shitt,” you moan, your fingers tangling in the sheets as he devours you. "like that, baby.”

he’s leaving heavy licks and targeted flicks against your clit, his nose nudges your perineum, suckling your folds into his mouth before grunting and digging for your nub, flattening his tongue and rocking his head up and down along with each of your movements. moans break out in shudders, ony trailing his free hand to slowly spank you in iterations, juices coating his chin, your voice getting louder.

“ooh, fuck mama. that’s what you needed, right? you like my tongue?” the harsh licks of ony’s tongue urges your toes to curl, throwing your ass back on his face in a quicker pace, thighs shaking violently.

“unh h-huh, baby — yess.”

"you taste so muhfuckin’ good," he growls, his breath fanning over your sensitive flesh. "love having this pretty pussy in my fuckin’ mouth."

you cry out in ecstasy, hips bucking wildly as ony dips his tongue inside you relentlessly. your shoulders fall into the bed as you reach back to grab the top of his head, soft textured waves on your palm as you pull him deeper into your heat. combinations of squeals and whines spewing as he curls it within you while kissing your folds with his thick lips. "f-fuck, ony! t-there, oh my god don’t — mmgh stop!"

“stop?” he hums condescendingly, spanking you again. now he’s reaching under to lock his forearms on your thighs and lifting you up so you’re sitting on his face while he raises up on his knees.

“n-noo,” fisting the sheets, your mouth remains open as he lifts you like a dumbbell at the gym and rocks you up and down on his face, your slickness mixed with his salvia trailing down your mound to the pudge of your tummy. “ony. you eat it so good. s’too good.”

“ooh, you my bad girl,” ony hissed, landing a hard smack on your ass again, sliding his tongue over your puckered hole, refusing to miss a spot tasting you. “you turn me on so much you bad fuckin’ girl.”

he’s almost got you in a full sixty-nine position, your stomach touching the abs on his body, the heat radiating onto you. you grab his thigh, the blood rushing to your head and you feel yourself getting dizzy.

“onya,” whimpering, you crawl forward so you can breathe, escaping his aggressive hold on you, not wanting you to move but allowing you to.

“come taste it off me.”

his love taps on your thigh ease you, flipping yourself onto your back to pick yourself up. you crawl to him, eyes low and kissing his stomach, working your way up to his neck and then his mouth, molding his lips with yours. moaning, you suck on his lips greedily, taking your hands to tug down his sweats on either side of his hips, gasping when his dick smacks his thigh. you break the kiss, his eyes damn near shut as he glares at you, keeping back a grin as you stare in between where you meet to see the heavy girth of his dick. it’s curved downwards from the weight of it, two toned at the base and an angry vein wide on the side.

“mmm,” you audibly moan, brows furrowing and lips pouting. it’s obvious how horny you were by the expressions you make.

ony grabs your ass when you don’t waste any time spitting on it from where you stand, hitting his base and taking your hand to spread it over him. twisting your palm around the tip and grabbing his neck with your other hand, watching each other, concentrating on the noise of you stroking his dick.

“spit on it,” you plead softly, lips kissing his, biting his bottom.

the stir in his stomach is something he hadn’t felt in a while, finding himself obeying you, lowering his head slightly to spit over his own dick, covering your fingers and pumping your fist faster. your hand instinctively tightens around his neck when he latched his mouth on yours, biting at the flesh and dragging his tongue along your skin. you pull him in, moaning in his ear while he moans on your neck. his tongue is fat, tracing every inch of your skin with noises erupting deep within his throat, kissing and sucking and it makes you insanely wet.

“lemme beat that pussy, ꒰♡꒱. lemme take it.”

the eye contact is deadly, ony growing impatient and pining you on your back. with your head nestled between full feathered pillows, you raise your knees to your chest without help, opening yourself to him and dragging your acrylics down the front of his muscular thighs after he tosses his sweatpants fully off.

ony goes to grab behind your neck, pressing his mouth to yours once more, tapping the head of his dick on your clit a few times before rubbing it against your folds and ever so slowly sinking into you. both of you gasp in sync, ony keeping his hand around the base as he thrusts steadily to let you adjust. he’s pushing in halfway before pulling out and slipping in further. removing his hand, he groans with his head tossed back. locking his hand on the back of your left knee to fully pin your leg to the bed, your stomach caving in from the fullness he gives you, biting your lip hard.

“talk to me, lemme know when it’s safe.”

you can tell he’s trying to hold back, pushing his hips forward till they’re touching yours. you whine pathetically, feeling so good just from minimal strokes. your pussy flutters around him with praise, watching him disappear entirely inside of you and come back out coated in your arousal.

“i’m good,” pawing at his chest, you silently beg for him to bring his body closer, needing his skin on yours.

ony rests his chest on yours, noses mushed together as he locks your smaller frame beneath him, the hand behind your neck now clasping your throat where blushes of purple begin to form. the pretty waves of your pixie cut grows disheveled from this heat that you go into when he starts fucking you rough. the nasty slosh of your pussy drenching his dick in the quiet cabin. only mellow music playing and the disgusting grunts and filthy moans you equally make in each others faces.

ony’s hips smack into yours relentlessly, his jaw wide as he breathlessly grunts while pressing his forehead to yours. squeezing his eyes shut while yours weakly fail to stay open, drunk on his dick as he fucks you harder the louder you get.

“f-fuck, onyaa, shitt. feel so good.”

“ooh, it does for me too. shit, it does for me too,” his voice cracks, a throaty hum he releases vibrating against your chest.

“your dick is s-so . . . big,” you cry out, voice becoming unrecognizable from how broken it is. every pound makes you vocally recite, its needy, and its sexy as fuck. ony can’t bare to hear it, fearing he’d bust too quickly from how you sound alone.

“shit, girl,” ony shakily inhales before laying his palm over your mouth to muffle you, his eyes scrolling into the back of his skull as he balanced himself on the tips of his toes and drives his dick into you harder. “ugh, fuuck, fuck fuck.”

screaming in his palm, you somehow get so loud it didn’t matter if he gagged you quiet. your tongue lolls out on his hand, eyes crossed and breathing heavily. you hold on to his arm, chest bouncing from every hard hit, sticky skin clapping and the feeling of ony in your stomach completely fogs up your brain.

“sloppy ass fuckin’ pussy. pretty ass face, too baby. fuck, gimme this shit. shit talkin’ to me ‘n takin’ my dick so good.”

turning your head to the side, you break away from his palm on your mouth, collecting air in harsh pants and crying out his name in long streams.

“say that shit again, ma’.”

sniffling, you claw at his strong waist, helping him fuck you by yanking him forward, curling your toes and straightening your legs so your pussy clamps tighter around him when they nearly reconnect.

“onyaaa.”

“mm hmm. atta girl.”

keeping your legs to your stomach, they bury the sight of your face, onyankapon entwining his fingers on top of your head that he cradles, holding your face to his chest as he fucks you harder. he sounds ridiculously sexy, growling in the air as you hold the back of his thighs and jerk beneath him from the intensity of his aggression. grinding his dick in you, pressing on the spongy spot deep inside and you can instantly feel the warmth of nearing your orgasm.

“c-cumminn’, ony . . . fuck.”

“cum on this dick, mama. get it all over me.”

it was by far the most intense orgasm you’ve had in your entire life. the aggressive pulse on your clit as you cum, tightening on his dick which he feels it all. the broken symphonies of whines streaming along with pleasurable sobs. it felt so goddamn good.

“good girl, you so pretty when you cum.”

the drunken smile on your face makes ony smile back, kissing your forehead before lifting himself off of you. inhaling, he regains his composure, lifting your ankle to kiss before he’s turning you on your stomach and shoving a pillow under to toot you up at a good angle.

you manage to snort when he kisses the back of your neck, feeling ticklish. his kisses follow down the path of your spine, the tingles in your hips and chest arise again, grinding your ass back when his mouth finds its way there again. nipping at your ass cheeks gently with his teeth. “love all of you, baby. hold that pretty ass open for me.”

“yes, baby.”

the muscles in the back of your shoulders dance as you reach behind yourself to spread your ass apart for him to see, gasping softly when you feel a glob of spit hit your hole and trail down your entrance.

“yeah, keep ‘em there.”

the fat tip of his dick slides it’s way back into you, ony’s brows knitting together as he watches the ring of your cunt grip on him after he pulls back. your black stilettos look good on the pigment of your skin, looking back at him deviously, dark lashes with spikes on the bottom row batting in slow motion it felt like. you kiss your own shoulder, humming elatedly when he begins to fill you up with his whole dick, pouty lips parting to moan softly.

dawn was near, the light in the sky beaming into the glass windows overtime and over your gorgeous figure. his feelings for you grow stronger. he needed you in his life. needed you crying on his dick forever. needed to kiss you all the time and even laugh like idiots. his head was filled with multiple layers of emotions. you could hear the birds chirp outside as ony lifts his body in push-up form to slam into you with all the strength he had left.

your hands stay where they are, body knocking down from every rough, steady, and needy pound. your skin hitting his loudly, ony choking on his moans while you whimper his name.

“g’na fuckin’ . . bust, baby. you want dis’ nut?”

“i want it. do it, ony. i want you.”

“you want me?” he heaves.

“mhm, want you.”

wrapping his forearm around you neck, he drops his weight on you, rutting into you, easing his pace when he finally feels that buildup rush in his abdomen. balls jumping and quickly sliding his dick out to nut over your ass, shooting out in long strings of white up to your backside. onyankopon drags out a grunt, fisting his dick and pumping it to get out every ounce, tightening his palm towards the head and patting your ass with it.

smiling, you drop your arms and bring them to the pillow your head rests on, gripping tight and nuzzling your face into it. ony kisses your cheek, lingering for a few seconds before he’s picking himself up to head to the bathroom to retrieve a warm soapy washcloth. he cleans himself up with a separate one before slipping on his sweats again when he comes back.

you feel the dip in the bed where he sits, his hand on the middle of your back he rubs soothing circles into while proceeding to clean you up with the rag. he took everything out of you, turning your head in his direction to watch him with lazy eyes.

ony clears his throat, smoothing his hand over his waves. “was that . . good for you? you enjoyed it, yeah?”

his anxiousness made you giggle, nodding slowly. “i enjoyed it. yeah. did you?”

“i think i enjoyed it too much,” he admits, swallowing before giving you that serious stare again, wondering what else he had to say. “you were serious about wanting me, like for real?”

you blink, feeling yourself grow extremely tired, but wanting to give him reassurance. “mm hm, i want you.”

and that makes his heart warm, leaning down to kiss your forehead as you try your hardest to fight sleep.

“yeah. i want you too, mama.”

© 𝒮𝒯𝟦𝑅𝐵𝒲𝑅𝑅𝒴! all rights reserved. please do not repost, steal, or modify my work simply because it is mine. stealing isn't cute. i'll ruin your life ♡

[keirareidss]

the ink on your skin - s.r

♡ summary: spencer is obsessed with his girlfriend's tattoos pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader wc: 1.1k

Spencer Reid had a thing for tattoos. Specifically his girlfriend's. One of his favorite pastimes was tracing them with his finger. Exactly what he was doing now.

He laid in bed, the early morning light peeking through the cracks in the blinds, painting the mattress in golden stripes. His deft fingertips traced the black ink decorating your skin. He followed the lines, recreating the intricate pattern with his touch.

"What are you doing?" Came a sleepy mumble from beside him. He looked up from your back, glancing towards where your face was buried into the plush pillow, arms curled underneath it. Your eyes were still closed but your face was turned towards him.

"Nothing. Sorry. Did I wake you?"

"No." You hummed, snuggling closer. "I dreamt about you."

"Really?" He asked, his fingers skimming down to the side of your thigh where another tattoo laid. He gently began tracing it. You weren't even sure if he knew he was doing it.

"Mhm. We were just walking around the city. Running errands and stuff. It was pretty domestic actually."

"That sounds nice." Spencer murmurs.

"It was." You both fell into a peaceful silence, your eyes still closed while Spencer traced over your ink from memory.

You dropped the clasp again, huffing in annoyance. Why is it so hard to put on a necklace? You didn't want to go without it though, it really accented the dress you were wearing. Backless with a deep V in the front, hugging your curves nicely. You tried again to clasp the necklace behind your neck, internally cheering when you succeeded.

"Hey, are you ready?" Spencer asked, walking into the room, adjusting his tie. He froze when he saw you, barely keeping his jaw from dropping to the floor. "Wow, you look... amazing."

"Thank you. You look awfully handsome yourself."

"Is, um, is that a new necklace?" He asked, unable to stop his eyes from dropping to your cleavage.

"It is. I got it when I went shopping with Penelope last weekend." You said, stepping closer to him. His hand instinctively moved to your waist, the other moving to the necklace. He fiddles with the charm, a small silver S.

"S?" He asked, looking into your eyes.

"For Spencer." You grinned up at him as his knuckles brushed your chest. He blushed, glancing back at the necklace. His eyes caught on something else though, the tattoo trailing down your cleavage into the hem of your dress. His fingers leave the small charm to brush over the ink. He traces the design forming a vine as it descends down your chest, watching his own finger skim along your soft skin.

"Spence?"

"Hmm?" He asks, snapping out of his trance.

"Are you ready to go?" You asked in a soft, teasing voice.

"Mhm." His eyes finally lift from your chest to look into your entrancing eyes.

"C'mon babe. We're gonna be late to our reservation." Spencer trails behind you his eyes caught on the way your hips sway. It was gonna be a long night.

The case was rough. Weeks of work and the victim barely made it out alive. Now that the BAU was back on the jet, they all stayed pretty quiet, sitting with the after effects of the case. You sat across from Spencer, headphones in, music nearly blasting in your ears to drown out the memories of the case. Spencer sat with his back to the kitchenette, nose deep in his notebook, drawing something. Derek got up for the third time, getting another coffee for himself. He headed to the kitchenette, refilling his cup. When he turned to go back to his seat, he noticed something. He stepped closer to the back of Spencer's seat, peeking over his shoulder.

"What is that?" He asks, making the genius turn around.

"Wha- none of your business!" He says, pressing the notebook to his chest to hide it from view.

"Nah, that looked familiar. Lemme see." He reaches for the notebook but Spencer jerks back.

"No! It's- it's nothing." His face is bright red by now. He glances across the table to see you looking up, pulling an earbud from your ear to tune into the conversation. Derek uses this distraction to snatch the notebook from Spencer's hand. "Morgan-"

"Hang on, is this... is this what I think it is?" Derek grins teasingly.

"No." Spencer defends pathetically.

"It is. You're doodling your girlfriend's tattoos."

"Just- give it back." He yanks the notebook back, tucking it to his chest again.

"You are?" You asked, taking your other earbud out.

"Maybe..." Spencer blushes more, if that's even possible.

"Which one? Show me." You said. The flustered man across from you slowly hands you the notebook. You look down at the drawing your eyes widening slightly at the detail. "Wow. This is good."

"Thanks." Spencer rubs the back of his neck and Derek ruffles his hair, smirking as he heads back to his seat. "You're not mad?"

"Why would I be mad? This is amazing. You should draw my next tattoo." You said offhandedly, sliding his notebook back across the table to him. You moved to put your earbuds back in but stopped when he spoke again.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"I can draw something... if you want."

"That'd be awesome, Spence." He smiled to himself, burying himself back into his notebook.

It had to be perfect. He wouldn't accept anything other than perfect being put on your body permanently. Since you told him he could design a tattoo for you, he hasn't stopped thinking about it. He's been brainstorming and sketching but nothing has felt right. He crumbled up and threw away yet another sheet of paper containing a design that was still not good enough.

"It doesn't have to be perfect, Spence. I'll love anything you draw. Promise." He shakes his head.

"You don't know that." He muttered, shifting to get more comfortable. He was sitting in the dining room chair at your apartment where he had been for almost the last hour. You sat down next to him, taking his hand.

"Honey, it's not that big of a deal." You reassured him, smiling slightly, amused at his determination.

"It is a big deal! This will be on your body forever!"

"If you're this stressed about it, you don't have to do it."

"Do you not want me to?" He tilted his head, his brown puppy dog eyes boring into yours.

"Of course I want you to. It'd be great to have a little piece of you everywhere I go."

"Wait... I have an idea." Spencer says, grabbing his pencil and starting to quickly sketch. He's done in a few moments, sliding the notebook over to you.

"Is that...?" You smiled, looking down at the sketch.

"It's the day we met. And that's a carnation. Your favorite, right?"

"Yeah. It's perfect." You lean forward, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, his winding around your waist. "It's perfect." You murmur again, this time into his neck. His arms tighten around you, smiling at the promise of permanent ink on your body, tying you together. Forever.

[bears-fics]

Coffee

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: cross-posted on ao3, bit buildup and dialouge heavy oops, no use of y/n, female reader, sub spencer and dom-ish reader (you're a bit sweet on him), spencer whines so much, degradation and praise kink (spencer), explicit consent, oral (fem receiving), coming untouched, multiple orgasms, protected p in v sex, riding, coming prematurely, overstimulation, dacryphilia, aftercare

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary: You discover something about Spencer after a sleepless night, and it doesn't leave your head until you can sort it out in a hotel room.

A/N: my first time writing smut so I hope it's okay :P comments/reblogs would be super appreciated but don't feel obligated!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It started over coffee. It was a ritual, your favorite of the several you and Spencer shared. You would both come into work, way before anyone got there. Spencer would pour his coffee with its obscene amount of sugar, and you'd slot beside him to pour yours with its obscene amount of creamer. You'd talk, or Spencer would, normally about whatever obscure theory he was fixating on.

Today though, you made a beeline for your desk after filling your cup. It had been a sleepless night, filled with nightmares of the horrors you saw on the regular in this field, and you had a mountain of paperwork to catch up on.

You'd hoped Spencer would leave it, and he would've with anyone else, but he always was too comfortable around you. As you stood, so did he, and as you moved to refill your cup, he grabbed your hand.

"Spencer," you said, trying to keep your voice gentle despite your irritation.

He looked pointedly at your oversized cup. "Caffeine overconsumption can worsen anxiety and insomnia," he started, in that tone that indicated a rant, "as well as inhibiting focus, which you need for this job- well, you need sleep too, but that ship has sailed, from the looks of it-"

"Spencer," you practically growled, "shut up and let me pour the damn coffee."

You hadn't meant to sound quite so mad, and an apology was about to leave your mouth before you noticed the blush painting Spencer's face.

Blush?

It was undeniable. There was splotchy color covering his cheeks and the tip of his ears in a way you'd only seen whenever Morgan teased him about his sex life. He'd hunched in on himself, this 6'1 man somehow making himself small in front of you. He wouldn't look you in the eye, which wasn't new, but it felt different this time, and it didn't take long to figure out why. His pupils were blown wide, overtaking his irises.

And you were gaping at him like an idiot. Your jaw snapped shut as Spencer nodded before speed-walking to his desk, as if he was hoping you wouldn't notice.

Of course you noticed. You noticed everything about Spencer, from the way he twisted his hands to his perpetually mismatched socks. You noticed so many miniscule habits that even Spencer himself probably didn't that you could've started a notebook with them; not that you needed to, since they immediately stored themselves in the front of your mind. Obviously, you noticed the glances when he thought you weren't looking, the way he sat next to you on every flight, and the million other things that he would never do for anyone else.

It was something unspoken between you, a closeness you couldn't or wouldn't act on. It was fragile, sugar-spun glass painted with the shades of brown in his puppy-dog eyes. You were so afraid to break it by acting too soon, too fast. You knew you were harsh, too much. But you also knew it would have to come to a head eventually.

God, you needed more coffee.

-

You had a case that day. Of course you had a case that day.

You're a professional, you reminded yourself as JJ briefed the team.

Fraternization was frowned upon, you thought as Spencer's hand sat dangerously close to yours on the flight.

Bad idea, you reasoned when Spencer looked up at you through his eyelashes as you connected evidence.

Terrible idea, really, you grasped at when Spencer didn't stop looking at you after that.

It was torture, going through the motions of an entire case with the image of a flustered Spencer playing on loop every time he spoke. You were out of it, distracted, and not because of that second cup of coffee.

It boiled over when you asked an officer to repeat himself for the third time. Hotch had asked you to follow him in that "I'm extremely disappointed" tone that he'd perfected.

He led you into an empty room, near-slamming the door shut.

"What is going on with you?" Hotch starts, before taking a breath and cutting himself off.

"Listen, whatever is happening between you two, I need you to sort it out as soon as possible," he says. You open your mouth to protest, but nothing comes out. "We're all profilers," he points out with a raised eyebrow. He sighs.

"We're staying at a hotel tonight. Sleep it off or... do whatever you need to." He leaves you alone in the room. You compose yourself before facing the rest of your team.

"Sort it out."

Fuck it.

-

It took hours to work up the courage. Hours of pacing around your room combing over every possibility in your head. Every rule that was being broken. But, Hotch had told you to do what you needed to. And that image of Spencer wouldn't leave your mind.

It must have been around 2 AM when you finally ended up knocking on his door. You expected he would be up, but it still surprised you how quickly the door swung open. He hadn't even changed into pajamas, and you realized that in your haze of worry, neither had you.

"We need to talk," you said, firm. Spencer gulped and moved aside to let you in. You stood near the edge of his bed, one hand on your hip. Spencer sat on the bed, gazing up at you with a look that would've been innocent to anyone else.

"This morning," you start with a sigh, "I didn't mean to be that rude." Spencer looks like he wants to say something, but he's holding his tongue. "But, from the looks of it," you continue, "you didn't mind."

Spencer's mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Nothing comes out but a hitch of his breath. He's avoiding your eyes, staring past you to look at the blank wall. You can't have that.

You snap in front of his face, soft but stern, like you're trying to get a dog's attention. His eyes snap to you, pupils blown wide. “Look at me when I'm talking to you,” you say, in a gentle version of the tone you had used that morning.

He whimpers.

He fucking whimpers, maintaining eye contact like you'd asked him to.

You bite your lip slightly, rolling it between your teeth before letting it go. Spencer's face flushes that beautiful red as his hands fly to his crotch, trying in vain to cover a growing erection. You let out a laugh.

“Needy already? From me just talking to you? How pathetic, Spence.” Your voice is low and rough as you gently grab his wrists to move his hands. “Don't. I want to see you.”

The show of control has Spencer whimpering again, starting up at you pathetically as he gets impossibly redder. He's so far gone already, and it's filling your head with things you want to do to him, but you have to make sure he's truly okay with it first.

“Spencer,” you say as you let go of his wrists, earning you a whine, “can you come back to me for a second?” He just whines again, a far-off look on his face, so you let his breathing level out before you tilt his head towards you and pat his face until he looks at you again.

“Spencer,” you say again, still holding his face, “I need to know you want this.” He nods, almost frantic, but you tut at him. “Words,” you scold.

“I do, yes, I need it, please, anything-” Spencer babbles, before you lean down to cut him off with a bruising kiss. He whines immediately, letting you add tongue. You bite at his lower lip, making him moan.

Spencer pulls away to beg. “Please,” he says, “please, I need-” He cuts himself off with a whine, frustration evident.

“Aw, my stupid baby,” you coo, straightening up again. “What is it? Can't you talk, or are you that gone already?”

Spencer whimpers, flushing more at your degradation. “I wanna- I wanna taste you. Please.”

It takes you a second to process that. Spencer Reid, notorious germaphobe, wanted to eat you out. You paused so long that Spencer started to look worried. You unsuccessfully tried to form words a few times and then-

“Knees. Now.”

Your voice sounded commanding, even to you, so it was no surprise that Spencer scrambled to kneel. You stripped slowly, carefully, watching him to make sure he was staying still.

When you were naked, you took Spencer's place on the bed, spreading your legs. He slotted between your thighs, leaning his head on one and mouthing at it. You brought your hands up to his hair, petting it.

“Good boy,” you croon, “so patient for me.” Spencer is purely blissed out below you, all kiss-swollen lips and flushed cheeks. He looks like he'd be content to stay leaning on your thigh forever, just mouthing and biting, but you're impatient.

You grab his hair, gently pulling him to where you want him. He looks up at you, as if asking for permission. “Go ahead,” you grant. He nods and licks a stripe between your folds before circling his tongue around your clit. Your breathing quickens as your hand tightens in his hair and you let out a low moan.

Spencer whines around your clit, circling one of his lithe fingers around your hole before pushing it in, searching for the bundle of muscles that would make you shake. He finds it when you clench around him, and he adds another finger to keep curling into it as he sucks on your clit in earnest.

You're whimpering praises, “good boy”s and “so good”s, as Spencer keeps whining against you and sending shocks of pleasure through your body.

He switches the place of his fingers and tongue, using his thumb to circle your clit while his tongue fucks into you.

Your hand tightens in his hair, a borderline pull, and the feeling of Spencer whining in you sends you over the edge with a curse. He laps at you until you're squirming under him, so you use your hold in his hair to pull him back.

He looks heavenly, your slick and cum coating his mouth and chin as he pants. He smiles up at you dumbly.

“Fuck,” you moan. A pang of guilt hits you as you realize you've been ignoring Spencer's (probably painful by now) erection. You're opening your mouth to offer something when you notice the wet spot on the crotch of his pants. He avoids your gaze when he realizes you've figured it out.

“Spence,” you start, “did you-” He cuts you off with an apology. “I'm sorry, I- You just…” he trails off. You gape at him for a second, shaking your head.

“Don't apologize,” you say sternly. You pat the spot on the bed next to you, sending Spencer scrambling to get up, still blushing furiously.

You grab his hand once he's sat, trying to be gentle. “Do you want to stop?” you question. “No!” Spencer almost yells as soon as the words leave your mouth. “No,” he says again, quieter but just as desperate.

“What do you want?” you question. You like controlling him, you really do, but you also want to spoil him after he made you feel so good.

“Wanna be inside you,” he mumbles, staring at you with those big, doe eyes. You pause for a second- God, he needs to stop saying things that make you pause- before you crash your lips into his, frantically stripping him out of his clothes.

You get him down to his boxers before pulling him into your lap, licking into his mouth for what feels like an eternity. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and it's fucking divine. Unfortunately, you do have a need to breathe.

You pull away, touching your forehead to his as you pant. You break the trail of spit between your lips as you move to his neck to bite and suck a hickey too high up to be covered by his collar.

Spencer squirms and whines underneath you as he hardens again. You grind against him in circles, puffing against the mark you'd left. Finally feeling the outline of his dick reminds you of one glaring, unfortunate fact.

“I don't have protection,” you say, moving back from his neck. Spencer bites his lip, fidgeting with the back of your shirt. “I do,” he practically whispers. You nod to give him permission to go grab it, scooting over to give Spencer space to lay down like you want him to.

“Spence,” you say, grabbing his attention from his place at his go-bag. “You want a safeword?” you question when you have his attention. He hums. “Color system work?” you follow up. He hums again, turning around with a condom and a small lube bottle.

You bite your lips at the implication of getting to feel him inside you. “Come lay down,” you invite, patting the space beside you. He comes willingly, settling rigidly as he sets the items on the nightstand.

You move to sit on his thigh, rubbing his chest to soothe him. “I'm gonna ride you. Is that okay, sweet boy?” you ask. He nods, frantic, flushing down to his chest.

You grab his face. “We've been over this, Spencer. Words.” you reprimand. “Yes, please, please.” Spencer slurs, breathing heavily just from you teasing him.

You move your hand to his hair, stroking gently. “Good boy,” you encourage, your other hand toying with his boxers. You look at your hand, then up at him. “Please,” he whines. You lift yourself off his thigh, tapping his legs so he raises them and taking his boxers off.

His cock springs free, red and leaking and coated with his earlier orgasm. He's-

“So pretty,” you whisper, reverent. Spencer's dick twitches at the praise, making you bite your lip. It matches the rest of him, tall and built but also lean. The thought of taking it has you unconsciously grinding against his thigh.

You don't realize you're staring until Spencer whines and puts his hands on your hips to get your attention. “Sorry, baby,” you apologize. You take his hands off your hips and hold them at the headboard with one hand while grabbing the condom of the nightstand with the other. He goes impossibly redder with the restraint, dick twitching again.

You hold the condom up to his mouth. “Can you hold this for me, Spence?” you prompt. He understands immediately, taking it in his teeth as you rip it open. You take the trash out of his mouth and flick it aside before rolling the condom on in a fluid motion that has Spencer bucking into your hand. You hold his hips down once your hand is free, a scolding expression on your face.

“Sorry,” Spencer mumbles. Your face softens. “It's okay, sweet boy,” you croon, “just be good for me for a bit more.” He nods frantically, an almost pout on his face.

You let go of his hip and his hands to grab and pop open the bottle of lube. Spencer whines from the lack of contact. “Shh,” you soothe as you squeeze lube on your hands, throwing the bottle somewhere in the mess of clothes on the floor before stroking it up and down his cock. He shakes with the effort to not buck into your hand this time.

“Good boy,” you praise as you lift your hips up and brace your hands on his stomach. He whines in anticipation.

Slowly, carefully, you sink yourself down inch by inch. Spencer's a mess beneath you, whimpering and shaking with the effort to not thrust up into you. It's a view that you would cross oceans to see, and he's giving it to you willingly.

“Good job, baby, so patient,” you pant as you bottom out and begin to rock your hips to get used to the full feeling. You squeeze your thighs around Spencer's hips, keeping one hand on his stomach and moving the other to pin his hands again.

He whines, impossibly loud, to the point the team can probably hear him since you're all in the same hallway, but you're way too focused on the stretch of Spencer's cock to care.

You take a shaking breath before you begin to move in earnest, going almost all the way up before slamming back down with a moan before setting a normal pace.

Tears prick at the corners of Spencer's eyes before rolling down his flushed cheeks as you move faster and faster, chasing the high coiling in the pit of your stomach, and then-

Spencer gives a long, drawn out whine and you feel the condom fill.

You stop moving, snapping your eyes open to glare at him. He's gone, completely, so you snap in front of his face again to get his attention.

“Spencer, did I say you could do that?” you scold. His eyes snap open, tears still streaming as he shakes his head frantically. “I'm sorry, I'll be good, I swear-”

“No,” you snap, cutting him off as you start rocking your hips again, “that was bad. And you know what bad boys get? Punished.” Spencer starts sobbing in earnest under you, hiccuping around the words he's trying to form. “I can't,” he cries, “I can't, too much, please-”

“Shh,” you soothe as you rock back and forth and feel him hardening inside you, “you know your safeword. You can be good for me, can't you?”

Spencer nods and whines and sobs frantically as you start moving again. With his spent dick twitching inside you and the sight of a man with an IQ of 187 hiccuping beneath you, it doesn't take long for you to cum again. The way you clench around Spencer sends him over the edge too, whining still.

You give Spencer a few minutes, let the tears stop and the fog in his eyes clear before you stand up off of him and tie off the condom. When you go to throw it away, he grabs your wrist. “Don't go,” he slurs sleepily, barely a whisper. “I'm just cleaning us up,” you assure him.

You toss the condom and grab a washcloth from the bathroom, cleaning the slick from Spencer's chin and your thighs as well as the dried cum off of his dick. He's too spent to have much of a reaction to anything, so you have to tap him to get his attention before tossing some of his boxers at him.

“You mind if I borrow something?” you ask as Spencer covers himself up. He nods, too tired for words, and you steal boxers and a sweater before crawling back into bed with him.

You're nearly asleep when he nudges you. “What is it?” you mumble. “Love you.” Spencer says, like it's the most sure he's ever been of anything. You open your eyes and stroke his face, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “Love you too.” you whisper, and it's the most sure you've ever been too.

Spencer spoons into your chest as you drift off, and despite it being so late, you wake up the most rested you've ever been.

[milkoomi]

it-girl school bag essentials. ᥫ᭡

a lot of us spend more time at school than we do at our own homes, so we have to make sure our bags our packed with everything we need! here’s a list of some essentials to have in your school bag!

let’s begin …

୨ৎ — basics

notebooks

textbooks

folders

planner

pens/pencils/highlighters

pencil case

no bag’s complete without the bare minimum! be sure you have any and all your school supplies packed and ready to go!

୨ৎ — electronics

ipad/tablet

tablet pencil/stylus

laptop

chargers (phone, tablet, & laptop)

headphones

electronics case (ipad/tablet/laptop)

chargers case

୨ৎ — personal hygiene

deodorant

body spray/perfume

hand sanitizer

lotion

feminine hygiene products (pads/tampons)

mint/gum

୨ৎ — miscellaneous essentials

disinfecting wipes

tide to-go pen

extra hair ties/clips

lip balm/gloss (be sure your lip balm has spf!)

oil blotting sheets

kleenex

compact mirror

hair brush/comb

mini first-aid kit (bandaids, pain meds, allergy meds, eyedrops, antibacterial spray/cream for cuts/wounds, hydrocortisone/anti-itch cream)

refillable water bottle

snacks

final notes —

every it-girl/person is always prepared no matter where they go, and that means even to school! be that person that’s always got everything on-hand. it’s always better be over-prepared than have those “dang it, i left it at home” moments!

with lots of love, faustina 🌷

[awkwardandeccentric]

Blitz *kicking a door in* I heard someone doesn’t like my fucking bird! Who is it?! I’ll kill them!!

Stolas *opening a notebook* Well, there’s Stella, Andrealphus, Stella’s friends, Striker, my father, I don’t know anything about my mother so I put her on here just in case, I can’t tell if Asmodeous likes me or finds me irritating so I also put him on here, whenever I need a refill on my SSRIs, my psychiatrist says ‘whatever will get you out of here faster,’ there’s the bookshop keeper who was angry that I talked for too long about a book I bought from him, oh, that’s right, the demon hunters…

[niktoakanne]

Temperature

Fandom: Arcane

Characters: Vander & Silco; (young) VanCo

Tags: Fluff, Drinking

Summary: Silco let Vander convince him to take his notes in the bar - although he knew that it wouldn't be long before it was full and loud enough for him to hardly be able to follow his thoughts. And for Vander to just pay attention to his guests that even Silcos drink can't help him feel better about anything. So, of course, he wants to go home now.

Silco sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. Why had he let Vander talk him into continuing to work on his notes in the bar again? It wasn't as if Silco felt uncomfortable at The Last Drop, but when it got crowded in the evening, it was hard to follow his own thoughts, let alone put them down on paper in sensible sentences or formulas. He knew that for a fact, so why hadn't he just stayed in the office - or had said anything against the idea in general?

He finally put the pen down on his notebook, only to reach for the glass that Vander had placed in front of him half an eternity ago. He had certainly made one of his usual comments about it, but Silco had only listened to him half-heartedly. Which perhaps he shouldn't have done. They had hardly spoken to each other at all during the day, and seeing Vander now chatting and joking with others at the opposite corner of the bar, even laughing openly in the end, left an unpleasant taste on Silco's tongue.

He put the glass down again - a little more roughly than he intended. Maybe it was just the drink. It was probably the drink. He simply wasn't used to alcohol anymore. The way work had taken its toll on him over the last few days, almost weeks, he wouldn't even be surprised if it was just the sleep. When was the last time he had gotten a full night's sleep? He didn't know. Perhaps he should look into that rather than continue to hang over his notes in frustration.

But when he closed his little book and looked up - his eyes automatically slid back to Vander - the rest of his plan to go to bed was effectively wiped out.

Silco watched as Vander refilled the glasses of a small group while he talked. Unfortunately, he couldn't hear what they were talking about, but judging by the attentive gazes, Vander was giving one of his many pieces of advice. Probably with his rougher tone of voice, where almost everyone just wanted to listen. The kind that made you feel safe and understood. Like a spoken, warm hug. Even if Silco preferred his real hugs. When was the last time he had allowed Vander to hug him? To be able to feel his strong and big arms around him now would be-

Okay, yes, he should definitely go to bed.

So Silco took his notebook from the counter and practically stuffed it into his bag. Then he reached for his vest - and didn't look up as a shadow fell over him.

“Well, should I top up again?” asked Vander, lifting a bottle he had already pulled out.

Silco tried not to stare too intently at his muscles and kept his gaze lowered. “No, thank you. I think I'd better retire for the day.”

“Are you alright?”

“Hm?” Silco looked up after all. In that worried look that he increasingly got the feeling was only meant for him. He didn't even look at Felicia like that.

Vander put the bottle back down under the bar and then reached out to place his hand on Silco's forehead. Silco pushed him aside - more gently than expected.

“What are you doing?” Silco asked with a mixture of irritation and amusement.

“Checking your temperature,” Vander replied unfazed. “Not that you'll get sick on me.”

“And what makes you think that?"

Vander merely shrugged his shoulders. “You're quite red. I just wanted to make sure.”

Okay, if Silco had apparently been red before, he didn't want to know what he looked like now.

“…Bozo!” he mumbled and hastily shouldered his bag. “I'm just tired.”

“In that case.” You could clearly hear the amusement in his voice. Despite the surrounding noises. “Hey, Silco?”

“What?” He turned back to Vander and froze the next moment when he felt a warm pair of lips against his forehead.

Vander smiled. “Sleep well.”

Silco blinked a few times before looking up at his friend. “And you- don't stay up too long either.”

“Never.”

No, of course he wouldn't. Silco huffed. Vander would never overdo it.

[christopherisfoive]

hiii can you do #19 with hyunjin or lee know please🙏🙏🙏

Hi Sweet Bean ☕️—your order’s up! Thanks for brewing creativity with me at StayGround. Drop by anytime for a warm refill of inspiration.

Tangled Margins One-shot · University AU · Art-major Hyunjin × Book-worm Literature Student

The Langford Grant, a once-a-year golden ticket, bankrolls two seniors to spend the summer in Oxford tracking how visual art and literature feed each other. The catch: applicants must prove “organic creative chemistry.” Past winners? A filmmaking couple who finished each other’s metaphors in the interview. A sculptor-poet duo who got engaged onstage (still legendary on the alumni page).

You—Y/N L., English major, paid library assistant, notorious introvert—have the research plan: cataloging forgotten marginalia in 16th-century folios. What you don’t have is an artist or, apparently, chemistry.

Hyunjin, final-year fine-arts phenom, absolutely has the art. Rumor says his oil portraits make professors tear up. What he doesn’t have is a literary angle convincing enough for the Langford board.

The application closes in ten days.

Friday night after closing, you’re shelving in Special Collections when someone knocks on the glass, charcoal streaks on his forearms like war paint. Hyunjin smiles—half apology, half dare—and asks if you’ll unzip the case that protects the 1579 Arcadia.

Hyunjin says sheepishly, “I need the ornamental initials for a triptych. I’d, uh, sketch fast.”

“Sketching is the easy part. Paperwork’s the monster.”

Ten minutes becomes an hour. He works in rapid graphite; you hover, terrified he’ll smudge history. Conversation wanders—favorite first lines, color palettes hidden in antique bindings—and when the lights flicker for shutdown he blurts:

“We should enter the Langford.”

You laugh because you’re strangers. He keeps talking:

“Your folio obsession plus my visuals? Perfect cross-discipline story. They love a… narrative.”

He doesn’t say fake dating. He doesn’t have to. The committee’s romance fetish is legend. A silent beat stretches between you; the idea feels implausible—until you picture Oxford libraries and call numbers in roman numerals.

You cross your arms. “Ground rules, then.” He grins, sketch already forgotten. “Rule one: no accidental library fires.”

“Rule two,” you counter, “we let people assume whatever sells the chemistry—but we don’t actually lie.”

“Strategic omissions,” he decides, offers a charcoal-marked handshake. You take it.

Ink still drying on the pact, you both return to your worlds: you to annotated brackets, him to canvases that smell of linseed and storm clouds.

Word travels the way rumors do: a barista posts you and Hyunjin bent over the same notebook, latte hearts untouched. Comments: power couple?, lit-boyfriend goals? You neither confirm nor deny. Easier to ride the wave.

Week 1 – Library table D-12 Hyunjin copies marginal doodles; you draft a paper on intertextuality. He sketches you absent-minded, doesn’t show the page. A passing grad student winks, then whispers to another: “They’re adorable.” Your pulse jumps; you bury it under footnotes.

Week 2 – Studio 3B Oil fumes, Mahler low on a dusty speaker. You read aloud from Sir Philip Sidney while Hyunjin blocks in figures. He asks you what color “longing” is; you say “the inside of a walnut shell.” He paints it without blinking.

Week 3 – Presentation rehearsal To sell the committee, you’ve built a joint piece: Tangled Margins—six canvases echoing folio pages where lovers once scribbled poems in the gutter. Your voice-over will read the found verses while his brushstrokes bloom on screen. It looks… alive.

Somewhere in the rehearsals the staged closeness becomes muscle memory: passing him turpentine without looking, his hand steadying your elbow on studio ladders. Your roommate jokes you sigh Hyunjin’s name in sleep; you roll your eyes too quickly.

Two nights before the Langford interview, you arrive at the studio with Turkish coffee and catch Hyunjin video-chatting a classmate:

Classmate (grinning): “So the bookworm’s working out?” Hyunjin (snort-laugh): “Honestly, it’s perfect PR. Committee will eat the ‘unlikely duo’ vibe.” Classmate: “But sparks?” Hyunjin: “Dude, it’s an act. We need the grant, she needs Oxford. Win-win.”

Act.

The word punches harder than you expect. You backtrack, coffee cups rattling in their cardboard tray, and flee before he turns.

Phone pings minutes later—

HYUNJIN: “Everything okay?” You mute the screen.

The next morning your annotated script lands in his locker with a note: “Run the presentation solo. Good luck.”

You hide in the stacks, revising a new author’s note that scrubs your existence. It feels like ripping sentences out of yourself, but anger keeps the blade steady.

Evening brings the pre-interview mixer—mandatory. You show up alone, hair still smelling of old vellum. Hyunjin’s across the room, tie crooked, looking lost. The committee notices; whispers swirl. Chemistry doesn’t do long-distance.

Professor Han corners you: “I hope everything’s… steady? The board likes harmony.” You give an arch library smile that means mind your own manuscripts.

But your chest aches every time Hyunjin’s laugh tries to find yours and you pretend not to hear.

Interview day. Auditorium smells of nerves and copier ozone. Hyunjin steps to the lectern alone; your chair at stage left stays conspicuously empty. His PowerPoint loads—blank where your text should roll.

He clears his throat, searches crowd until his gaze snags yours near the back. Suddenly he closes the laptop.

Hyunjin speaks to the small crowd before him, “Our proposal was built on conversation between image and word. I can’t present half a dialogue.”

Murmurs everywhere. You freeze; pride and panic duel in your ribcage. When the chairperson prompts—“Do you forfeit?”—Hyunjin answers,

“No. I’d like to invite my co-creator up… if she’s willing to speak for herself.”

A spotlight seems to hit row seven. Your legs move before your brain agrees. At the podium you hiss, “What are you doing?” He murmurs, “Finishing the story. Honestly, this time.”

He pulls from his portfolio a fresh canvas—wet paint glimmering. It’s a facsimile of that Arcadia page, but the margin bears your hurried handwriting beside his painted hand reaching for it. Between the hands, one sentence:

“Real stories refuse to stay in the margins.”

Your breath catches. Committee members lean in like listeners at a campfire. Heart hammering, you open your annotated copy and read aloud the poem once scrawled by a long-dead reader. Your voice shakes, then steadies when Hyunjin continues the recitation, alternating lines. By the final stanza you’re both facing each other, not the board.

Silence. Then—applause that feels like stertorous thunder in an old chapel.

In the hallway, you shove him.

“Perfect PR, huh?” Hyunjin winced, “I was stupid. The act stopped being an act weeks ago, and that terrified me.”

“Words matter. You used them like props.” You huffed turning away.

“Let me rewrite?” He fishes a fountain pen from his pocket, caps trembling. “Starting with I’m sorry, on whatever page you choose.”

Your anger softens—like a spine relaxed after too much tight binding. “Draft a longer apology,” you say, but fingers brush his pen, lingering.

He exhales something like a prayer. “Then we talk? Somewhere not haunted by grant committees.”

You point down the corridor. “Special Collections is empty after five.”

Closed sign flipped, lights low. Among folios and dust motes, he sets sketchbook aside.

No audience now. His sorry tastes like coffee and relief. Your reply is a fistful of his collar. Glass-case reflections blur as kisses deepen, as spines arch against marble tables older than railroads. Blazers slip off, parchment-quiet; his hands trace under your shirt like finding hidden marginal notes.

When he finally unbuttons, each gasp echoes but not loud enough to wake the ghosts. The world narrows to warm skin, cool wood, the scent of old paper turned suddenly electric. Somewhere a loose page flutters to the floor—new history for some future curator to puzzle over.

(Door stays locked. You’re certain.)

The Langford email pings at dawn: Congratulations, grant recipients.

Summer time has arrived. Oxford cloisters, endless daylight. You draft chapters in a window seat; he sketches gargoyles on loose sheets. Some evenings you swap tools—he tries adjectives, you ruin charcoal with smudged fingerprints. All evenings you return to the same college dorm, laughter ricocheting off stone.

The rumor back home evolves: “Did you hear? The folio girl and the painter boy eloped to England.” You two don’t bother to clarify. Let margins do what margins do—hold whispers, hide kisses, keep stories alive.

And when you sign the first joint exhibition catalogue—Painted Verses: Hwang & L.—neither of you uses charcoal or fountain pen.

You both sign in ink the color of a walnut shell.

[cinnbar-bun]

Honey (Are You Coming?) Pt. 1 (Ace x Reader)

Summary: Ace travels to a new land and hears about a mysterious person locked away in a tower. So much for staying out of trouble tonight.

Note: GN reader

Word Count: ~3.5k

Rating: SFW

You can read this on my AO3 here!

He landed on a rundown port in a small island. One that didn’t have much to offer in terms of adventure or treasure, which was fine with him. He needed rest and to restock on some supplies before sailing again. The Striker was compact enough to be neatly docked in that tiny port, with Ace making sure to roll up the sail just in case. He could never be too careful when it came to avoiding extra trouble in a new place. 

He stepped off the Striker and into the streets of the quiet town. There were a few people out and about, but they all seemed engrossed in their own things. Ace noticed a man with his face worriedly pressed into a notebook, flipping the pages like a madman. A woman walked by with her two children, a boy and a girl, who were whining about having to eat turnips for dinner. An elderly couple was busy complaining about the flowers outside their windowsill. 

Ace chuckled and smiled. This was just the perfect place he needed to rest and not worry about any Marines or other issues. He gazed out towards the rest of the town, wondering what sights and views would be offered here. 

A marketplace… good. A tavern, awesome! And over there was an inn, and he hummed at the thought of finally resting on a nice bed. But what caught his eye most was the fact there was a large tower connected to a castle that practically oversaw the whole town. Compared to the drab architecture of the this place, that castle was ornate and beautiful. It definitely belonged to someone rich and well-known. Maybe the mayor? He hadn’t even heard of this place before, but it was obvious by the stark difference between decor that whoever was in that castle was important. 

He strolled casually into the tavern, swinging open the doors and seating himself by the bartender. 

“Rum, please,” Ace asked, and the bartender nodded before handing a fresh mug to Ace. Ace took a sip of it and nodded at the taste before he guzzled it in one gulp. “You got some good drinks here!” 

The bartender made a grunt to signify his appreciation. The bartender was busy drying off a mug and Ace glanced around the tavern. 

“Don’t get much people here?” He asked, trying to break the ice. The bartender huffed. 

“Sometimes. But the men come here on the weekends at night. Used to be bustlin’ over here,” he motioned to the empty tables. 

“What happened?” 

“Ah, well, long story, boy,” the bartender sighed. Ace held out his empty cup to the bartender, signaling for a refill. 

“I got time,” he replied as he gave a toothy grin. The bartender quickly refilled his drink and then handed it back to Ace. 

“You ain’t from here, right?” 

“Nope. Just stopping by before I go to my next trip,” Ace answered, trying to stay vague. 

“Figured. No one ever stays here anymore. We used to be a good trading hub, but that all stopped a long time ago.” 

“Never would’ve guessed,” Ace commented. “It’s kinda quiet out there.” 

“Of course it is. Everyone just sticks to themselves.” “Is there a reason why?” 

“Our mayor decided that after some damn pirates nearly wiped us out to close the ports and break them down. Stay low and quiet,” the bartender had a wistful look in his eyes as he sighed again. “Hardly getting any visitors, and the people have been just trying to live their days out in peace.” 

“Pirates, huh?” Ace repeated. Of course, as a pirate, he didn’t exactly have any high ground to look down on another pirate, but there was a certain level of honor that should have remained, he felt. You do what you want, but you don’t try to wipe out an island for fun! He felt grateful he hadn’t revealed his sail. 

“Yep. Forgot the names of that crew. But they came in and demanded we hand over some fruit or something we supposedly had. No one knew what they were talking about, but they were deadset on it. Tried to kill us and burn the place down.” 

Ace raised a brow. 

“A fruit? You mean a Devil Fruit?” The bartender snapped his fingers. 

“Yep, that’s it. But that’s all just the stuff of legends. Nobody’s got that kind of thing here.” 

“And how would they know it was here anyways?” Ace asked, curious about the story. 

“Don’t know about that. I was a younger man at the time, but I heard some of the elders say that the mayor had one or his child did.” 

“He has a child?” The bartender nodded somberly. 

“Poor thing. After that day, the mayor hid them away in that tower,” he made a gesture to outside. “No one has seen them in years. The mayor doesn’t even allow them to celebrate with us during holidays. We don’t even know if they’re alive still.” 

Ace’s eyes widened. “That’s not right, keeping your child locked up like that. That’s dumb!” 

“Not our place to say. But the fact no one has heard or seen them probably isn’t a good sign.” 

Ace slammed his drink down. 

“Has anyone bothered to do anything about it?” He questioned a bit too loudly. 

“And what are we supposed to do?” The bartender asked. “Can’t do anything. He guards that tower with extra security and has stated that the castle grounds are off-limits.” 

Ace feels the gears in his brain turning, and he calms himself. They seem to hate pirates here, so he can’t get too emotional or be too obvious. 

He sighs to himself. It seems that even if there is no trouble, he has to go and make some for himself. 

“Well, thanks for answering my questions,” Ace says to ruin the silence. 

“Don’t get any ideas, boy,” the bartender replies, seeming to understand what Ace is thinking of. Ace gives an innocent smile and throws a few coins on the table. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” 

----

Night had quickly fallen on the silent town, and Ace’s eyes glanced at the tower from the window at the inn he had rented for the night. He debated with himself as he slumped on the bed. 

A Devil Fruit and a trapped noble’s kid… 

Those alone were too enticing. And hearing what the bartender had said about the mayor’s child never leaving or being seen made his blood boil. What was the point of living if you didn’t do anything with it? If you were not able to live, to explore, to go experience freedom? 

Lord knows how he’d react if his father ever tried to chain him to his room. He knew he shouldn’t really bother with this- this was something he didn’t need to be a part of. He just needed to lay low for one night. To relax and rest up before he went out sailing. He shouldn’t involve himself in something he knew nothing about. 

But the more he kept trying to avoid it, the more the tower called to him, begging him to run towards it. Maybe that poor person was trapped there. Maybe they’d want to be helped and saved from that lonely cage. 

He knew better, but he sprung up to a sitting position and put on his trusty orange hat. 

Sorry, Pops, I’m gonna need to cause another issue tonight. 

The bartender had said there were guards there. Not to mention the fact that this was the mayor’s kid would be an even tougher target to get to. But hey, Ace had to admit, he loved a challenge once in a while. This would be something that could fire him up. 

He snuck out of the inn window, careful to avoid making any noise in the area outside. It was almost like the whole town was abandoned with how quiet it was. He put his hands in his pockets and walked towards the well-kept path towards the castle. 

He wasn’t going to storm in through the front and cause a panic, so he went to the back of the building and noticed a guard on duty. He picked up a rock and chucked it at a tree near the guard. The guard jumped and held his weapon tight. 

“Who’s there?!” He yelled, before heading towards the tree. Ace chuckled as the guard was distracted by the noise and snuck past through the back door. 

Ace was impressed with the interior decorations, noticing the gold decor and portraits of historical figures on the walls. His appreciation for inside was cut off when he heard two pairs of feet walking towards him. He quickly hid behind a large tapestry and waited until the two guards passed before running down the hall. 

As he made his way towards the left, the hall became narrower, and a large door was at the end. Ace perked up as he noticed the door, and slunk against the wall in order to avoid the guard at the door. This time, however, Ace lunged at the guard and covered his mouth to silence him, before he knocked him out with a quick punch. 

Ace rummaged through the guard’s keys to unlock the door and kicked it open. He then tried standing the guard up as best as he could to avoid getting noticed. 

Eh, he’ll be up in a bit, right? 

Ace shrugged then closed the door behind him as he gazed at the long flight of stairs. Finally, it was time to see what was at the top of the tower. He bolted up the stairs as fast as he could, uncaring about the noise he made. 

Before he could knock on the door at the end of the stairs, the door swung open, revealing- 

Ace’s eyes widened. 

The first thing he noticed about this person was how beautiful they were. Neat (h/c) hair and shining (e/c) eyes. Possibly around his age. 

The second thing he noticed was how angry they looked. 

“Who dares to- huh?!” The anger fades into shock and they take a step back. “Who the hell are you?!” 

Ace smiles dumbly, happy to see that not only is the mayor’s child pretty but… they’re alive. 

“You’re real…” he replies, the answer seeming to offend them more. A swift slap on the face is their answer to him, but Ace doesn’t even care. 

“Who are you?! How did you get up here?!” They scream. 

“The stairs,” he tips his hat up to them in an attempt to be “polite”. “I’m Ace.” 

“You’re not from here, I know that much!” 

“You’re right. I just stopped by for a night and had to see if you really existed,” Ace responded. 

“Well, you got what you wanted, now leave!” They said as they brought out a short butter knife and pointed it at Ace. Ace stuck his hands up to show he was unarmed and not trying to hurt them. 

“Hey, easy now. I’m not here to do anything.” 

“I find that very hard to believe,” they replied, still keeping the knife pointed at him. “What is it you want?” 

“Already told you, I wanted to see if you actually existed.” 

“Why? So you can kidnap me? Sell me? Try to use me?” Their hands are shaky, Ace notices. “I-I am not afraid to fight!” 

“I’m not here for a fight. What’s your name?” 

“And why would I give you my name?” 

“Because… I just wanted to meet you. That’s all.” 

“‘Ace’, was it? You have some nerve breaking into my room and trying to talk to me like this!” 

Ace doesn’t bother to respond and instead walks into their room and takes a seat on the small stool against the wall. 

“Nice room,” he comments, before he knocks out against the wall. You drop the knife and run to his side, panicking. 

“H-huh?! Did he die? Ace? Ace!” You scream, feeling his face and chest for any sign of life. Ace startles himself awake mid-snore and looks around the room. 

“W-what? Oh. Hey. You didn’t tell me your name,” he smiles at you, and you glare and huff at him. 

“You are… you are like a…” you pace around the room. “What the hell are you?” 

Ace shrugs. “Not anything, really. Just a pirate.” 

Your eyes widen and you shake your head. 

“No, no, no. I’ve heard about you pirates. Absolutely not. Get out. Now.”

“What’ve you heard?” 

“That you all are barbarians and have no remorse for anything! You just do as you please and don’t care about the people you hurt!” You yell. “My father warned me about you guys!” 

“Yeah… I can imagine. That’s kinda true,” Ace sighs. “Listen, I think we got off on the wrong foot.” 

“This is more than just a wrong foot! You broke into my tower!” 

“I didn’t break in! Your guards just… happened to get distracted because of me!” Ace weakly defends. His eyes dart around the room and he notices paintings of the sea. “Hey… that your art?” 

You glance at the painting then look back at Ace. 

“What of it?” 

“They’re great. You have some amazing skills.” 

You freeze and weakly put your hands to your sides. 

“Those were older paintings. From years ago.”

Ace walks to the wall and places his hand against the art. 

“This is so lifelike. It’s like I can feel the water from this,” he says, enamored with the piece. 

“I know you didn’t just come here to admire my paintings,” you cut in. 

“No, I didn’t. I heard that the mayor had a kid who was never seen for years. Thought I’d confirm if that was true or not,” Ace explains. 

“And why do you care so much?” You ask, your suspicions raised about Ace’s true intentions. 

“Well, it kinda sucks being cramped in here, right? I wanted to see how you were doing.” 

“Well I’m doing fine, thank you very much!” You respond, a bit too quickly and loudly for you and Ace to take seriously. 

He looks out at the window from your tower and notices how the paintings match with the view from it. 

“It’s got a nice view, I’ll give it that. But nothing beats the real thing,” Ace comments. 

You stand still and meekly step towards him. 

“Can you tell me something?” You ask. 

“Yeah? What’s up?” Ace perks up and gives his full attention to you, an innocent look on his face. It makes your heart race, for some reason. 

“What’s out there?” You point to the starry horizon. “I’ve only read about the outside world. Never seen it.” 

“Out there?” Ace begins, unsure of where to start. “There's lots of things out there. Different islands, different food, different people. But it’s always different, and it’s yours to see.” 

“What kind of islands? I heard there was an island with snakes and only women on it. And one where there is desert as far as the eyes can see,” you absentmindedly say. 

“Yep. They exist. I’ve been to lots of them.” 

“Let me guess, to ransack?” 

Ace chuckles and shakes his head. 

“No. I’ve been trying to find information, actually,” Ace’s lips form a small and sad smile. 

“Information? On what?” 

“There was an old crewmate of mine. He… murdered another crewmate. And for pirates, that’s like the biggest crime any of us can commit. You don’t kill your family.”

You noticed how Ace clenches his fists. 

“I didn’t think pirates had a moral code.” 

“Some do. Some don’t. All I know is that I follow my instincts and my family. That’s what I believe in, at least,” Ace shrugs. 

“And your instincts told you to come here?” 

Ace nods. 

“Yeah. I’m a pirate, and us pirates treasure our freedom. So hearing you’ve been locked up here sounded like my worst nightmare. I wondered if that was true, and if you wanted an out.” 

“An out…?” You repeat. Normally, you would’ve been hesitant to listen to anyone else. Ace was the first person you had met and talked to in a while, and it felt… different. You should’ve been wary and suspicious. You should know that talking to him-hell, him even being here- was bad news. 

But Ace spoke to you so honestly and earnestly, you couldn’t help but believe him. You wanted to believe him. He was your only view of the outside world. He’d seen things not even your father saw. You wanted to take a risk and throw caution to the wind. You wanted to know more of the world you’ve so desperately dreamed about and nearly given up on. 

Ace was your last hope for that dying dream. And he nods to you. 

“Yeah. If you ever wanted to leave. I mean, do you want to leave?” 

You stay quiet at his blunt question, then nod. 

“I-I’ve thought about it a few times.” 

“Heh. A lot of times?” Ace corrects. You chuckle. 

“Maybe.” 

“Then do you want to join me?” He asks, outstretching his hand to you. You flick your eyes between his hand and his face. His freckled cheeks show no hint of malice or hostility, but the innocence of a young man. Your hand slowly starts to move towards him. The tips of your fingers manage to caress his calloused, and you have a mind to run away with him. 

But the sane part of you makes you retract your hand, and you turn away from Ace. 

“I'm sorry. I can’t. I… I don’t even know you,” you say, cursing yourself for being so pulled into him. “For all I know, you’re lying about everything to get to me!” 

Ace doesn’t look offended at your response, just nodding along with that silly smile on his face. 

“No worries. I understand.” 

“You do?” 

“Yeah. I mean, I guess that was a dumb question to ask you,” he chuckles at himself, rubbing the back of his head. “Tell you what, I’ll do whatever it takes to get you to trust me and see I’m not lying.” 

“And how do you propose we do that?” You raise a brow, unconvinced he can do such a thing. 

“I’ll bring back souvenirs for you of whatever you want. I’ll prove to you it’s real. And if you don’t wanna go out there, I’ll respect that.” 

Your heart races and your eyes widen. 

“You’d do that… for me?” You ask. 

“Mhm.” 

“But… but why? You don’t even know me!” 

Ace stands up and walks closer to you. 

“I know enough about you to know that you probably want to be free and explore. No one deserves to be locked away for existing.” He takes off his orange hat and places it on your head. “I want you to watch my hat for me. I’ll go get you something and bring it back for you in a few days. I’ll get my hat back then. Got that?” 

Your eyes sparkle with what seems to be hope. Hope that for the first time in a long time, something exciting will happen to you. You nod, and adjust his hat on your head. 

“I’ll be waiting.” 

Ace laughs. 

“Good! And hey… you look pretty when you’re happy,” Ace points out. 

“What do you-“ you realize as you speak that you have a smile that rivals his. He laughs harder. 

“Your smile is so beautiful! I’ll make sure when I get back to make you smile more! Now, come on, tell me what you want.” 

You hum to yourself in thought. “Sand. From that desert land.” 

“It’s called Alabasta. And sand, that’s it?” 

“Yes. Sand. I’ve never felt it.” 

“You got it…” he trails off. “What’s your name?” 

“(Y/n).” 

“(Y/n)…” Ace repeats. “(Y/n), (Y/n), (Y/n). It suits you. Well, wait for me, (Y/n)! I’ll be back! And watch my hat! I love that thing!” He says as he begins to climb the windowsill. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Leaving, duh!” He replies, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Y-you’ll die if you jump!” 

“Nah. Trust me, I have my ways,” he winks at you and waves. “Sweet dreams, (Y/n)!” 

He leaps out the window and you gasp in horror. You think he’ll immediately fall to the ground to his death, but instead, he summons a pillar of flame and lands on his feet. You gasp at his power, and he glances up at you from the ground. He waves to you again, a smile on his face that shines even in this darkness. You wave back, unsure if you are dreaming, as Ace runs through the woods, out of your sight. 

You collapse onto your bed and remove his hat. You press it against your chest and stare at the ceiling. None of this seems real, but the scent of Ace from his hat reminds you that yes, this is, in fact, very real. 

You can’t help but laugh at the irony of this whole situation. But your heart finally feels a bit lighter, hoping that Ace will come back and show you the world from your little tower. 

You wonder, briefly, what it must be like to see the outside.

[allthingsfangirl101]

Accidental Run-Ins – Timothy McGee

I walked into the coffee shop I hadn't been to in years. Everything looked the same. Same old booths. Same rickety stools. Same stale coffee smell. And as it would seem, the same customers.

"Y/N?"

I turned to see my childhood best friend sitting at the counter with a notebook in front of him. I smiled when I instantly realized what he was doing. Timothy McGee always wanted to be a writer.

"Well well well," I teased as I walked over to him. "Is that Timothy McGee or Thom E. Gemcity?"

I sat next to him as he looked away, struggling to hide his blush. "How'd you know?" He asked, his voice soft.

"I've known you since we were little, Tim. You always talked about what kind of books you'd want to write." I playfully nudged his shoulder as I added, "Besides, your picture is on the back of your book."

"Right," he laughed. He looked up at me and smiled. "It's really good to see you, Y/N," he said softly. "How long has it been?"

"I think the last time we saw each other was high school graduation," I smiled. "You went off to MIT to do great techy things. And clearly, you have. I hear you're a part of NCIS. The Navy cops?"

"I am," he said, going back to being slightly uncomfortable. Tim never did like talking about himself.

"I bet you have lots of stories," I said, trying to get him to open up. I paused before adding, "Probably enough stories we would have lots to catch up on?"

He looked up at me and I watched as he figured it out. I couldn't help but laugh when it finally clicked.

"I umm. . . I think I can. . ."

"You working a case right now?" I asked, ignoring the gnawing feeling that I should be working on my case.

"Actually, no," he said with a small chuckle. "For once, we aren't. Normally, whenever something comes up in my personal life, I'm always in the middle of a case."

"Your personal life?" I asked genuinely curious but covered it with a teasing question.

"What little personal life I have," he scoffed.

"Can I get you a refill?" The barista asked Tim. I smiled when he turned toward me.

"Y/N, do you want anything?" He asked.

"Just a latte for me. Thanks," I said.

Tim and I spent the entire morning at our old coffee shop. We talked about almost everything that's happened in our lives since we last saw each other. After about two hours and three refills, Tim's phone rang. I instantly recognized the sigh and the look of defeat.

"Take it," I said before he could tell me it was work. He sent me an apologetic look before answering his phone.

"McGee."

I hid my smirk behind my cup as I finished my coffee. As he talked to someone he called, "DiNozzo", I got a text.

Wilson Got another body. Might be our 2nd in command.

"Son of a bitch," I mumbled under my breath.

"Everything okay?"

I looked over to see Tim no longer on the phone. "Just work," I said instantly. "I've got this big project and my boss is hounding me the closer we get to the deadline."

"You never did tell me what you do for work," he said, clearly forgetting the call he just got.

"Nothing too crazy," I laughed off the lie. "I work for an advertising company. They're branching out so they moved me and some of the other employees here."

"I'm glad they did."

"Me too," I said honestly. When I got transferred to Washington DC, I never thought I'd run into Tim McGee.

Tim opened his mouth to say something but his phone started ringing again. "I'm on my way," he snapped as soon as he answered. He instantly hung up the phone and turned toward me. "I really want to keep talking, Y/N, but I gotta go."

I reached over and gently put my hand on his arm. "It's okay," I tried to assure him. "I should be going too."

I grabbed a napkin and quickly wrote my number on it. When he realized what I was doing, Tim grabbed his NCIS business card and wrote his cell on the back. With awkward chuckles, we exchanged them. I leaned over and kissed his cheek before leaving the coffee shop.

For the first time in four years, I hated working for the FBI.

* * * * *

I walked out of the briefing room and answered my phone. "What can I do for you, Agent Gemcity?"

"Ha ha," he sarcastically laughed. "Are you busy?"

I looked over my shoulder to see my team focused on the evidence board. "Not at all," I smiled. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well, I was just thinking about yesterday at the coffee shop," he stuttered. "To be honest, I haven't stopped thinking about it."

"I haven't stopped thinking about it either," I said honestly.

"Really?" Tim cleared his throat before asking, "Any chance you want to get dinner?"

"You sure you can get away from NCIS?" I asked, wondering if I would be able to get away from the FBI.

"We're not working on anything too big. We're still following a few leads," he said, sounding like he was shrugging. "You free?"

"I think I can sneak away a little early," I smiled. "Text me the address and the time and I'll be there."

"Great," Tim chuckled. "I'll find a place and let you know."

"Sounds good."

I got a text from Tim a few hours later. That night, we went to dinner. We continued talking about our lives after high school and soon transitioned to reminiscing about our lives together before and during high school. After dinner, Tim and I walked back to his car. We didn't get in though. Instead, we turned toward each other.

"It was really nice catching up with you," I said softly when I realized how close we were.

"It was," he whispered. "This is going to sound horrible, but I didn't realize how much I missed you until the moment you walked into our old coffee shop."

I let out a small chuckle as we got closer. I held my breath as our lips finally touched. The second they did, we deepened the kiss. We broke the kiss when we ran out of air.

"You know," Tim said slowly, "the night doesn't have to end here. We could. . . continue it."

I smirked as I wrapped my arms around his neck. "I like the sound of that."

Without a word, we got in the car and Tim drove us to his apartment. I couldn't fight the smile that formed as I walked in. The first thing I noticed was his bookcase. I walked over and started scanning the titles. I felt him step up behind me. To tease him, I grabbed the copy of his book off the shelf and turned toward him.

"Mr. Gemcity, I am such a big fan. Would you mind signing this for me?"

Tim just smirked at me as he grabbed the book out of my hand and, without breaking eye contact, tossed it onto his table.

"I'm not Gemcity to you," he whispered as he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me into his chest. "I'm just Tim."

"Well, just Tim," I teased, "where were we?"

"Right here," he mumbled as he pressed his lips to mine. I let out a small moan as I threw my arms around his neck and deepened the kiss. Without breaking away, Tim picked me up and carried me into his bedroom.

We finally broke the kiss when Tim laid us down with him hovering over me.

"I've waited years for this," he whispered, sending chills down my spine.

Without breaking eye contact, I grabbed the bottom of his shirt, pulled it over his head, and tossed it across his room. He sent me a small smile before doing the same to my shirt.

"So have I, Tim," I whispered. "So have I."

* * * * *

After our first date and our night together, Tim and I fell back into our usual sync. We've been dating for a month and I still haven't told Tim that I actually work for the FBI. It wasn't normal for FBI agents to keep their job a secret but mine usually leads to undercover work. My director prefers my job to be kept a secret so I can continue safely going undercover.

Having kept this secret for so long, you wouldn't think it bothered me. And it didn't. Until I started dating Tim.

He's been completely honest with me. He's always honest when he has to rush off for work. He's always honest when he has to stay late for a case instead of meeting me for dinner. He's always honest when a case has been rough and he needs a distraction. And here I was, keeping a huge part of myself hidden from him.

"Are you listening, Agent Y/L/N?"

"Yes, sir," I said.

"Great," he said, slightly rolling his eyes. "So, we've set up a buy for you. We want you to go undercover."

"Of course you do," I scoffed as I stood up. "Heaven forbid you send anyone else."

"But you're the best, Y/N," my coworker Agent Wilson said sarcastically.

"Yes, she is," Agent Fornell snapped. "Look, Y/N, I know we send you undercover a lot and I'm sorry, but you really are the best."

"Yeah yeah," I brushed off. "Stop buttering me up and just tell me my cover."

Fornell handed me a file as he started to recite from it. "Your name is Lily Walters. You are the newest recruit."

"How the hell did you get me in?" I couldn't help but laugh.

"We have our ways," Fornell shrugged. "The meet is in two hours. You good?"

I grabbed my phone when it started to ring. "Yeah," I sighed as I stood up and started walking out of the room. "I'm always good."

I walked down the hall into my office and answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Hey," came Tim's soft voice. "Did I catch you at a bad time?"

"No," I sighed. "I'm sorry, baby. It's just one of those days, ya know?"

"Unfortunately, I do know."

"Sounds like you're having one of those days too," I said gently. "Another case?"

"A bad one," he said, "which means I'm going to have to cancel dinner. I'm really sorry, Y/N."

"It's okay," I said gently. "I understand. I'll probably be working late too. Just stay safe, okay?"

"I will," Tim said with a small chuckle. "I'll call you later?"

"I'll be waiting."

I hung up the phone and turned around to see Fornell standing in my doorway. "What?" I sighed, crossing my arms over his chest.

"How's Agent McGee?"

"He has no idea I'm Agent Y/L/N," I scoffed.

"That's not why I asked," Fornell said, putting his hands up in defense. "I know it's not easy."

"Not easy?" I snapped. "Of course, it's not easy lying to the man I love."

"The man you love?" He asked. "I thought you were just dating McGee."

"I've known him since we were little," I sighed, defensively crossing my arms over my chest.

"How long have you been in love with him?" Fornell asked, the tone of his voice turning slightly fatherly.

"Since high school," I shrugged, trying to ignore the guilt rising. The look on Fornell's face dropped.

"He doesn't know, does he?"

"No," I said under my breath as I looked at my feet. "He doesn't know how I feel or that I work for you."

"Damn," Fornell sighed. "I'm sorry, Y/L/N."

"You wimping out on us?" Agent Wilson laughed.

"Never," I said between my clenched teeth.

"Good," he said, his smirk falling. "Cause we need to get a few things before the meet."

* * * * *

I resisted the urge to fix my earpiece. In all my years in the FBI, I've never enjoyed going undercover. Despite what Fornell wants me to believe, I know that the only reason I'm the one to go undercover is because I was young and female.

"You must be Lily."

I smelled the marijuana the second he walked up to me. I slowly turned around and crossed my arms over my chest.

"And you must be Andy," I sighed. "So much for not getting high off your own supply."

"It's not. . ."

"Don't," I cut him off. "You got the stuff or not?"

"You got the cash?" He snapped back. I grabbed the wad of cash out of my back pocket and dramatically showed it to him. He reached for it, but I pulled it back.

"Not until you show me the stuff."

He angrily grunted before digging through his backpack. I hid my smirk when he pulled out a ziplock bag full of coke. Before I could reach for it and arrest him, someone interrupted.

"Get on the ground!"

"NCIS!"

"Both of you, hands on the ground."

"Shit," I mumbled. The second I was surrounded by agents that weren't mine, my agents swarmed the building.

"FBI!"

"Federal agents!"

"Lower your weapons!"

"You lower your weapons!"

I was soon in the middle of an FBI and NCIS standoff. "Son of a. . ." I mumbled under my breath. I pushed down my anger as I turned and was face-to-face with a special NCIS agent.

"Y/N?"

I saw the color drain out of McGee's face when he saw me standing between the two groups of agents.

Andy tried to use the confusion as a distraction but I was faster. When he started to run, I quickly swiped his legs out from under him and got him under control. Once I had him handcuffed, I picked him up and tossed him to one of my agents. I turned around and saw I still had several guns pointed at me.

"Agents," I sighed, turning to my team, "meet NCIS. Special Agents Gibbs, Bishop, Torres and. . . McGee."

"What are you doing here?" Tim asked through his teeth. I let out a deep breath as I moved my jacket aside, showing him and his coworkers my waistband. I watched as McGee's eyes changed when he saw the gun and the badge on my hip.

"What the. . ."

"Is there something you want to tell us, McGee?" Agent Gibbs asked.

"I don't know myself," he mumbled.

I turned around and faced my team. "Can you give us a second? Something tells me NCIS didn't know we were working this case just like how we didn't know they were working this case."

The agents nodded, sending glances toward the NCIS agents. Once they were all gone, I turned toward McGee and his team.

"First, let me apologize, Agent Gibbs," I started. "I was not aware that the Navy was looking into our case."

"We weren't aware that our case was part of an FBI case," Gibbs sighed as he finally put his gun back in the holster. "We were investigating a lieutenant's death."

"A lieutenant?" I asked.

"Lieutenant Chance Taylor."

"Damn," I mumbled. "No one told me he was a Navy Lieutenant."

"Technically, he's not one anymore," Agent Torres said.

"That's interesting, but considering what we knew. . ." I said slowly as I tried to connect this to my case. I looked over to see Tim staring at me with anger in his eyes. "Tim, maybe we should. . ."

"Maybe the two of you can sort this out later," Gibbs suggested but it didn't sound much like a suggestion. "What does the FBI want with Lieutenant Chance Taylor?"

"Before I explain that," I said, feeling Tim's glare on me, "I just want to make it clear that we did not know Taylor was a Navy Lieutenant. If we had, I would've gone to your director right away."

"Really?" Tim scoffed. I ignored the feeling of my heart diving into my stomach.

"Yes," I said firmly. "I know you guys have had some issues in the past with the FBI, but I know the work you all do and I think it's valuable. I would never knowingly step on your toes, Agent Gibbs."

"I believe you, Agent. . ."

"Y/L/N," I finished for Gibbs. I resisted the urge to look at Tim. I didn't think my heart could take the anger in his eyes.

"Agent Y/L/N," Gibbs corrected himself. "Why don't you come back to our offices and we can figure out how our two cases connect?"

I finally looked at Tim to see him looking away, his glare now on something else in the room. I cleared my throat and turned my attention back to Agent Gibbs.

"I think that's a great idea."

* * * * *

As it turns out, NCIS's Lieutenant Taylor was the second in command of the drug cartel I've been chasing. He's been helping build the cartel's range by selling to Navy Petty Officers whenever their ship ported.

Through all the confusion and connection, I haven't had a chance to talk to Tim and explain everything. Once we connected and then proceeded to disconnect our cases, I left NCIS. As soon as I sat down at my desk, the look on Tim's face when he realized who I was popped back into my head.

I leaned back in my chair and ran my fingers through my hair. I already knew what he was probably thinking. I jumped up and quickly went to his apartment. When I got there, Tim wasn't home so I waited out front.

About an hour later, I was sitting on the ground in front of his door when I finally heard footsteps coming down the hallway.

"Y/N," he stuttered when he saw me. "What are you. . ."

"We haven't really had a chance to talk," I started slowly.

"Since FBI Agent Y/L/N interrupted an NCIS case?" He asked passively-aggressively as he forcefully unlocked his apartment and threw the door open.

"Tim," I sighed as I jumped up and followed him inside. I gasped when he angrily spun toward me.

"The FBI," McGee scoffed. "The FBI! You work for the FBI! How long have you worked for the FBI, Y/N?!"

"Almost four years." My answer made him angry.

"You told me that you were in advertising," he shot at me.

"I know," I cringed. "But I didn't have a choice."

"FBI agents don't keep their jobs a secret from the people in their lives," he accused. "You're not the CIA. Unless you are lying to Fornell, too."

"Come on," I sighed. "That's not fair, Tim."

"It's not?!"

"Fornell sends me in undercover," I tried to explain. "Whenever we need eyes on the inside, I'm the one that's sent."

"Why?" He demanded.

"Because I'm a girl," I scoffed. "And young. When I go in, I get ignored. I can walk into a bar and be completely invisible. The FBI loves that, so they always send me. That's why I couldn't tell you. They didn't want to risk my covers being blown."

"That's ridiculous," Tim scoffed. He thought about things for a second before saying, "You never once talked about wanting to join the FBI."

"That's because I didn't think about it," I shrugged. He started to say something but I cut him off, "Look, not all of us knew exactly what we wanted to do once we left high school."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"After we graduated," I sighed, "I didn't know what to do with my life. I never told you this, but I didn't apply to colleges our senior year."

"What do you mean?" He asked, finally calming down.

"You knew from the age of 8 that you were going to go to MIT and do something amazing," I said, walking over and sitting on his couch. "I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. I wasn't even sure what college I should go to or what degree I should get. I had no idea what I wanted to spend the rest of my life doing, Tim."

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" Tim asked as he joined me on the couch.

"I was embarrassed," I whispered, not looking up from my hands.

"Too embarrassed to tell me?" Tim sighed as he reached over, gently grabbed my chin, and made me look at him. "I could've helped you, Y/N."

"I didn't want to hold you back," I said, my voice breaking. Tim leaned in and gently pressed his lips to mine. When he broke the kiss, he leaned his forehead against mine.

"I could've helped you figure it out," he whispered. My heart sank when he pulled away and I saw the look on his face.

"I swear, Tim, I didn't know that NCIS was working my case," I whispered. "If I had known you guys were focusing on Lieutenant Chance Taylor, I would've reached out and given you everything I had."

"You really didn't know?" He whispered. "You had no idea that we were working on the same case when we. . . The night we. . ."

"I didn't know until you and your team showed up at the drop," I tried to reassure him. "I swear, Tim. I didn't know when I ran into you at the coffee shop. I didn't know as we stayed until you got a call from work. I didn't know when you called me the next day. I didn't know when we went on our date. I didn't know as we went back to your apartment. And I promise, Tim, I didn't know as we spent the night together."

I was about to say more, but Tim grabbed my face and pressed his lips to mine. The second my lips touched his, I threw my arms around him and kissed him back. Without breaking the kiss, Tim laid me down and slightly hovered over me.

I wanted to shut out the world and focus on me and Tim, but something kept bothering me. It wouldn't leave my mind so I broke the kiss.

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" I asked, slightly out of breath from the kiss.

"You mean your job at the FBI?" Tim asked.

"Our jobs might overlap," I shrugged. "And I've heard about Gibbs and his rules."

Tim laughed as he sat up, pulling me with him. I sighed as he pulled me into his side and relaxed on the couch. "Gibbs has a rule about coworkers dating, but I'm NCIS and you're FBI. It shouldn't be an issue."

"Are you sure?" I asked, my voice soft. Tim sighed as he tightened his hold on me.

"I'm sure," he said as he leaned down and kissed the top of my head. "As long as we don't have any more accidental run-ins, I think we'll be fine. I mean, we almost shot you today, Y/N. And if we had. . ."

"No more accidental run-ins," I said quickly when his sentence got stuck in his throat. "I promise."

Part 2

[foxmonkey]

I did this! Front, and back:

It was pretty easy.

Because I'm impatient, and once I got it in my head to do this I didn't want to wait until I had the right materials -- namely black duct tape -- I ended up using three different kinds of tape on this project: black electrician's tape, a blue and white very thin duct-ish tape, and as seen in the pic on the right, some kind of reinforced shipping tape. Unless you don't mind a Franken-notebook, I'd recommend using real duct tape throughout.

This notebook is mainly for jotting down ideas and snippets when I'm out and about, because I hate trying to write on my phone. I only used one Cahiers Moleskine instead of two; I have a lot of pages and notes that I've taped inside, and I didn't want it to be too thick:

I want to decorate the front but keep it simple; on the right, a bit of cherry pie packaging that hasn't been glued down yet in case I find something I like better.

All in all, I'm very happy with the way it turned out!

[yappinggggg]

Au: (Deons fam is still alive in this one)

Cruel had just gotten back from training when he noticed something- one of his books was missing as well as a pencil,a notebook and one of his hoodies.

This was however not the first time this has happened.

From time to time hed notice something missing.

Normally hed try to find out who stole his things but this case was different.

Cruel knew who stole his stuff.

He looked at the snack stack he had and refilled it- since some of those were gone too.

Then he left the room and was slightly smiling at the thought of how the "thief" would react when hed see his fav snacks.

The "thief" was quite thrilled over it- he didnt bother to think about why his brother always put his fav snacks in his room. Afterall it could be that they simply had similar taste.

(Thats right- Deon was the little thief)

[satoshi-mochida]

Trails in the Sky 1st Chapter ‘Bracer Supply Box’ premium collector’s set announced - Gematsu

United Kingdom-based boutique merchandise studio Pin Box will release an officially licensed Trails in the Sky 1st Chapter “Bracer Supply Box” this fall for £199.99 with free worldwide shipping, the company announced. Open pre-orders are available from today until May 29. Only a single production run is planned, with no reprints.

The “Bracer Supply Box” includes the following items:

-Die-Cast Orbment Replica (4 in / 100 mm) – A zinc-alloy reproduction of the Liberl battle orbment, antique-silver plated and hand-washed to reveal every gear and conduit. The magnet-held faceplate lifts away to expose a sculpted rotor core, while six magnetized sockets accept the included quartz set for custom arts load-outs.

-Magnetic Quartz Set (14 pieces) – Two of each elemental type (seven total) cast in metal and color-finished, supplied in a flip-open case with magnetic base to keep every core perfectly aligned until deployed in the orbment.

-Estelle Bright Shoulder Bag (10.5 × 8 × 3 in) – Crafted from saddle-tan PU leather with stitched strap overlays, brushed-metal corner guards and belt loops for backpack carry. It includes an internal zip pocket; and an adjustable shoulder strap.

-Junior Bracer Notebook (A5 / 9 in tall) – Full-grain leather cover debossed with the Bracer Guild crest and “Rolent”. Six-ring mechanism accepts standard A5 refills for mission notes and field reports.

-Hard-Enamel Pin Trio (1.75 in each) – Each ships in a character art clamshell with acrylic centring insert.

Estelle Bright – Pivot-mounted spinning staff (Pin Box first).

Joshua Bright – Chibi twin-dirk stance (nickel finish).

Junior Bracer Emblem – Ultra-detailed 1:1 Emblem.

-Metal Miniature Key-Chains (3.5 in each) – Both presented in flip-open clamshells with custom artwork.

Joshua’s Dirk – Antiqued-nickel die-cast.

Agate‘s Broadsword – Slotted-spine die-cast metal.

-Liberl Map Canvas Print (12 × 8 in) – Archival giclée on matte artist canvas for razor-sharp detail and decades-long color -stability.

-3-D Cast-Acrylic Diorama (8.5 in tall) – Optical-grade cast acrylic panels slot into a 5 mm base, creating a self-standing scene of Estelle, Joshua and the Liberl skyline.

-Character Art Print Set (8 cards) – Archival matte stock, pigment-rich giclée prints of eight key party members.

-Presentation Chest – Tiered rigid-board box (33 x 26 x 17 cm) wrapped in full-color CMYK art, with magnetic flip-top lid and precision foam cavities plus two board-sleeve drawers for secure, display-ready storage.

Key Points

Official license – produced in partnership with Nihon Falcom.

All-metal centerpieces – die-cast orbment, magnetic quartz, premium key-chains.

Cosplay-ready bag and notebook – functional props, not just display pieces.

Archival prints – gallery-grade canvas and art cards.

Free worldwide tracked shipping included in the price.

It should be noted that this is a merchandise-only set, and does not include the Trails in the Sky 1st Chapter game.

Trails in the Sky 1st Chapter is due out for PlayStation 5, Switch, and PC via Steam this fall worldwide.

[writernopal]

we like notebooks around here right? well, here, have some pics of mine!

i have three in total that i use regularly (pictured below) the two leather ones are refillable and about A5 sized. the little one is about A7. the paper i use is paper republic (a paper supply out of Vienna). its quite expensive, but its very worth it because i exclusively use fountain pens (its just a vastly superior writing experience tbh and i know it sounds snobby but please let me have this) and most regular paper does not do well with fountain pen ink (it bleeds through everything, it feathers, its splotches, its a disaster). the paper i use is specifically made for fountain pens so yeah. im a happy camper!

the leftmost one is my journal. i write at least 3 pages in it each morning. sometimes it gets profound but most of the time its not. its really my equivalent of screaming into a pillow so that i have the mental fortitude to face the day more even-handed. i will usually write those pages first thing when i get into work and sip on my coffee. (this pic also features my blank keycap keyboard. it is a cherry mx brown Ducky DK2108S that Mr. Nopal got me as a gift when we were still dating. its called Starburst bc the keycap colors look like starburst candies)

the middle one (second in this stack above) is what i use for anything writing related. i usually have all of my writing notes stored digitally but every now and then, when i really need to get my head in the right place about a part of the story, i will pull this guy out and sketch out what i need to do. this is also the notebook i use to take notes during writing/creative lectures and talks that i attend. and i also put quotes that inspire me in here. i pin a few art pieces in here as well, for example the physical copy of Captain Frere, The Vanishing Pirate is in here!

the final one (on the top in this pic) is my commonplace book. i recently started making use of this type of notebook on the recommendation of @illjustpretend and honestly its been so great. this is basically where i keep my random little scratchings, to do lists, grocery lists, and my thoughts that worm their way into my head and need a place to stay. its extra small so i can throw it into any bag im carrying!

another angle bc i just love how they all look together. in the back in my pencil case with post-its, highlighters, pencils etc. and laying across the top of the commonplace book is one of my fountain pens, its the Pilot Kakuno with Fine size tip. im currently using Lamy Black ink in it. if you look closely you can also see another one of my fountain pens, that one is the Lamy AL-Star in the color Cosmic. it was the first fountain pen i ever owned and i got it as a gift from my sisters for my birthday. it has my penname engraved on one side of it and currently loaded with Lamy Teal ink.

[chicago-geniza]

Okay this is a running to-do list for crisis management and we will try to get as much done as possible within the week

Inhalers ✅

Vitamins ✅

Wash face ✅

Moisturize hands ✅

Magcit beverage ✅

Celsius

Refill weekly pill case ***✅

Listen to audiobook while you do this ✅

Take meds ✅

Order more allergy meds ✅

Order more multivitamins ✅

Brush teeth etc. ✅

Shave head ✅

Psoriasis treatment ✅

Gather clothes for laundry ✅

Put clothes in washing machine ✅

Locate yellow notebook (on bookshelf with passport) ✅

SHOWER ***

Moisturize limbs

Charge headphones ✅

Charge clippers ✅

LARGE TASKS

Reapply for Medicaid, citing unemployment ✅

File changed circumstances on SNAP case (adjusted income: $0 lol) ✅

Check eligibility for Illinois UI ✅

If you qualify, apply for Illinois UI

Try to blitz through those applications TODAY

Then you can place dispensary order and pick it up TOMORROW

Also: CALL LOW-INCOME CLINIC ✅

MEAL PLANNING

You finished the rice noodles so let's finish the chicken and quinoa in some broth today before it goes bad ✅

Tomorrow soon tofu soup