#The urge to point out the reference is strong but probably not needed

[neaverse]

My cardigan came today🥹 I’m so in love that I might stop breathing

[buckets-and-trees]

The Silence of the Hushed Sublime

Collection: CEDAR TREES Characters/Pairings: King!Steve Rogers x Queen!Reader Word Count: 4.8k Summary: A morning one month after the Spring Equinox. You savor some of the precious time before you as king and queen have to take up your royal duties - but this morning will be different than any that came before.

Content & Warnings: royal au, pregnancy conditions, discussion of pregnancy and children, smut: breast play, unprotected vaginal intercourse, brief cock stroking and vaginal fingering, edging into a pregnancy kink (probably)

Author Notes: I PROMISED I'D UPDATE SOMETHING TO CELEBRATE 2200 FOLLOWERS, AND HERE IT IS!While a few others put up a fight, and even temporarily edged into the lead, King Steve came out triumphant in the end! It's been a busy summer with other projects, so I was thrilled to see him leading most of the time because it gave me the perfect excuse to prioritize him! Also... even though I've been planning this chapter for months with very clear ideas of its outline, the muse still surprised me, but I won't say more than that for now...

Narrative Notes: To read previous pieces chronologically, refer to the masterlist for the Cedar Trees Collection.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

The soft song of birds coaxes you into consciousness, and you are susprised to find yourself awake before Steve - a rare thing. Before him, you were never much for mornings, but now you enjoy the time bathed in the glow of the warm morning sunlight and blissfully showered in his attention, woken up with kisses and soft murmurings, and his beard against your neck, your shoulder, your cheek.

But this morning, as you slowly come into consciousness, you roll to your side, careful not to disturb him, and smile as you get a rare opportunity to study his face without distraction and without him knowing.

Your eyes trace the strong line of his jaw, softened by his beard, and you resist the urge to reach out and run your fingers through it. His lips are slightly parted, and you can hear the soft, steady rhythm of his breathing. His brow is smooth, free from the creases of concentration or worry that often mark it during the day. In sleep, he looks younger, more carefree.

You let your gaze wander down to his broad shoulders, exposed above the sheets. The early morning light casts a golden glow on his skin, highlighting the contours of his muscles. Even in repose, there's a quiet strength to his features that never fails to captivate you.

As you watch him, a wave of tenderness washes over you. This man, your husband, your king - he's everything you never knew you wanted or needed. The love you feel for him sometimes overwhelms you with its intensity.

Your hand drifts down to rest on your belly. You haven't told him yet, wanting to be absolutely certain, but you're fairly sure now. The nausea that's been plaguing you in the mornings, the tenderness in your breasts, the absence of your monthly courses - all signs point to the fact that you're with child.

As if sensing your scrutiny, Steve begins to stir. His eyelids flutter, and a small groan escapes his lips as he stretches. When his eyes finally open, they immediately find yours, and a sleepy smile spreads over his face.

"Good morning, my love," Steve murmurs, his voice husky with sleep. He reaches out to pull you closer, nuzzling into your neck. "This is a pleasant surprise. Usually, I'm the one watching you sleep."

You can't help but laugh softly, running your fingers through his tousled hair. "I couldn't resist. You looked so peaceful."

His arms tighten around you, and you feel the familiar warmth of desire spreading through your body. After months of marriage, he ignites fire along your skin every time he touches you.

As he holds you, you can feel your heart racing, the weight of your secret pressing upon you. You want to tell him, to share this joy and excitement with him, but a small voice inside your head whispers caution.

It's still early, too early. You don't want to get his hopes up, or worse, disappoint him if something were to happen. You feel you shiuld wait a little longer, just to be sure.

Steve senses your hesitation and pulls back slightly to look at you. "Is everything alright?" he asks, concern etched in his features.

You force a smile and nod. "Yes, everything's fine. I was just thinking about how fortunate I am to have you."

He smiles back at you before leaning in for a soft kiss. His lips are gentle against yours, full of love and warmth.

"I'm the fortunate one," he says as he pulls away.

Tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, Steve begins tracing circles on your cheek with his thumb. "I've been meaning to ask you something," he says after a moment of silence.

"What is it?" You ask curiously.

"I know we've talked about starting a family one day," Steve starts nervously. "But I was wondering if...if now might be the right time?"

Your heart swells at his words and the butterflies in your stomach flutter frantically. Does he already suspect? Or is this just a coincidence?

"I think that would be wonderful," you say softly, unable to keep the happiness out of your voice.

Steve's face lights up in excitement and relief all at once. He wraps his arms around you tightly and presses kisses along your neck while whispering words of love and excitement.

As he peppers small kisses along your jawline and collarbone, tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You can't believe how lucky you are to have found such a caring and loving partner.

Your legs tangle with his, and you pull his lips to yours, engaging him in a long, languid kiss. Your bodies move together, easing into lustier territory, but neither of you feeling the pressure to rush things along.

After a few more minutes, you break off the kiss and rest your forehead to his. He breathes you in, and your chest tightens in contentment.

But then suddenly, you’re overcome with a wave of nausea rolling over you. You quickly sit up, pressing a hand to your mouth.

"My love?" he questions, reaching for you, voice full of concern.

You shake your head, unable to speak as you fight the urge to be sick. Steve sits up immediately, worry etched on his face. He rubs your back soothingly as you take deep breaths.

After a moment, the nausea passes. You look at Steve, a mix of excitement and trepidation in your eyes. Your heart races. This is the moment, you realize. You take a deep breath, gathering your courage. "Steve, I have something to tell you."

His blue eyes widen, a flicker of understanding passing through them. He takes your hand, his thumb stroking your knuckles gently. "What is it, my love?" he asks softly, though there's an undercurrent of anticipation in his voice.

You take another deep breath, your free hand instinctively moving to rest on your stomach. "I believe I might already be with child," you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, Steve is utterly still, his hand frozen on your back. Then, his face transforms, a look of pure joy and wonder spreading across his features. "Truly?" he breathes, his voice filled with wonder and joy.

You nod, tears of happiness welling in your eyes. "I'm not entirely certain yet, but all the signs are there. I've been starting to feel ill in the mornings, I’ve now fully missed my courses twice…”

Steve's arms are around you in an instant, pulling you close to his chest. You can feel his body tremble with emotion, and he presses kisses to every inch of your face, exuberantly showering your forehead, your cheeks, your eyelids, lips, nose, jaw, temples with his excitement.

Steve pulls back slightly to look at you, cupping your face in his hands and brushing away a stray tear that has escaped down your cheek. "This is the greatest news I could have ever hoped for," says, voice thick with adoration.

You smile radiantly, bursting with happiness, thrilled to finally be sharing this with him, the one who holds every piece of your heart.

You're overwhelmed by the love and joy radiating from Steve's eyes. Unable to contain your emotions any longer, you pull him in for another kiss. This one is different from the gentle, sleepy kisses you shared earlier. It's filled with passion, promise, and the excitement of your shared future.

Your lips move against his with increasing urgency, and Steve responds in kind. His hands, which were cradling your face, now slide down to your waist, pulling you closer. You can feel the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of your nightgown, igniting a fire within you.

As the kiss deepens, you part your lips, inviting him in. Steve's tongue meets yours, and a soft moan escapes you. The sound seems to fuel his passion further, and he gently lowers you back onto the bed, his body hovering over yours.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, as you deepen the kiss. Steve's hand caresses your side, sliding down to your thigh and hitching your leg over his hip. The weight of his body presses you into the mattress, igniting sparks of pleasure everywhere you touch.

He breaks the kiss to trail his lips down your neck, pausing to lavish attention on the sensitive spot just below your ear that never fails to make you shiver.

"My love," he murmurs against your skin, his voice husky with desire. "My queen. The mother of my child." Each endearment is punctuated with a kiss, each one sending sparks of pleasure coursing through you.

Your hands slide down his back, feeling the play of muscles beneath his skin. You arch into him, craving more contact. Steve's hand skims down your side, over your hip, and then slowly pushes up your nightgown. His fingers trace patterns on your bare thigh, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"Steve," you breathe, your voice a mix of pleasure and need.

Steve's eyes darken with desire at the sound of his name on your lips. In one fluid motion, he flips you both over, rolling onto his back and settling you atop him. The sudden change in position elicits a gasp of surprise and delight from you.

Your nightgown has ridden up, bunched around your waist, leaving your lower half bare against his skin. Steve's hands slide up your thighs, over your hips, and finally come up to span your waist. His thumbs stroke the soft skin just beneath your breasts, sending shivers of anticipation through your body.

Steve's gaze roams over you, drinking in the sight of you above him, bathed in the soft morning light.

"You're breathtaking," he murmurs, voice rough with want.

It sends shivers up your spine, and you place your hands on his broad chest for balance, feeling his heart racing beneath your fingertips. Slowly, deliberately, you roll your hips

Your movements elicit a deep groan from Steve, his fingers digging into your hips. The friction sends waves of pleasure through you, and you repeat the motion, savoring the way his body responds to yours.

Steve's hands slide up your sides, taking your nightgown with them. You raise your arms, allowing him to pull the garment over your head and toss it aside. His eyes darken as they roam over your newly exposed skin, lingering on the subtle changes in your body that hint at the new life growing within you.

"So beautiful," he breathes, his voice filled with awe and desire.

Steve's hands explore your body, caressing every curve and plane with reverence. When his palms brush over your breasts, you gasp.

He chuckles. He’s always loved your breasts.

Steve's thumbs brush over your sensitive nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. You arch into his touch, craving more. His hands cup your breasts gently, massaging them with just the right amount of pressure.

"Are they more sensitive now?" he asks, his voice low and husky.

You nod, unable to form words as he continues his ministrations. Steve sits up, wrapping an arm around your waist to steady you as he brings his mouth to your breast. The first touch of his lips against your sensitive skin makes you cry out softly.

His tongue swirls around your nipple before he takes it into his mouth, sucking gently. The sensation is almost overwhelming in its intensity. Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him close as waves of pleasure wash over you.

Steve lavishes attention on both breasts, alternating between gentle kisses, licks, and soft suckling. Your body writhes atop his, pleasure building with each touch. Steve's hands roam your back, your hips, your thighs, as if he can't get enough of feeling your skin beneath his palms.

You can feel his arousal pressing insistently against you, and you roll your hips again, relishing the groan that escapes him. Steve's head falls back, exposing the column of his throat. Unable to resist, you lean forward and press your lips to his neck, trailing kisses up to his jaw.

"My love," Steve breathes, his voice rough with desire. "I need you."

His words send a jolt down your spine. You capture his lips in a passionate kiss, pouring all your love and desire into it. Steve's hands grip your hips, guiding you as you slowly lower yourself onto him.

You both gasp as you sink down onto him, your bodies joining together. The sensation is exquisite, and for a moment, you simply hold still, savoring the feeling of completeness. Steve's hands tighten on your hips, his breath coming in short pants against your neck.

"You feel incredible," he murmurs, pressing hot kisses along your collarbone.

Slowly, you begin to move, rolling your hips in a steady rhythm. Steve matches your movements, thrusting up to meet you. The pleasure builds with each motion, waves of sensation washing over you.

Steve's hands roam your body, caressing every inch of skin he can reach. His touch is reverent as it always is, but there’s also an almost imperceptible change in it, more protective. When his fingers brush over your stomach, where your child grows, a surge of emotion wells up within you.

He looks back up into your eyes, his blue irises bold with an intensity that always takes your breath away. But they’re also glassy with unshed tears of pride.

You lean down to capture his lips in a passionate kiss, your bare skin pressing against his chest, his coarse chest hair playing deliciously against your nipples. You grind down on his hips again, needing more friction.

Steve groans into your mouth, his hands gripping your hips tighter as he matches your rhythm. The pleasure builds with each movement, waves of sensation washing over you both. Your bodies move together in perfect synchronicity, a dance you've perfected over months of loving each other.

You break the kiss, gasping for air as you arch your back, changing the angle slightly. The new position sends sparks of pleasure shooting through you, and you cry out softly. Steve's eyes are fixed on you, drinking in every expression of pleasure that crosses your face.

"That's it, my love," he murmurs encouragingly, his voice rough with desire. "Let me see you."

His words spur you on, and you increase your pace, chasing the building pleasure. Steve's hands slide up your sides to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples. The dual sensations of him inside you and his hands on your breasts send you spiraling higher. Your movements become more frantic as you near your peak.

Steve senses your urgency and slides one hand down between your bodies, his skilled fingers finding that sensitive bundle of nerves. The added stimulation is almost too much, and you cry out his name as waves of pleasure crash over you.

Your inner walls clench around him, and Steve groans deeply. His hips buck up into you as he follows you over the edge, his release pulsing inside you.

For a moment, you both remain still, panting heavily as you come down from your shared high. Steve's arms wrap around you, holding you close against his chest. You nuzzle into his neck, pressing soft kisses to his skin.

"I love you," you murmur, your voice heavy with emotion. "So much."

Steve's hand comes up to cradle the back of your neck, gently guiding your face to his. His eyes, still dark with passion, search yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

"And I love you," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "More than I ever thought possible." His thumb strokes your cheek tenderly.

Then he gently rolls you both onto your sides, keeping you close as he softly strokes your hair. His other hand rests protectively over your lower abdomen, a gesture that makes your heart swell with love.

"Our child," he murmurs in awe, his eyes shining with joy as they meet yours. "I can scarcely believe it."

You smile, placing your hand over his. "I know. It still feels surreal to me too."

Steve leans in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "You've given me everything, my love. You brought vibrant color to this kingdom, and now a family and a future brighter than I could have ever dreamed."

You feel tears prick at your eyes, overwhelmed by the depth of his love and the enormity of the moment. Steve leans in, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to your lips. When he pulls back, there's a hint of mischief in his smile.

"Though I must say," he adds, his tone lighter, "if this is how your body reacts while pregnant, I may have to get you with child more often.”

You laugh, playfully swatting his chest. "Careful what you wish for, my king. We may end up with a whole brood of little ones running about the castle."

Steve's eyes light up at the thought. "And what a joyous chaos that would be," he says, pulling you closer. "Our own little kingdom within these walls."

You snuggle into his warmth, relishing the feeling of his strong arms around you. "It would certainly keep us on our toes," you muse, imagining the pitter-patter of tiny feet echoing through the corridors.

Steve's hand moves to your belly again, his touch gentle and reverent. "I can't wait to meet this little one," he says softly. "To see your eyes in their face, or perhaps your smile."

You place your hand over his, intertwining your fingers. "Or your sharp nose, and your strength.”

His expression softens as he gazes at you, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your stomach. "How are you feeling? Truly?"

You take a moment to consider, assessing your body. "A bit nauseous still," you admit. "But mostly, I feel happy. Excited. And a little scared," you add softly.

Steve's arms tighten around you reassuringly. "It's alright to be scared," he murmurs. "This is new territory for both of us. We will face it together, as we always have."

You nod, burrowing closer into his warmth. "I know. There is simply so much to think about. So much to prepare."

Steve nods thoughtfully, his fingers gently combing through your hair. "Indeed there is. But we have time, my love. We will take it one step at a time."

You smile, feeling comforted by his steady presence. "You are right. Though I suppose we should start thinking about when to make the announcement."

Steve's eyes light up at the thought. "Ah yes, sharing our joy with the kingdom." He pauses, a hint of concern crossing his face. "Though perhaps we should wait a bit longer, to be certain?"

You nod in agreement. "My thoughts exactly. I would like to consult with the royal physician first, to confirm everything is progressing as it should."

"Of course," Steve says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "We will keep this our little secret for now."

“I do think it in order that we soon bring Lord Barnes into our confidence on this,” you said, drumming your fingers lightly over Steve’s chest. “And Viscount Coulson.”

“You need not feel obligated, we can alter our morning routine and breakfast privately again,” clearly thinking you felt it would be necessary to explain the morning sickness when it plagued you in their presence.

“Oh, no, no,” you counter. “They should know. They are your closest advisors and our trusted friends, are they not?”

“Bucky all my life, and Coulson these many years I’ve been king.”

“Then we will tell them over the next few days,” you insist.

“And the Duchess?” Steve queries.

You bite your lip and drop your gaze for a moment.

Steve lets out a teasing but incredulous laugh. “She already knows.”

“She suspects. But you know she knows everything - she is the one who said something to me a few weeks back to get me questioning my condition myself.”

Steve shakes his head. “Unsurprising, really.”

“You have no idea,” you laugh.

Steve is pensive for a moment. “Did you say a few weeks ago?”

“Mhmm,” you nod.

He searches your face, and you try briefly to hold back a smile. Your brilliant king is putting pieces into place.

“Spring solstice, in the forest…”

“I was only hesitantly starting to think I may be with child then.”

There is no unease in his face, only love.

His hand splays protectively over your stomach once more. "I swear to you both, I will do everything in my power to keep you safe and happy."

You place your hand over his, intertwining your fingers. "I know you will. You're already an incredible husband, a stalwart king, and you'll be an amazing father."

Steve's eyes twinkle with mischief as he pulls you closer once more. "Speaking of being an amazing husband," he murmurs, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, "perhaps I should demonstrate my devotion once more?" His hand slides teasingly along your thigh.

A shiver of anticipation runs through you. "Oh? And how do you propose to do that, my king?" you tease, running your fingers through his beard.

"Well," Steve says, rolling you onto your back and hovering over you, "I believe it starts something like this..." He dips his head, pressing a trail of hot kisses down your neck and across your collarbone.

You gasp as his lips find a particularly sensitive spot, your body arching into his touch, fingers tangling in his hair. “My, my, Your Majesty, you are insatiable."

He grins, pulling you closer. "Only for you, my love. Always for you." Steve captures your lips in yet another searing kiss, rolling you onto your back. His body covers yours, warm and solid, as his hands begin to roam. You arch into him, always ready to be taken by this man, nay, yearning for it.

As Steve's hands roam your body, igniting sparks of pleasure everywhere they touch, a sudden wave of nausea washes over you. You break the kiss abruptly, turning your head to the side and taking deep breaths.

"My love?" Steve's voice is filled with concern as he pulls back slightly, his hand gently cupping your cheek. "Are you alright?"

You nod, still focusing on your breathing. "Just a moment of queasiness," you manage to say. "It will pass."

Steve immediately shifts, gathering you into his arms and cradling you against his chest. His hand rubs soothing circles on your back as he presses a tender kiss to your forehead. "Perhaps we should rest a while longer," he suggests softly.

You nestle into his embrace, feeling the nausea slowly subside. "I'm sorry," you murmur against neck.

“Do not apologize, your body is engaged in an arduous and demanding task.”

You take a few deep breaths. “Perhaps some water?” you ask.

Steve’s action is immediate, gently extricating himself from you and swiftly crossing the room to pour a glass of water from the crystal pitcher nearby. He presses it into your hands, and resumes his spot next to you as you drink.

“Better?” he asks once you have finished sipping down the cool and calming liquid.

“Mostly,” you answer, reaching to set the glass on the bedside table.

“What else do can I do?” he asks.

Truly feeling the nausea melted away, you turn back to him, an impish grin on your face, and reach for his hand. Steve's eyes darken with renewed desire as you guide his hand between your legs. He groans softly, feeling your warmth and wetness against his fingers. "Are you certain?" he asks, his voice husky with want but tinged with concern.

You nod, pulling him closer. "I am. I want you, Steve. Always."

He needs no further encouragement. His skilled fingers begin to stroke and tease, drawing soft gasps and moans from your lips. You arch into his touch, craving more. Steve's mouth finds yours in a passionate kiss as his fingers continue their ministrations.

Your hands roam his body, tracing the familiar planes of muscle and sinew. When you reach between his legs, you find him already hard and ready. Steve groans into your mouth as you wrap your hand around him, stroking slowly.

"Please," you breathe against his lips. "I need-”

A soft knock at the door interrupts you both. You freeze, eyes wide, as Steve calls out, "Who is it?"

"It's Lord Barnes, Your Majesty," comes the muffled reply.

Steve withdraws the two fingers that were buried in your cunt, and you whine softly at the loss of him.

"I apologize for the early intrusion,” he explains, “but there's an urgent matter requiring your attention."

Steve groans softly, resting his forehead against yours. "Of course there is," he mutters, then calls out, "One moment, Bucky."

You can't help but giggle softly at his frustrated expression. "Duty calls, my love," you whisper, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

He shoots you a playful glare before nipping at your jaw. "Don't move," he whispers. "I'll be right back."

Steve rolls out of bed, hastily pulling on a robe. You admire the view as he crosses the room, enjoying the way the fabric clings to his muscular form. He throws you a knowing smirk over his shoulder before opening the door just enough to speak with Bucky.

You can't make out their hushed conversation, but you see Steve's posture stiffen slightly. Whatever the matter is, it's serious enough to warrant immediate attention. You sit up, pulling the sheet up to cover your you. After a few moments, Steve nods and Bucky leaves.

Steve closes the door methodically, and his brow is furrowed in worry and thought as he turns back to look at you.

“Hydras forces are mobilizing near our northern border. Our scouts report they may be planning an incursion within the fortnight."

You are no stranger to the bloody and barbaric history Hydra has unleashed on many kingdoms over the last century. They showed no preference for where they tried to conquer, striking at kingdoms all across the continent. They moved swiftly, always emerging out of the unknown and shifting shadows they grew in, rising up in violence, brutality, and chaos. They tried to mount a campaign against your grandfather’s kingdom before you were born, and luckily, with the aid of allies, he was able to fight back and send them back.

They had struck many others before, and had struck twice on the other side of he continent since then.

Now, it seems, they were here.

“I must-”

“Yes,” you nod. “You must act with all wisdom and haste. Go.”

He nods solemnly, turning to go.

Steve hesitates for a moment, his hand on the door handle. He turns back to you, his eyes filled with a mixture of love, concern, and determination. In three long strides, he's back at your side, cupping your face in his hands.

"I love you," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "Both of you."

Before you can respond, his lips are on yours, soft yet urgent. Steve's kiss is deep and passionate, conveying all the words left unspoken between you. His fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you closer as if he's trying to memorize every detail of this moment. The rough texture of his beard against your skin, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours. You melt into the kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck as you pour all your love and support into it.

When Steve finally pulls away, his eyes are dark with emotion. He rests his forehead against yours for a moment, taking a deep breath.

"I love you too," you whisper, your voice wavering only slightly.

"I'll return as soon as I can," he promises softly. His hand drifts down to rest briefly on your stomach, a gesture that makes your heart swell with emotion.

You nod, your hand coming up to caress his cheek. "Be safe, my love. We'll be waiting for you."

Steve's gaze lingers for a moment before he straightens up, then turns away with visible reluctance. But his steps grow purposeful and full of determination as he strides towards the door. The air around him seems to shift and crackle with raw power, his posture regal and commanding as his shoulders square and his jaw clenches. By the time he reaches the door, he has transformed into the king revered and respected by so many - every inch of him radiating authority and strength.

You are no fool, you know he’s walking into dangerous paths, and though you are fearful of the threat and how it will play out over the days and possibly weeks ahead, there is a fire of hope that you will guard and fan the flames of because you believe in him.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

SO

OKAY

I have vague plot points that I did intend on incorporating later in this collection, but THIS HYDRA ONE WAS NEWS TO ME! I thought we were just in store for a nice pregnancy news sharing morning, and then BAM, the muse was like, "YOU WANT SURPRISE NEWS, HERE'S SOME SURPRISE NEWS!" Definitely threw a wrench into my original plans! BUT HYDRA GOTTA HYDRA, AS THE KIDS SAY. no, they don't, they don't say that...

READ THE NEXT PART: COMING SOON read more of the Cedar Trees AU

[hopelessdelusional]

imagine iida x reader (crushing stage) where someone makes the reader laugh so hard they snort and tenya doesn’t say anything but it’s like the cutest thing in the world to him

love love love love love love love love love love love love love lo-

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

‧₊˚♡pairing: Iida Tenya x gn! reader

‧₊˚♡tags: just so much fluff yall tenya is so cutie but unfortunately no beta i probably need someone to look over my work before i post oh well :D

‧₊˚♡a/n: i got a little carried away oopsies, but also i wanted iida to say smth abt it bc i am a tenya blabbermouth BELIEVER ✊

‧₊˚♡masterlist

inbox is open! hit me up with ur ideas ;)

╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗

It was a beautiful day out at UA.

Class 1A had all gathered outside for a mass picnic, teenagers buzzing with excitement with how much food and deserts were being passed around the outdoor area. They had been planning this picnic for some time now, and after three occasions causing them to cancel, they could finally have their day in the sun.

The weather was just warm enough to sit and sunbathe in for hours without getting uncomfortable as there was a slight breeze constantly blowing through to keep things cool. The skies were a gorgeous blue, littered with big white fluffy clouds and birds flying overhead. There were various flowers blooming all around the class, along with different shades of greens. It was truly a sight to take in, but Tenya couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of you.

Ever since he had met you, Tenya truly felt as if you were a one in a million. Everything about you was so enticing to the teen, making him feel things that he had never felt before. To Tenya, this feeling was more than a mere crush, but pure admiration. He loves how motivated and strong you are, how effortlessly beautiful you can be. You were incredibly smart and seemed to always have a solution to any problem thrown your way. You were kind, but had boundaries that everyone knew not to cross. The way you talked always captivated him, and your laugh? Iida Tenya was completely and utterly whipped, and he had no idea what to do about it.

It had gotten to the point where it was so painfully obvious that the whole class wanted to see him confess to you, but Tenya didn’t want to trouble you with his feelings. The logical side of him said that you didn’t like him romantically, and even if you did you needed to focus fully on your future. Tenya refused to cause you turmoil, and as long as he was able to watch you succeed in life he was happy.

Except on days like these.

When Tenya saw you, out of the corner of his eyes, glowing in the sunlight. You looked like you just ascended down from the heavens, blessing all who are around you with your presence. The way your hair framed your face, and your eyes glimmered making him want to look into them every second of the day. Kaminari started saying nonsense that Tenya didn’t even try to understand, but he watched you light up at his words giggling and continuing the string of nonsense. Somehow, he felt an overwhelming urge to learn about whatever niche pop culture reference the two of you were talking about just so he could make you smile like that, with a big carefree grin.

“You should go over to them,” Ochako’s voice whispered in the boy’s ear. He tore his focus away from you to his friend, who was smiling with a knowing look on her face. The two of them were collecting drinks and ice to put them into coolers, a task that Tenya thought was going to distract him but of course your aura was too strong of a distraction for him.

Stubbornly, he pushed his glasses up on his nose and looked down at the drinks shaking his head. “That would be rude of me to interrupt their conversation.”

Tenya didn’t even have to look up to see Ocakos pout, as he heard her audible “hmph” she says when she becomes frustrated.

“You wouldn’t be interrupting! They would be thrilled to hang out with you, like they always are.” Though the brunette continued to do her job, he felt her brown eyes glare into his face as if she had a mind controlling quirk. Tenya just sighed, wishing what his friend said was true. You always looked so much more happier with people other than him. As much as he loves to see you shine, he wishes he could be the one to make you like that.

Soon the two teens were done with the coolers and began to bring them over. The rest of the class noticed and started to cheer for the cool refreshments, many people calling out their names. Tenya and Ochako put the drinks down next to the tables full of food and suddenly the class lined up and filled their plates with food.

Soon enough everyone found their areas to settle in, and Tenya ever so stubborn, refused to make a plate until everyone was finished. He wanted to make sure everyone was satisfied with the system set up along with watching people (mainly the boys) to make sure they don’t take strenuous amounts of food.

“You didn’t have to do all of that you know,” a voice said causing Tenya to rip his attention away from Sero and Kaminari’s giggling. You were standing close to him, a plate in hand and ready to sit down and join the rest of the group. Tenya scanned your face, as you had your eyebrows raised and your hand on your hip.

Trying not to become flustered at such a quick interaction, Tenya crossed his arms.

“You’re absolutely right i don’t have to do this, but I want to.” He said as he looked back at the area now full of teens sitting on picnic blankets. Your laughter echoed, then your warm hand was placed on his shoulder making his heart flutter.

“Come on, let’s get a plate.”

As if he was put under a spell, Tenya followed behind you and complied to your request. You made small talk about the food, making jokes which he appreciated greatly. He always seemed to lose his ability to talk when around you. Eventually he found his words again and began to create a comfortable conversation with you. However, the moment ended soon and when you reached the end of the line of food Tenya found himself deflate knowing the two of you would separate soon.

That was until you spun around on your heels with a big grin on your face.

“Come sit with me.”

Tenya, caught off guard, felt his face warm up as he sputtered out a response. “Yes-yes of course!”

Somehow your grin widened and you grabbed his free hand dragging him over to an open spot on the picnic blanket. Immediately the two of you were welcomed to the area, but Tenya still felt frazzled by your recent actions. However he settled down quickly with your newfound closeness, always feeling a sort of peace around you. His shoulders and neck automatically relaxed and he’s even gotten comments about how “laid back” he seems to be whenever you’re next to him. Tenya was able to sit and not over analyze or worry as much when he was around you, and for that he is forever grateful. Especially on days like these.

The blue haired boy found himself chuckling along with his classmates and eating without concern, feeling like a true teenager. He liked to peer at you as well, especially with how close the two of you were sitting. There were times he caught you smiling at him, and instead of feeling embarrassed you just kept on looking at him with a gentle look in your eyes. Tenya on the other hand would immediately react, and never quite knew what to do with himself.

It wasn’t until everyone was finished and laid out on the ground that there was a sense of peace over the group of teens. Tenya was listening to Ochako tell a childhood story when he heard a squeal coming from his left.

Now alerted, Tenya whipped his head over and to his surprise he saw you, Kaminari, Sero, and Mina all looking at your phone. He watched as each one of the group started to break away to laugh and make unusual sounds and faces. Then, his eyes shifted to you (always shifting to you) and he watched as your head was thrown back due to laughter.

The sun was setting, the soft glow of sunshine lit your face perfectly. You’re eyes were more alive, and your skin seemed to shine. He watched as you let out an uncontrollable laugh, and when you put your head back you snorted.

Almost immediately, Tenya pipped up as he saw you throw your hand to your face in surprise as your friends laughed even harder at your accidental snort. But Tenya just watched, face as red as a tomato as he realized that everything you did was going to make him feel like his heart was going to beat out of his chest.

“Oh my god!” You coughed out, eyes watery and cheeks red from laughing so hard. To his surprise, you faced Tenya with wide eyes.

“I’m so sorry you had to see that,” you were still giggling but he could tell there was a shade of embarrassment on your face. He felt confused as to why you turned to him specifically and apologized for such an adorable laugh you let out. He loved watching you laugh, anything that made you happy made him happy.

“Why? It was cute.”

Suddenly it was Tenya’s turn to be embarrassed, because he didn’t even realize he said that out loud until he watched your face blossom into a deeper blush. As soon as Tenya started to sputter out apologies you just smiled, watching the boy furiously try to cover up the compliment he blurted out.

“You think I’m cute?” As soon as you said that he paused, and everyone around watched in silence because surely Tenya was going to start steaming with how red his face was.

Instead, you just laughed at the embarrassed boy, and he was able to get lost in your beauty once again. Maybe one day he’ll be the reason you laugh so hard you snort, and maybe he’ll get to kiss your cute lips. But for now, he’ll just watch your beautiful laughter unfold underneath the sunlight.

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

hi loves!! sorry bout the procrastination i am working on my inbox shit and my own ideas-especially for other fandoms hehe

[novlr]

How do you see the deep diving into researching thing when writing something?

Research is a double-edged sword. On the one hand, I like to pay attention to little details and leave them as little treats for my readers. On the other hand, it is a fantastic procrastination tool that doesn’t feel like procrastination. The trick is finding the right balance between the two.

How I use research

One of my current projects is set in 1890s Europe. I have found period maps to refer to for cities and countries, train routes and stations, and other details relevant to my work. I have thus far resisted the urge to dig for actual train schedule tables, which I’m sure are out there somewhere. At this point, I don’t think it’s a relevant detail. I could change my mind later, especially if I get stuck on a different fact for the project.

Another of my projects is a far-future novel in which the most dire of climate change predictions came true. I spent months reading textbooks on climate change modeling, running prediction models (which only went out 400 years at that point) and speculating on where things might be in a thousand years. I picked a model for my world state and am running with it. The urge to update my models based on current research is strong, and I’m resisting, choosing instead to go with the world I have built as it serves the story.

These are two examples of productive research that I feel will inform my writing and create a rich, immersive world for my readers. It’s research that’s relevant, intentional, focused, and serves my story.

How I try not to use research  

There are the hours spent researching the precise shade of color for a flower petal mentioned in precisely one sentence. The days spent researching how a syllable I wanted to use in a far-futures language is being used across multiple languages, past and present. 

Spoiler: I think every syllable is being used by every language. I focused on not using something too weird. Looking through my search history, I see deep dives into the colors of the aurora, airship designs, and cuttlefish bioluminescence. All of these were to find flavor for a scene I was describing or a world-building detail. And all of them led into deep rabbit holes of “research” when I was procrastinating. 

If it doesn’t serve your story, it’s probably not worth researching. All it will do is take you away from the important business of writing.

I’m a firm believer in research. It adds credibility to writing. The trick is to know when to come up for air. You can always make another deep dive into research if you find you need more details, just don’t let it distract you from actually doing the writing.

answered by Kimberley Long-Ewing

[crispbake]

jonhshi headcanons you say?

- kenshi pinches johnny. a lot. as a joke, as a corrective action when johnny's being odd about something, for no reason at all. it's like the urge to bite, but... pinch.

- in return johnny gets to be a biter. not even just in bed, everywhere (except for around other people). johnny's the type to just give into the urge to gently gnaw on kenshi and kenshi lets him. lovingly.

- johnny is wildly defensive of kenshi. kenshi asked that johnny just not joke about his blindness for a while, and johnny was happy to do so. that also included, apparently, johnny snarling at anyone who DOES make blind jokes at kenshi's expense.

- they're t4t and tism4tism.

- they're also, even though it doesn't have a term yet, both disabled. kenshi being blind obviously, and johnny i actually headcanon as being hypermobile. very hypermobile. and there's really only so much being very very strong can do when you're that hypermobile and your joints are determined to get weird, so johnny probably does have occasional pain flare-up days. they'll stay inside and take care of each other

- or, if the responsibilities that day are unavoidable, johnny will take a cane or crutch with him to town, and kenshi wil tag along, returning the favor of biting anyone who makes a joke at johnny's expense (that johnny obviously isn't okay with)

- kenshi is scary dog privileges

- johnny, when he's the guard, is creepy cat privileges (i made that up but there's no better way to describe it)

- to expand on johnny being hypermobile- no grown-ass man in his late 20s is hitting the splits that fucking easily, painlessly, without prior stretching. he's just death dropping in some of his animations. and i just don't think he has a stretching routine for that. it's his party trick, something he can just *do*.

- kenshi finds johnny's flexibility wildly hot

- (when it's not causing him pain, ofc)

- kenshi's tattoos weren't done himself but at some point johnny unlocks the lore that kenshi apprenticed under one of the tattoo artists in the yakuza, and actually graduated to full artist before he left the yakuza. kenshi is a seasoned tattoo artist

- johnny jokes about opening a flower shop across from him so they can be just like the stories. kenshi doesn't understand the reference.

-they have an actual conversation at one point about the after-- once kenshi has completed his quest, and johnny's career is fully winding down. the plan is to get a flat above a storefront, and turn the storefront into a tattoo shop.

- kenshi wears sleeveless turtleneck compression shirts when working out and johnny fans himself like a victorian maiden every time

- (last one i prommy) johnny once wore a clownish formal outfit to the gala celebrating the success of the ninja mime movie. to this very day, kenshi maintains that one was his favorite outfit johnny's ever worn on the red carpet.

i am going to respond to every single one of these damnit

THE PINCHING/BITING IS SO ACCURATE. like i cannot explain what it is about it but that’s just so them. they do different things but it’s the same concept ghdjdkwkw

YES! johnny is super defensive of kenshi not because he thinks he needs to be, he knows kenshi can hold his own, but because he cares about him too much. i’m sure at first when it was still raw johnny never made any comments but i’m sure it reaches a point where kenshi starts joking about it himself and assures johnny he’s come to terms with it. but if anyone else makes a comment OOOH it’s over for them.

i rlly do love trans headcannons for them. whether it’s t4t or one of them is trans while the other is cis i do not care i eat that up every time. I ALSO FOR SURE SEE TISM4TISM!! johnny has the hyper fixations/knows random facts autism while kenshi has the not really sure how to handle your emotions autism. i think he gets overstimulated too which is also from his other senses being heightened once vision was gone.

I NEVER THOUGHT ABOUT HIM BEING HYPERMOBILE BUT IT MAKES TOTAL SENSE! he’s doing the splits on the battlefield i mean come on?!?!??!? (i saw you mentioned this later on LMFAO see u get it)

yes 100% johnny gets scary dog privileges cause of kenshi. too many fans in his face? kenshi doesn’t even EYES for god’s sake and i’m sure a look in their direction will scare them off at least somewhat. and johnny is for sure creepy cat. it’s like “can i come over and be weird and offputting” literally him.

oh yeah the flexibility while it has its downsides for sure comes in handy sometimes. (in bed) i know kenshi is manhandling him into wild positions and johnny loves it. so does kenshi of course.

I’VE POSTED ABOUT THE FACT THAT I DO THINK KENSHI HAS AN INTEREST IN TATTOOS THAT ARENT HIS OWN! he could definitely tattoo johnny i just know he has steady hands and it would come out so awesome.

kenshi not getting the flowershop thing is so real johnny definitely then went off on a long tangent explaining it. i feel like they could just be grocery shopping and something gets johnny going and he goes off on a long spiel as they’re walking around, i’m sure this is an often occurrence. kenshi loves listening to him talk but again, the heightened senses, he probably does occasionally need to rest his head so he kisses johnny to shut him up LMFAO (and it always works that man is so easily distracted)

TATTOO SHOP DOWNSTAIRS FLOWER SHOP UPSTAIRS!

oh yeah johnny loves the compression shirts for sure kenshi looks good in anything. but he does wild for kenshi in short sleeves. he doesn’t wear them super often to cover up his tattoos but when he does goddamn. johnny feels like the luckiest man in the world.

JOHNNY IN A CLOWN THEMED FORMAL OUTFIT FOR THE NINJA MIME PREMIERE MIGHT JUST BE MY FAVORITE ONE OF THESE LMAO. saved the best for last. johnny for sure wears eccentric and colorful outfits on the red carpet. i mean have you seen his MK skins? this man has style he isn’t playing around.

I HOPE YOU ENJOYED :)

[theresa-of-liechtenstein]

'em' you may say. 'em once again it is not a tuesday or a thursday why are you here with another—' shut up. my life is hilarious.

presenting: em engages in the local classical music scene, electric boogaloo. special guest: tita conductor

so as may have been stated before, i managed to reserve a seat at an open rehearsal for the local philharmonic because this was literally the extracurricular life i dreamed of having five years ago. i was also aware that i would likely be the only person under the age of thirty from my university orchestra in attendance

which was the case. i found myself sitting one chair down from tita conductor (who tiptoed up the row towards me upon seeing me, leaving me frankly. Baffled. like madam what is your deal)

upon getting comfortable, she pulled out a whole 15-inch laptop and, turning it on, said eagerly, 'i've got the score [of the symphony they were performing] here to follow along and nerd out about!' before she realized. that she needed wi-fi to access it.

naturally i thought that was hilarious but once she started reading the conductor notes i was lowkey getting interested (you all know me.) and she noticed me getting interested so she said 'you can come sit next to me'. needed no second urging

luckily they didn't even start with that one (florence price my beloved. beautiful work for strings and conducted by the guest conductor)

then we moved on to a locally written violin concerto that did not immediately endear itself to me because of its requirement to have the brass do a sound like a car backfiring twice in the first movement. not fun

then the soloist (also composer) stopped to request a microphone because he couldn't project over the orchestra, they spent several minutes fussing with that

tita conductor leaned over to me (leaned is a strong word, she had already decided that my left armrest was Her armrest despite the seat on her left being empty) and whispered "that is probably about $2000 worth of wages right there" LMAO?

they finally went on their way, but at several points i found myself increasingly concerned that tita conductor was going to doze off on me. picture a "who wants to be a millionaire" question such that:

after that they took a break, during which tita conductor was heading toward the parking lot to fetch a scarf for our principal cellist (who was also in attendance, one seat down on tita conductor's other side) and, being Decidedly Not A City Person, i tagged along just so i could have a walking buddy to get water from my car.

not for the first time, she asked me whether i found the score of the modern piece i'd requested useful, which i answered to the affirmative. then she pressed further on why i'd wanted it, to which i told her the truth: general curiosity, and wanting to write in cues for myself as a backup plan if i miscounted the various time signature changes, or places where the string rhythms matched so i could take a look at bowings during rehearsal. she seemed to file that away for reference.

we headed back in for the second half, where at last tita conductor could pull out the score she was so excited to read (and re-log in to the wi-fi so she could read it), and spent the next 35 minutes squinting at the laptop screen following it. which was a lot of fun (even if we did get lost for a few pages halfway through the second movement and have to wait to hear a recognizable bit to reorient)

after returning to some parts of the first movement for review, they closed with a group of singers. as they were setting up microphones on stage, i was realizing that the dehydration headache i had had since brahms the night before was growing worse

off tita conductor's query as to whether i was going to attend the actual concert, my response that my headache was getting worse, and my realization that i was out of tylenol, she rummaged in her bag and offered me some advil out of an old makeup container, which i almost took before i realized (1) i've never taken ibuprofen and (2) i was going to just accept drugs off a random woman, favorite person in the music department she may be.

i politely declined and resolved to grit my teeth through it.

i was eager to get out and head back home, but as tita conductor (again, walking buddy) and i tried to get out the door, some lady blocked our way out to interview us on 'how we can increase engagement of young people with classical music'. well, perfect person to ask, i thought, seeing as that's pretty much her job. i was pretty anxious to head out, but saw that i actually would have something relevant to say about it as a Member of the Classical Music Community and Certified Youth, so i stayed back with tita conductor.

"i know you have to keep the orchestra going, but your student tickets should not be $20" - tita conductor, Fighting For Her Students

finally the random lady turned to me and asked "and what would you like to see programmed in an orchestra concert? movie music? contemporary pieces?"

it gave me much pleasure to give her a direct stare and say, "mid-classical. late classical. early romantic."

i mean i did warn her that i'm not necessarily representative of an entire demographic (look, i was the only undergrad tita conductor invited who actually came) but she was actually a little surprised by that?

also like. you ask Me. principal second violinist of the [unnamed university] orchestra, as i stand next to my boss, tita conductor, conductor of the [unnamed university] orchestra, after i just studied a score and attended an all-brahms concert the night before, and act surprised that i don't go for the movie music.

so i added my whole spiel about how young people, especially students who are expected to have some grasp of Western history, could best be reached out to if only organizations just. Went out of their way to give historical context in like a pre-concert talk or something like that. how i took for granted that people generally can connect art with the times in which it was created because that was how i developed my own musicality—through an historic lens.

i didn't really know if i got the point across because (1) headache and (2) tita conductor was looking very intently at me

hilarious to me how tita conductor also chipped in "and em is very serious about [classical music]" like we didn't just spend three hours statler-and-waldorfing in the back of this auditorium

walking back to the parking, trying to be a little lighthearted, i said "well that was... a little on the spot" to which tita conductor looked back at me and said "but i agree with you. you were right." W FOR ME I HAVE GOOD TAKES!

we chatted a little more (during which tita conductor straight up blocked the sun when she noticed i was squinting up at her, making another 'the frizz around a girl's hair is actually a halo' moment) before going our separate ways

i ran into another fucking pothole by accident on my way home but it was at such a low speed that the tires did not get damaged.

anyways. one year out from my fateful 'oh god i think i like my conductor' moment. we are having tita conductor moments like i wouldn't ever have believed.

this is making things very, very difficult for me.

[andr0medafallen]

Baby, It's Halloween.

A/N: Made with the help of @foxilayde and with @alwritey-aphrodite 's marvelous taste in music in mind. I love you guys!!!!

Pairing: Jonathan Levy x Reader

Warnings: P in V, porn with plot, unprotected sex, descriptions of Jonathan carrying reader, I mean reader fucks her Professor, so., you can let me know if there is anything else, not beta read

Description: You hadn't been planning on fucking your professor. You really hadn't; sometimes those things just happen. You also hadn't been planning on him crying in your arms, but those things also sometimes happen.

Word Count: 3.1k

Additional note: if you like Jonathan Levy and also sex, read Danny's Putz and the Perv fic. If she is at all more mentally sane than me, she probably wasn't projecting onto one of the references on her resume while writing it.

Why is it that Universities never give days off for Halloween? You get Thanksgiving and  fucking Presidents' day, but not Halloween? As if that weren’t bad enough, of course it lands on a Monday this year. Your busiest, boringest day of the week; Only made up for in part by Professor Levy’s class at 12:45, to which he always shows up just disheveled enough to look class time appropriate and hot.

This strays drastically from the point, though, which is this: Halloween is on a Monday this year, Halloween is a much better holiday than Thanksgiving, and you need to maintain a professional GPA if you want to keep the fantastic lineup of Pell Grants and scholarships sitting in your Financial Aid portal. It was the accumulation of all of these fascinating tidbits of information that led to you showing up to every one of your scheduled classes in a thrift-store Indiana Jones cosplay which you and your roommates had drunkenly put together Friday night.

Despite the fact that it had been made by a gaggle of drunk college students, the costume stood strong through the test of soberness. The playfully ripped up khakis, the leather fedora that for some reason you already had lying around, the linen shirt with one too many buttons undone, and the makeuped on grime all shouted “yeah dude, it’s halloween, fucking fight me about it”, but in a fun, kind of hot way. This was an opinion you had Friday night while making the damned thing, and your confidence certainly wasn’t dimmed after sitting through your first couple of compliment filled classes.

Still, sitting through your Anthropology class–the very 12:45 lecture previously mentioned, had proven to be…not as you had expected. You had still received the “bro, you look so good”’s and “Oh my god, that’s great, I should have dressed up”’s from your friends and acquaintances in the class, but you also noticed that about every 7 minutes, Professor Levy would pause his lecture on the progression of agriculture through the anthropocene to look at you. Part of you felt like you were going crazy, because no one else seemed to notice, but what you could have written off the first time kept. fucking. happening.

At first you thought that your Professor had somehow figured out that you’d been switching tabs between your notes and the videos of your friend’s cat which she had sent you, but the glances kept happening long after you’d closed the kitten tab as discreetly and quickly as possible.

Despite your urge to uncomfortably wriggle in your seat, you were still able to pay some modicum of attention, occasionally jotting down fragmented notes of “adapted land to their needs” and “Europeans destroyed ecology and then were confused when other people didn’t cuz british ppl are stupid”. You even managed to get a head start on the homework. That is to say, you got a head start on finding out the link to the homework template was broken. Either way, though, keeping busy kept your mind from jumping to conclusions about the glances.

You breathed a sigh of relief when Professor Levy finally said, “Alright, that's all for today. We don’t have class until Wednesday, but don’t party too hard.”

The class broke into chatter, jokes about “Grandpa Levy” telling you all “not to party too hard” and idle conversation about various forms of debauchery going on that night tossed around.

You turned as Marissa, the girl who sat next to you poked you and asked, “Are you going to the library today?”

You hummed, distracted. “Maybe. Don’t wait up. And don’t study too hard.” You winked with a grin as she rolled her eyes at you playfully and left the classrooms dusty walls and creaky seats, before walking up to Professor Levy’s desk. You waited patiently for the go-getters and teachers' pets to ask their questions and take their leave before gently clearing your throat behind him.

Professor Levy spun, eyes wide when he saw you there. You had never noticed the dark circles beneath them, how they so perfectly seemed to frame his face in a way that you didn’t know was possible.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. The link for the homework is broken.” You trailed your finger along his desk, a fidgeting motion masked through the confidence of the archeologist you were imitating. It was coated in an endearing layer of dust that you had found was a common fixture of the anthropology wing, and it held Professor Levy’s school-issued laptop and an Oliver Sacks book–The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat.

Professor Levy’s brow furrowed, eye line slipping to where your finger met his table before snapping back to meet your own gaze. Apparently he believed you to be much less observant than you are, or maybe he simply can’t help himself, because his eyes roamed away from your face once more, this time to the top button of your linen shirt, the lapse of fabric where the valley of your breasts met.

Gaze snapping up again, Levy informed you, “There is no homework for Wednesday. The module likely transferred over from last semester, but I’ll make sure to fix that. Have a happy Halloween.”

You didn’t know how he did it. The man was so easily flustered, yet he spoke to you like nothing at all had transpired. It almost made you want to laugh, how this man was so clearly looking at your breasts just seconds before, and decided to just play it off as if you wouldn’t have noticed. All it took to get him blushing during lectures was teasing him for the music he played before class, but now here he was, calmly explaining that the homework assignment was canceled so you could get debauched, after so obviously staring at your breasts, and nothing?

“...okay,” you conceded, wiping the dust from your hand onto your pants before looping your thumbs in your belt loops. “Thanks.”

He resumed packing his things into his canvas bag, likely assuming that you would leave. You thought about doing just that, but– “Professor?”

Levy’s head tilted back towards you in surprise. You weren’t sure by his expression whether you’d exceeded his expectations or overwhelmed them. Either way, you continued the originally poorly planned message with, “Indiana Jones fan?”

Professor Levy’s eyes seemed to bug out from your discreet tease before he regained his own composure.

“I can’t say that the trilogy is the most accurate representation of Archeology as a study, but yeah, it’s a… pretty good film.”

You snickered, turning on a booted heel. “Happy Halloween, Professor Levy,” you called as you walked out of the lecture hall through the wooden door. There was something charming about how Professor Levy seemed to think that you hadn’t noticed the noticeably hard wood that was currently pushing against the confines of his pants.

***

You knocked on his door that night at 8 pm. Well, not his door, you weren’t some creepy stalker, but his office door. It’s not like you had been looking for him or anything, but you always cut through the anthro building to get back to your apartment when it was cold, and it was always less crowded if you went through the office area instead of the lecture hallways, and it wasn’t like you had meant to notice that his light was still on and didn’t show any signs of turning off.

So yeah, you reformed all of your Halloween plans on the way to the house party that you were actually supposed to be going to because your professor who clearly had the hots for you had to be pathetically sad to be grading papers at 8 pm on Halloween, even if it was a Monday.

When he opened the door he fit the exact image which had formulated in your mind; button-up opened a few buttons revealing a white undershirt (granted, in your head the undershirt was replaced with a glimpse of bare chest), hair messed up in a cute, disgruntled way, and papers covering his desk, not an inch of empty space.

“Trick or treat,” you playfully quipped, smirking at him from where you leaned in the doorway. After you had finished all of your classes for the day, you had opened your shirt a couple of extra buttons, exposing your black lacy bra underneath; This was something that Professor Levy clearly noticed, his eyes lingering on your chest (again) as he looked you up and down. He seemed less ashamed of it this time around. Maybe it was because he was tired, or the two of you weren’t in the middle of a lecture hall. Maybe he had finally noticed how you wanted him back.

“You don’t seem to care very much about professionalism in school environments,” Professor Levy noticed.

You shrugged. “Dress codes are for High Schools and Mormons. C’mon, stop moping, it’s Halloween–”

Before you had the chance to finish your offer, Levy cut you off with, “Who says I’m moping?”

You scoffed. “Either you’re sad or you’re boring. Anyways, as I was saying, I have blood,” you joked, pulling out a bottle of cheap wine from your satchel, “and candy, and by all means, you can stay here and be boring, or you can hang out with me so that I don’t have to be near drunk frat boys. By all means, your choice, Professor Levy, but I do hope you’ll take pity on me.”

He seemed to be weighing his options, staring at you as he decided. You smiled back at him, with only a hint of snark. “It’s a bad idea,” he said, but he seemed resigned; You knew that it wouldn’t take much more pushing to get him to cave.

“Perfect. Your place or mine? Mine is probably filled with drunk college students dressed like slutty vampires, but I’m flexible,” you joked.

Professor Levy sighed, brow furrowed. “Come on, I’m parked in Lot F.” He picked up his bag, tossing in the random knick knacks which he decided he needed, but leaving the papers. You tried to stay calm, but internally you were smiling, giggling, and punching the air. You had managed to get your hot professor to take you home on Halloween. How the fuck did you manage to get your hot professor to take you home on Halloween?

You followed him to his car, a grey prius, doing your best to keep up that suave facade that you had spent at least two years perfecting. It was a quiet walk. You weren’t sure if you should be filling the silence; It wasn’t even a particularly comfortable silence, both of you so stuck in your own thoughts. Once in the car, though, Levy turned the radio on to a soul station, which made you smile.

“Otis Redding? Not Spooky Scary Skeletons?” You teased, looking over the center console at your Professor.

“I don’t think it was me who wrote my Midterm paper on the influence of soul on the Modern Era.”

“Oh God, I think if I start thinking about school right now I’ll have a stress migraine.”

Levy chuckled. “It was the best paper I read.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah? is that why you looked so depressed when you opened the door, Professor Levy?”

Instead of answering, he pulled into the driveway of a beautiful culdesac suburban home that made you wonder if you really knew anything about him at all. He got out of the car, and for a moment you were worried that you had offended him, but he circled around the front of the car, opening the door for you.

He leaned in close–close enough for you to smell his cologne, the spice and leather mixing with his natural scent–and told you, “If you’re a guest in my house and I’m going to be drinking your five dollar wine, you should really call me Jonathan, Dr. Jones.”

You grinned, taking his offered hand as he led you through his door and into the house. You set your bag on the mahogany table and wandered into the kitchen.

“Wine glasses?” You asked.

“Lost all the wine glasses in the divorce,” Jonathan joked. You glanced at him, eyebrows scrunched.

“What cruel and unusual punishment,” you quipped, turning back to the cabinet above you. You never realized how little you knew about the man. He wasn’t the type to mention anything about his personal life during his lectures, and you’d never asked. You guessed that there was a lot that he didn’t know about you, too. “Luckily for you, I prefer my five dollar wine in mugs. Do you want…” You looked at the mugs you had grabbed. “Snoopy or Hello Kitty? Quite refined taste, Jonathan.”

“Definitely Hello Kitty.” Jonathan walked further into the room, leaning on the island next to where you poured the wine. “My daughter, she’s in charge of most of the mug selection around here.”

“She at her mom’s?” You asked, handing Jonathan the glass.

“You know, you’re not as subtle as you think,” Jonathan responded, tilting his glass towards you before taking a sip.

“I’m not trying to be subtle,” you remarked, sipping your own alcohol.

“What is it you’re playing at, then?” He seemed different in his own house; More confident. No longer quietly trudging about the day, but questioning your own crumbling authority.

“I’m not playing at anything, Professor Levy. Just playing.”

You paused when you felt his hand close around your wrist. It was big and warm, sending sparks of a thrilling heat down your back. “I thought I told you to call me Jonathan.”

“Just playing then, Jonathan,” you breathed. He’d been leaning closer and you hadn’t even noticed. Not until now, when your faces were mere inches apart.

“This is highly unprofessional.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself, and failing.

“Live a little, Levy.” When he finally kissed you (your endgame the entire night, which would have seemed ridiculous and unachievable just last week) it was hard, and just rough enough, hands running along your ribcage as he pinned you against the kitchen island with his hips. When you broke away for air, he didn’t stop, mouth trailing down to your neck to suck bruises and nip at the skin there while his hands worked on opening what few buttons had still been left done on your blouse.

You started fumbling with the buttons of Jonathan’s dark red button up, gasping as he suckled into your skin. You managed to get it off, tossing it took the floor, and groaned when you saw the little patch of hair, leading down below Jonathan’s waistline.

He dragged your trousers along your thighs and onto the floor, fingers hooking your panties along with, before lifting you by your waist onto the counter. The cool stone of Jonathan’s countertop sent shivers down your spine, but that was soon countered by a lustful heat when his thick fingers found their way between your folds. They were teasing, playing you like a meandering harmony as you buried your face into Jonathan’s shoulder, his soft curls brushing your cheek and his scent overpowering your senses. Your pussy clenched around his index finger when he inserted it in, and you were half tempted to beg him for more.

Instead, you lifted your head from Jonathan’s shoulder, looking at him with lidded eyes as his finger pumped inside you. He chose this moment to add a second, just so that he could see the look on your face as he did it, breath catching and eyes rolling back.

When you managed to regain composure, you asked, “We gonna fuck on this counter, or…”

“No,” Jonathan removed his fingers from inside you so he could grab you by the hips and lift you up, leveraging your body against his with your legs wrapped around his back, “We’re gonna fuck on the couch.”

You giggled a little, licking and biting at his exposed neck as he walked the two of you to his living room couch, careful not to lose balance or drop you. He laid you down beneath him, eyes appreciating your form as his hands gently unclipped your lace bra, dragging it off so he could feel your soft skin. You leaned up as he worked at your breasts, hands working at his belt, followed by his button, followed by zipper. You smiled when your hand finally met Jonathan’s dick and he gasped, burying his face into your shoulder.

Both of you worked in silence, entangled and connected by lips and hands and warmth. You were kissing, tongue in Jonathan’s mouth as he lined himself up with your entrance. You could feel warmth building inside you, as his head brushed the sensitive bundle of nerves inside you and his calloused fingers worked at your clit. There was the familiar feeling pulling at you, tugging at your core, of lust and release, but there was something else–something less familiar–there as well. Something tense but emotional. Unexpected and painful and beautiful and incohesive in every sense of the word. You didn’t have much time to dwell on it though, breath mixing with Jonathan’s with your bodies connected in every sense of the word.

You could feel that spring that’s coiled within you snap as Jonathan’s thrusts reach a messy and passionate peak. The noise Jonathan made as he met his own release was almost a growl, and you were half tempted to laugh as you came down from your high. You didn’t, though.

The air was tense with something you didn’t quite understand until you saw Jonathan’s face. His eyes were just slightly red when he pulled out of you, your own reflection clear on the glassy surface, betraying emotions that you knew all too well; loneliness, confusion, shame. He seemed awkward and unsure, but you pulled him down on the couch, cramped for space and practically laying on top of you.

You carded your hands through his hair in what you hoped was a soothing gesture. “Hey, It’s okay, Jonathan. It’s gonna be okay.” 

You didn’t know his problems—you weren’t even sure you wanted to know—but the two of you laid there, bodies connected, and it didn’t really matter. Everyone has problems. You have problems, Jonathan clearly has problems, and those problems definitely aren’t your problems to fix. But it was nice, laying on his sofa, and touching his soft curls, and knowing that for this moment in time, these few hours, neither of you need to feel so lonely. 

Yeah, it’ll be okay.

I would literally rather have 0 notes than 5,000 likes and no reblogs.

[kariachi]

Okay everybody, I feel the painful urge to math something, so we're going to see about coming up with some reasonable average clutch sizes and rates for Pern golds. Given, ya know, the McCaffreys didn't give us any real consistency there.

So, at least somewhat account for the inconsistencies we're going to be running off of a concept I've put forth before- that dragonkin have different 'morphs' seen during Intervals and Passes respectively. This allows for the way that dragon reproduction slows during Intervals. The difference between the morphs, for the purposes of this, is how long they take to mature, how often risers, well, Rise, and how many eggs are laid.- with the Interval morph taking longer and doing so less often than the Pass morph, as well as generally living longer as a result.

As our best information outside of Passes, we're going to assume that Nemorth is a reasonable example of an Interval morph, and therefor say that they reach sexual maturity in seven years, as opposed to Pass morph Ramoth who does so in two.

Meanwhile my preexisting estimate for Pass-moprh lifespans ended up being minimum around 50-60 years (given Leri doesn't seem to be that much older than middle-aged Moreta but is clearly older than would be expected thanks to being a rider, if we assume an age of around 70, 80 at a stretch (the norm in such a setting would likely be around 60) minus 20 years as the general age of gold candidates), while MasterHarper of Pern asserts that riders can and do live to 110 with their dragons still going strong. Presumably something about the bond musses with that shit for the human half... But it would mean that in Intervals dragons probably live closer to a century.

Now, there's some other information we need before we can really get mathing.

How many dragons does Pern actually have?

How many dragons need to reach adulthood the maintain those numbers?

How many eggs need to be laid to give us that number?

How many eggs would need to be laid per gold to give us that number?

How often?

We'll start with question one.

Now, using the Atlas of Pern as my source, utilizing both text and the assumption that the 'lesser room exaggeration' on the Weyr maps refers to the ratio of weyrs shown vs actually meant to be present-

Benden Weyr has space for about 500 general riderpairs and five goldpairs (stated outright)

We don't have a population for Southern, but from map information we can estimate about 250 general riderpairs, and know there are three goldpairs before the Oldtimers take it over

During at least Moreta's time Fort has space for four goldpairs and can estimate from map information a general riderpair population of about 450

High Reaches, in Moreta's time, appears to have space for four goldpairs, and a general rider estimate of about 150 (though this may be less reliable, as High Reaches is described as using more outdoor buildings than other Weyrs to supplement a lack of space)

Ista appears to have space for three goldpairs, and at least 82 general riderpairs, though this is merely based on visible weyrs and it is implied there are more- Ista is also confirmed as the smallest Northern Weyr

And to make sure we're covering our bases, let's see and compare to what information we can get from the Dragonlover's Guide-

Fort Weyr is built to hold about 450 general riderpairs

Benden holds over 350 general riderpairs

It should also be noted that the 2nd Pass books apparently describe Telgar as having a capacity of 600 dragons, but I am not digging out the one I have to check because I already did that for Masterharper and I'd like to finish this post at some point.

So our reliable numbers (Benden, Fort, Southern) imply a correlation between gold number and dragon population in most cases (9th Pass Benden is a bit of an outlier because Ramoth throws eggs like confetti but refuses to let more than two other golds stick around). Five compared to 500, three compared to 250, four compared to 450. We can use that to extrapolate that Telgar likely has around six goldpairs, but also to estimate full general riderpair populations for High Reaches and Ista (which it seems would likely be 350-450 and 250-350 respectively, which would track with Ista's being the smallest Northern Weyr).

We can also probably guess that Igen, who seems to be one of the middle Weyrs (it certainly isn't out there getting love) probably has space for four goldpairs, same as Fort and High Reaches. Not enough to be as impressive as Benden and Telgar, but ahead of the small Weyrs.

So, averaging out from there, we're talking about an average general riderpair population of about 2900 during a Pass. Because gods know we don't get information about the depths of Intervals aside from 'numbers decline'.

Given the declining, and Benden starting from five and only getting really worked up when they were down to one, I'm going to run with the assumption that the numbers halve, leaning towards the low end, in the depths of an Interval. So someplace like Telgar may not expect to drop below three pairs, but Ista may go down to one.

Taking this into account, we're considering a max Interval number of about 1450.

Yeah, there's a reason people worry about the dragon population on Pern, that shit can't be healthy, no matter how many strands your dna has.

But! We have our baseline! Going off the 9th Pass we can assume a population of about 2900 dragons during a Pass, supported by 29 goldpairs, and 1450 dragons during an Interval, supported by about 14 goldpairs.

So now we move on to question two- how many adult dragons do we need to get each year to maintain those numbers?

Now for this we need death rates, to know approximately how many riderpairs are dying per year.

Now getting adult death rates (and that's what we're looking at right now, I'll get to the children in a minute) in period that can be considered to some degree level with our setting can be a fucking bitch. Especially ones that take into account that as dragons and riders the best healthcare available is going to normally be available (the mess of the 8th Interval not withstanding). So, we're using the average death rate of a priory in Canterbury in the 1400s because that's the best I could get.

So for a general 'we're not getting eaten by space-fungus' death rate we're gonna estimate about 2.5% of adult dragons lost each year. This doesn't take into account death by Fall, for which we're going to grab the combat destruction rate of USAF aircraft during WW2, given we're dealing with air to air combat and a lot of lost medical knowledge, giving us a Fall death rate of about 14%. Meaning we have an Interval death rate of about 2.5% and a Pass death rate of about 16.5%.

For actual numbers, that means that each year the golds would have to all together produce ~37 adult dragons during an Interval and ~479 adult dragons during a Pass.

Notice how I keep saying 'adult'?

On to question three.

Pern is a medieval brand setting, and while it doesn't bring attention to it any setting further back than 'modern' is going to run into one big thing that's a key fact in most people's lives- child mortality. Kids just died back then, a lot. Their immune systems aren't fully developed so they were more vulnerable to illness, they don't have a lot of experience so they're more likely to do something stupid, they're small and weak and so more likely to be maimed by a wherry or something. There's a lot of reasons kids died all the time back then, but the point is they did, and in a lot of places still do. Then you have to take into account a lot of these dragons are Impressing to fuckers who are still themselves firmly in the 'old enough to do the stupid thing and young enough to not think better of it' category, and that their growth includes 'learning to Between'. If anything me saying '40% child mortality rate' is probably a little low. But I'm trying to be a little nice and assume fuckers are watching these little menaces like hawks.

So, we're going with the assumption that only 60% of hatchlings even make it to adulthood. So the number of dragons that has to hatch to reach the adult number goal has to account for that. Each year the golds, all together, would have to produce ~62 hatchlings during an Interval, and ~799 hatchlings during a Pass.

But that's not all! Because we also have to account for hatch rate! Because not all the eggs are going to hatch! Now for this one I'm going to be nice and assume a good hatch rate, we're gonna go with numbers taken from captive crocodiles and say that we can expect about 95% of eggs to hatch. It's wildly more common for them to get babies than not. (Listen, I'm a sap, let me be)

So, taking into account that we can expect 5% of eggs to not even hatch, our numbers turn to ~68 eggs per year in an Interval, and ~841 eggs per year during a Pass.

We estimated 14 goldpairs during an Interval, so that would be a yearly requirement of ~5 eggs a year each. We estimate 29 goldpairs during a Pass, for a yearly requirement of ~29 eggs a year each.

Nemorth seems to Rise about every eight years, give or take a year, which should give us about 40 eggs per clutch, but her largest confirmed clutch is only 24, most closer to 20, so from that we can assume that it's more likely an Interval gold is normally Rising every four years, give or take.

Meanwhile Ramoth's numbers include such hits as '40' and Prideth gets over 30, which only the latter fits into our little segment. Prideth's are closer (and Ramoth has Special Protagonist Syndrome), and make me think yearly clutching might be a thing for this shit. Would help explain the massive lifespan discrepancy we're looking at here, as well as how a nearly 100 year old dragon could be showing minimal signs of ages during an Interval but a lady from a Pass is old and achy when she's unlikely to be over 60- laying large clutches yearly ruins the dragons like any Holder woman made to pop out kids until they break down. It makes the Lord Holder's concern about Orlith only laying 25 eggs in Moreta more eye-roll worthy, but if she tended towards large clutches before hand (not unlikely given Anne's propensity towards them) it would make sense the 'sudden' change would throw him off.

Or, if you wanted to keep the large numbers or just give the golds some breathing room, you could increase the time between clutches up to two years, which would line up well with the halved lifespan, but then you would have to double the egg count to up to 60 eggs per clutch on average to maintain the numbers, which is beyond even Anne's shit. I'd personally suggest going no more than 1.5 years, which gives us 43, closer to Ramoth's numbers.

Or maybe you decide you want to throw out everything but my Interval and Pass requirement numbers. Or even everything but my Pass and percentage numbers. Or you want to have the clutching rate stay the same but change the number severely during an Interval to match (in which case we're talking clutches of 5-10 eggs yearly or biyearly). Or whatever! It's up to you what if anything you want to take from this, how you play with the numbers, and so on. All I can do is hope that my mess has given you something, anything, and that you enjoyed.

Long may you fly.

[inkblackorchid]

When you started To Bloom Or To Wilt, did you know that you wanted to turn it into a series? Also how much do you plan things out? Like did you know how many fics there would be in the series or how many chapters they’ll get?

Took me a little to think about how to answer here because it feels like I wrote To Bloom or To Wilt an eternity ago at this point.

So, storytime about To Bloom: I wrote that fic after I rewatched 5Ds last year, and more specifically, after the urge to write some, any fic had been tormenting me for a while already. And the thing is, I was just writing it for myself at that point because I'd always been too chicken to upload any of my writing before To Bloom. But that was the first time I had a fic on my hands where I went. Hey. Maybe other people would like this, too. And it turns out they did!

As for the series thing—after I wrote To Bloom, the urge to write more was fairly strong, but at first, I switched to Carly and wrote Architect because that was another itch burning under my fingernails. But by that point I already had this faint idea along the lines of "huh, Aki didn't get a whole lot to do after the dark signers arc". And I was following several yugioh blogs who were posting stuff along those lines at that point, too, so that idea kept getting bigger and bigger in my head until I went "okay if no one's going to give this girl something to do post DS, I guess I'll have to!". And I believe that by the time Architect finished, I already had all of Chase the Sunlight and most of You Have a Mirror, but do You see Yourself written out, which made it very easy to publish more. So yeah, the idea to turn Aki's stories into a series popped up fairly quickly after I finished To Bloom.

Where planning is concerned I'm fairly meticulous, tbh. Over the years of writing other stuff in private before, I've found that writing solid outlines really helps me keep the plot on track, so I was working with outlines from day one. To Bloom probably had the loosest one, as I didn't know when I first wrote it how many chapters I'd need, but from Architect on, I always had outlines that helped me keep track of exactly how many chapters I'd need and what was supposed to happen in those chapters. The outlines aren't completely rigid—sometimes I add stuff or cut stuff out, or shuffle certain things around. But in general, they help me keep the story on track. I also tend to keep a lot of other organisational notes for my fics. For example, the currently ongoing fic The tainted Soil of the Fields of Arcadia has as many extra notes as it has chapters. Those are where I keep things like duel outlines, editing notes, and sometimes, card overviews or worldbuilding or character details.

As for whether I knew how many fics I wanted the series to have—I thought I did. But then I got more ideas, and more ideas... For reference, if I'd written the Aki arc out with only the ideas I had back when I was writing To Bloom, the arc would already be done because it would have spanned four fics at most. Now look where we are. Six fics for Aki and I know I'll need at least three more before I can even consider writing out any of the twenty-something 5Ds fic ideas that have piled up in between, haha.

[ledenews]

‘Tis the Season to Be Very Thankful

I’ve referred to it as the “top of the year.” It’s the end of one year, and the beginning of the next.  It’s a time for friends, family and reflection. The holiday season kicks off with over-eating turkey and ends with a brand-spanking new year in which to make a difference. The next four weeks are going to be a great time, and while not directly productive, it will pay huge dividends in the upcoming year … and on that, you can depend. It’s been a year when I’ve stopped referring to our offspring as children. They are truly adults, with their own lives, and their own families. I’m thankful that in spite of their parents’ little foibles and eccentricities, they turned out just fine … happy, productive members of society. They have learned to be pretty good family, too! Just as I’ve learned to be a better parent. I’ve had the blessing to be the alpha male for the first dozen years in my 12-year-old granddaughter’s life. That brightly burning torch has been passed to strong, capable and caring hands, and I’m supremely confident and thankful for his abilities. I’m so thankful for my friends and acquaintances, who are such an important part of the tapestry of my life. I’ve learned awesome things from them, some of which I’ll use, and some of which is interesting “knowledge for the sake of knowledge”. Eric challenged me to know the difference between cast and forged (it’s not trivial). His method of doing so was a page out of one of his bosses’ book, and that bit of knowledge will stick with me forever. Rick educated me on tribology, and it drove home a point that more is not always better, but sometimes it needs to be “just right”. I was invited by a retired NASCAR crew chief to “get on down here and help me build some engines”, probably the highest compliment he will give. At one friend’s urging, I went to a pen convention (mostly fountain pens), and it was simply amazing and eye-opening. So many bits of knowledge and observations, lovingly given and gratefully received. I’m grateful for every day in which I learn something and every moment in which I react as a thinking, caring being. Just a little bit better, every day. I’ll also remain a change agent - a “Pro Troublemaker” who embraces change and leads from wherever I happen to be, in an effort to add value. While I’m not always successful, there is nothing better than getting home at night with that smile that says you made someone think, shared what you learned from life, and possibly, just possibly, made the outcome a little bit better. I’m thankful for the friend who invited me to participate in a committee where I’m the outlier. The lone numbers person in a sea of those who “feel”. Selfishly, I learned so much about their point of view, and they now understand what “the metric of success” is, especially when they are spending money taken from taxpayers. It might appear to be a win-win situation, but trust me, I’ve learned much more about their point of view than they have of mine. I’m grateful for all of them. Good people endeavoring to make a difference. There is nothing better. I’m reminded that I’m no longer in “the target demographic,” and that the current generation in charge is running the show. They have different priorities from my generation, and I know their solutions are going to be different. While different is not always better, better is always different. They “got this,” and I say that with heartfelt enthusiasm and gratitude. They are going to rock it and do great. I’m grateful for this holiday season, and all that it offers. I hope our paths cross, and that we can both be grateful for the exchange. Read the full article

[thinking-in-broken-scenes]

I was tagged by @emiliosandozsequence

What was your first ever story idea? What happened to it?

I would say probably some kind of adventure story probably with witches. It's likely written in some sort of journal somewhere but i don't remember exactly.

The oldest story I have a good chunk of is a slice-of-life drama about a kid with mental health struggles who also has visions into other people's lives. It's written entirely in poems, it's in my google drive. I still think it's an idea I might rework.

What’s your writing routine?

Music, I have specific writing playlists for some of my stories and trying to prop up pillows so I'm not hunched over.

Are you a plotter, a pantser, or something in between?

I usually have outlines of a broad timeline of the stories. And I do keep records of dates/ages/magic systems to refer to. So definitely do a lot of plotting. But often if I get into a story I will veer off from what I planned lol. Or I realise what I originally planned doesn't make a lot of sense with how my character is anymore.

I do write a lot of poetry from just what I'm feeling without thinking.

Do you try to tell moral stories throughout your work, or any other life lessons? What are they?

I won't go into a story trying to teach a life lesson or base it around proving a point. I mean my opinions come through in my stories. So there is implicit morals in the story. My POV characters do tend to have strong views, so you will pick up on certain things, but it's not meant to convince people I just like opinionated characters. But some of my characters have buck-wild opinions.

What do you prefer, character development or worldbuilding? Why?

Character development definitely. My worldbuilding is generally in service of the characters. I like Worldbuiling! And I try to have rich worlds with some degree of constancy so no one is thrown by shit making no sense. And I do enjoy creating things, like religions, but characters and relationships are what I'm best at and most invested in.

Do you have any tips for budding writers?

Nope! I don't feel like I have enough experience.

Who inspires you to write the most?

Stephen Chbosky, Beverly Cleary, Suzanne Collins,  E.L. Doctorow, Gillian Flynn, Ellen Hopkins, Tamsyn Muir, Matthew Stover, Ned Vizzini, Hanya Yanagihara, and Markus Zusaks are my literary inspirations. They are some of the writers I admire the most in how they convey complicated emotions.

Angie Sage is another writer who has always been a favourite. For her, it is the emotions as well but the sheer ability of her to construct an immersive world with consistent magic and world-building really expanded my imagination as a kid.

I would say Inn Between, The Magnus Archives, The Penumbra Podcast (Juno Steel Story), Welcome to Night Vale and Where The Stars Fallalso all inspire me! These podcasts are captivating and all have very interesting story mechanics! The surrealism of Welcome to Night Vale is also something I really like.

Doctor Who is something that inspires me as the amount of time I've spent dissecting that show I think has really made me think of the bones of my stories. ATLA & She Ra as well.

Web Weaves! Reading all the ways people are struck even by just fragments.

Mythology! Folk Tales! History!

And also like the amount of bullshit I'm going through in life. I need to get my pain and loneliness out somewhere. The way stories have always been my lifeline through all of my life! I need to create, the urge to tell stories is in my soul. And the way it saved me I hope others will feel seen by my writing as well.

[bokubear]

𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 & 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐊𝐘𝐔𝐔!!

featuring ; (husband !) akaashi keiji + iwaizumi hajime + kageyama tobio + atsumu miya + bokuto koutarou

warnings ; mentions of alcohol, iwa’s muscles ;;

notes ; i couldn’t help but switch up my headcanon layout, i hope you guys don’t mind

+AKAASHI placed the glass of wine to his lips, eyes trained on you who stared with confusion. his location : lake como, italy, and by far one of the most beautiful places you’ve ever seen. it was almost cliche, how you were sitting here drinking expensive wines on the balcony of your hotel ( which might i add was just as breathtaking as the city ) with quite a view of the massive expanse of crystalline water glittering pleasantly in the sunshine. “this is something keiji, how could you even afford it ?” you gasped, tilting your head back with laughter at his sly smirk. so silly. “don’t doubt my ways love, i make more than enough y’know.” followed with a pout, it was nice seeing this side of him. that childish, prudish side. “are you happy with how your ‘ways’ turned out ?” this time you smirked. a long pause followed, noticing how thoughtfully the editor gazed at you. “yeah.” he followed with a sweet smile. “definitely.” oh, his ways alright.

+IWAIZUMI was having the time of his life, from surfing to tackling you into the water ( don’t worry, he was gentle ), the islands of maui could not appear more inviting. it was sometime midday, although you’d both easily have lost track of time, and the sky was blazing with golden rays of light. and honey, hajime was glowing. his skin tanned effortlessly from the many hours outside, and not to mention with the tattoo you’d urged him to get around his tricep. hot wasn’t even the word that could describe it. in the night you’d fall asleep in his big arms, chirping of birds and buzzing of insects falling to deaf ears. this beautifully muscular ( and shirtless :> ) man serving as an excellent teddy bear. and it seemed at just how cuddly and affectionate he was, he didn’t mind a bit. he softly stroking a piece of stray hair behind your ear while he leaned on his elbow. “go to sleep baby, and don’t worry, your strong and capable husband will protect you.” he flexed his arm, earning a giggle from you. “weirdo.” — “your weirdo.”

+KAGEYAMA first through the of greece. when confronting you with the location of your honeymoon, upon your agreement he came to realize just how basic greece would be on a chart of most to least common honeymoon spots but he didn’t mind. especially when you reached out to him, hands opening and closing to beckon him closer as your slipped into the hot tub of the luxurious santorini resort he’d booked. known for the beautiful scenery and top-notch quality. only the best. he vowed. “c’mere tobio, the water feels amazing.” he didn’t need to be told twice to sink into your warmth, vulnerable disposition hidden in the private sector he’d requested ( only the best ). the heavenly feeling of laying his head on your chest, nearly snoring after only five minutes. “comfy ?” you grinned widely, he was like a puppy. “yes.” he mumbled, planting soft kisses on your cheek with half-lidded eyes, puppy.

+ATSUMU gripped your hand as you walked through the streets of mallorca, spain. at this point he was probably family to most of the locals who now referred to him as “son.” meanwhile, you bathed happily on the cushioned sides of the boat he’d rented, surveying the setter as he learned how to sail. despite his big-headedness, you remained shocked at how patient the instructor was, having not thrown the man off the ship just yet. “hey babe, look at me.” you looked his way, not disappointed at the sight. the unbuttoned white flannel ( cut in a deep v ) exposed his chest just enough, along with the unkempt blonde hair and unnecessary sunglasses. he was fit for this. “wow tsum, you look-“stunning ? i know.” he dramatically sighed, you simply frowned. “not the word i was thinking of but okay.” — “hey that’s not very nice.” his sunglasses tumbling off his face onto the floor clumsy, that’s the word for it.

+BOKUTO leaned back in the carriage with a satisfied sigh, watching the stars up above with rounded eyes of curiosity. “do you know the constellations kou ?” the heartfelt moment broken with a “not a clue.” you rolled in the grass, chest erupting in laughter. “seriously ? this would’ve been so romantic !!” you huffed, deciding to lay still. “mm nah. i think it’s still romantic just watching the stars in australia.” he shrugged aimlessly, perching up to then lean over your lips. his kisses always felt magical, but this time even more so. “see ? pretty romantic huh.” he wiggled his brows humorously, getting the chance to kiss him again. and again and again till it seemed like there was no one in the universe except you and him. completely enraptured in all of it. “i will admit.” you breathed after an intense kiss from the needy ace. “that was romantic.” he rocked his fists to the air, whooping triumphantly. yeah, i guess bokuto koutarou was romantic after all.

—maak

plagiarism, repost, and editing is prohibited

[t-o-m-hollands]

Summery: You and Tom bet on who will touch the other first after he comes home from filming. Both refusing to give in you resort to some teasing measures to get the other one to break.

Pairing; Tom + female reader.

Themes: Light-hearted, lots of teasing. Established relationship. Fluff. Cocky Tom. Cocky reader too, let’s face it. They are both stubborn idiots. Lots of horniness all around. To be honest, very little plot and mostly smut. Bit of fluff as well though. 

Warnings: Unprotected sex in established relationship. Masturbation. This work is strictly +18.

A/N: Not beta-read, I’m wine drunk and wrote this in like 2,5 hours so it is what it is. 

It was such a stupid fucking bet and he wish he never agreed to it. It is all your fault, he decides, as he watches you bend over into downward dog, your breathing rhythmic and even as you stretch your beautiful body. He tries to look away from your ass, honestly he does, but you’re wearing those light grey yoga pants that practically has him drooling and the fabric is hugging your body so perfectly it would be a crime to look away. 

Plus, he’s pretty sure that’s the whole point of you doing this, practicing yoga in the living room right in front of him as he’s supposed to be working. The whole point is to have him staring, so he doesn’t feel too bad about it. 

It had all started the week before he was set to return from filming. He had teased you (and sure, in retrospect that was a terrible idea and he should have known better) had said that you would jump him the first chance you got, that he probably wouldn’t even get through the door before you had him out of his jeans. You had retaliated with an accusation that he would be the one all over you and obviously he had to deny that.

It had spiraled, neither one of you willing to give in and admit defeat and now here you are; a full day after his return and he hasn’t as much as hugged you. 

Because whoever touches the other first loses the bet. 

And now here you are, in front of him; wearing skin tight yoga pants and bending over. 

A part of him, the midsection of his body to be precise, wants to just give in; to hand you the victory - fuck his pride. But the part of him, the rational part he likes to think, that has him bashing up golf clubs every time his dad beats him in a golf round; refuses to give in.

So what if he hasn’t seen you, hasn’t felt your body in over three months? Or that he now has your magnificent ass right in his face as he’s trying to concentrate on his dull emails. So what? He’s not faced by that, he’s a man of the world after all. 

You lean forwards again until you’re on the ground, turn to your back and start to slowly but steadily push your hips up and down, in what Tom can only assume, is referred to as the ghost fucking position. 

“Aren’t you supposed to answer emails?” You ask and he doesn’t even need to look at your face to know that you have a smug smile on your face.

“I am” he mutters, looking away from your body on the floor and back to his phone screen. 

You laugh, and he pretends not to hear it, while you pretend that the visible hard-on he’s sporting doesn't make you want to climb into his lap and give in to both of your temptations. 

The bet was stupid and totally his idea.

Tom comes out of the shower, drops of water still pouring from his wet hair onto his sculpted chest. The only thing he’s wearing is the white towel wrapped around his waist and the silver Rolex on his wrist. Seeing you standing in the kitchen and slicing tomatoes he sends you his widest smile. 

And you thought you were playing unfair with the yoga. 

He sits down by the bartop, all bare chested and golden. “Anything I can help with?” he asks as you place the tomatoes in the salad bowl. “A change of music perhaps?”

You throw a left over piece of tomato at him and it hits him square in the chest. He just smiles wider, completely unfaced. “Leave my dinner playlist alone, yeah?” You tell him, resisting the urge to give him the finger. 

“So tense” he snickers and leans his head to the side, “I know what could help you relax.”

“Throwing more tomatoes at you? Because we need them in the salad, Thomas.”

He stands up and moves around the kitchen island until he’s behind you, careful as not to touch, framing you against the bench with his strong arms on either side of your body. You can smell him, fresh out of the shower, feel the warm radiate from his body; it is as he’s already holding you. He’s so close, it’s like every cell in your body is reaching out for him. 

And it’s been so long. 

Three months of twisting and turning alone in bed, of only your own hands as company and him on the phone screen as he encourages you; tells you how goddamn gorgeous you look fucking yourself for him. Three months of only seeing him on the phone; not being able to touch him and feel him for yourself, to taste his skin. To just see him spill all over his own hand instead of being there, catching it all with your tongue. 

But it will have to wait a little while longer, because although you might love him, and the way he makes you feel, there’s no way you’re giving in just yet. 

Slowly turning around, carefully as not to touch him, you reach for the bottle. “You can open this, since you wanted to help” you say and hand him the wine, “that would help me relax.”

He smiles, unbothered by his failed attempt at luring you to defeat, and steps back. You stir the pasta sauce, trying not to look at his bare chest as he’s leaning over the kitchen counter, looking for something. Finally he finds the corkscrew and sits back again at the bar table. He gets to work with opening the bottle, his strong veined hand wrapped around the throat of the bottle, as the other inserts the screw. His brow is furrowed in concentration and he’s biting his lip. Around his wrist the Rolex watch reflects in the light. Uncorking the bottle he pours blood red liquid into two wine glasses and hands you one before taking a sip from his own, brown eyes looking at you from over the rim of his glass. 

“Put a fucking shirt on, Thomas” you mutter, going back to chopping vegetables.

The song and dance of torturing each other continues for the following two days. What goes on between you can only be described as a red-hot war. 

“Oh for fuck sake!” Tom’s voice booms over the living room. 

“Too direct?” You ask, eyebrow raised.

“No, no not at all” he answers, voice dripping with sarcasm, “no please, keep deep-throating the banana, it’s incredibly subtle.”

Slowly he wakes, blinking into the dark night. The alarm clock on his bedside table tells him that it’s just after 2 am and for a few long seconds he stares at it.

A rustling of sheets beside him in bed and it hits him. He’s home, home in his own bed with you laying next to him, as it should always be. Except that things aren’t the way it should be. 

Because of that stupid goddamn bet. 

The sheets rustle again and he wonders if you are awake as well. But then he hears it; a soft moan. 

Turning over in bed at lighting speed he stares down at you. “Are you fucking touching yourself?” He asks, heatedly. 

Your answer is another soft moan as you look up at him, pupils blown wide and lips parted. Tearing of the duvet he looks down at your naked body, at you hand, covered in slick, moving over your clit.

Fuck. 

He moves over, leans over you; his legs on either side of yours and his arm on each side of your face, carefully making sure that he isn’t touching you. A slight catch of breath is all the sign you give of having been surprised, your hand keeping it’s gentle pace. 

“What are you thinking about?” He asks, voice low in the quiet room. 

“You” is your breathless reply, “you touching me.”

“Think this is how I would touch you?” He asks, snickering. He’s holding his body over you, looking into your lust-filled eyes. “I’d go much slower at first, tease you. Slowly move around your clit until your hips are bucking up and you're begging me for more”.

He moves his head, so that his lips are almost touching yours. Almost. 

“You’re so good at begging after all” he murmurs against your lips, moving his boxer clad hips so that they almost touch you and you groan, your face telling of vexation and volatile bliss. But you do as he says, follow his instruction with the movement of your hand. 

“Good girl” he whispers softly against your lips. 

“Then I’d slide one fingers inside that wet cunt, still slow; still teasing.” 

You whine, but you do as he says. Slowly you move one finger in and out of yourself, as the other hand is still circling your clit. “Need more” you moan but he just smiles.

“Such a greedy little thing, aren’t you?” He teases with a devilish grin, tilting his head to the side, looking down at you with sparkling eyes. “But your hands are smaller than mine, so maybe you should add another finger.” 

You insert your middle finger as well; and moan. “Faster” you beg, but he shakes his head and so a string of curses fall out your mouth and all he can do is smile at it. 

“That filthy fucking mouth of yours” me mutters. 

“Well if you shove your dick into it instead then this stupid fucking bet will be over and we’ll both get off.”

“You know, I’ve really missed your fantastic sense of humor while I’ve been away” he answers dryly, but with a smile. 

“Tom” you whine. “I need more.”

He wants to kiss you so badly, to press his lips against yours and taste you; to remove his boxers and sink into you in one swift movement until your hoarse and wanton whines turn into satisfied moans, soft and sweet like honey. 

“Go on then, darling” he says, voice huskier than usual in the dark night. “Speed up for me.”

You do, your body hungry for satisfaction, hunting your orgasm with determent, sharp movements. 

“Fuck,” he swears, “fuck you’re soaked.” He looks down at your wet slit, your rapidly moving fingers, your hips bucking up to meet your hand. Looking back into your wild eyes he groans, his mouth still dangerously close to yours.

“The whole room smells of you” he moans, and it’s true. The scent of your arousal mixes with the scent of your perfumed skin and this is the closest he’s been so far to falter; to give in to temptation.

Your head is thrown back against the pillows, throat exposed, soft moans escaping freely. He wants to touch you everywhere, feel the softness of your skin with his rough hands, his wet mouth, his teeth. He’s breathing hard and he hasn’t even been touched, but he feels the want of touching you in his bones.

He wants to wrap his lips around your hardened nipples. To suck, bite, lick and kiss them until you fall over the edge. 

“So fucking beautiful” he breathes out. Even if he had wanted to he wouldn't have been able to look away from you. “But it’s my hand your fucking, remember? Think I’d wouldn’t fuck you harder than that?”

And god, he wish it was his hand you were fucking, wish he could feel you come; hot and wet and pulsing around his fingers. Instead he is left to watch. Watch as the movements of your hand speeds up until fucking yourself with a carnal kind of need, until you fall apart at the seams; luscious bliss spreading over your features, and your tense body relaxes until you soften against the mattress;  loose limbed and starry eyed. 

And he is left to take care of the his erection all on his own.

A thin layer of sweat is covering his chest and his muscles are taut as he forces his arms to carry his weight into another push-up. 

“Thirty-six” he groans out, his voice strained and deep from the physical effort, curls of brown hair falling over his face as he lowers himself to the ground again. “Thirty-seven.”

You couldn’t look away even if you tried, your eyes fixed on the muscles of his back, and the way they move as he moves. 

You feel agitated and frantic and in that moment you want nothing more than to lay down beneath him; look up at him as move above you with swift, powerful moments. It’s beyond reason, the carnal tug inside you as you watch him and it is absolutely maddening that he hasn’t given in yet to his desire; because you know he desires you, have seen it in his dark eyes, always following you around the room, over the last few days. 

But you are not going to be the first one to give in. 

“Forty-two” he moans out, and the sound of his heavy breathing and deep groans vibrate somewhere far inside you.

You’re not. 

You just need a change of tactic, that’s all.

The pub is packed tonight, but the more secluded pool area section is scarce of people. Tom sips on his beer, scrolling through instagram; waiting for you, as the speakers blast out ‘Galway Girl’ for what feels like the hundredth time since he came in. He’s been visiting a friend while you’ve been at work, having decided this morning to meet up at the pub after for a meal and a game of pool. 

A text pops up on the screen, beside your picture. It simply says ‘Look up’. 

He does. And fuck. 

Oh, fuck no. 

Oh, for all that is holy, surely you wouldn’t be that cruel to him.

Not the white shorts.

Not the white shorts you had worn last summer, the ones you know very well turns him on like nothing else. The ones you had worn that time when you had driven down to the beach on bonfire night; the time when you pulled him aside from the rest of the company and he had ended up fucking you against the birch wood tree just some meters away from all your friends, your shorts around your ankles and your nails digging into his back as you tried to bite back you moans.

Surely you wouldn’t be this cruel to him, because he’s pretty sure he’s going to die. He hasn’t had sex in over three months and you show up looking like this  and he’s pretty sure he’s going to die. 

He’s just not sure about whether this is going to be heaven

or hell. 

He watches you as you walk through the pub with long confident strides, the goddamn heels you're wearing extending your legs, and the fabric of the white tank top stretching over your chest. Your lips are painted blood red, as if you are ready for battle.

He’s not the only one in the pub staring at you but you keep your eyes fixed on him, burning into his eyes, as you move across the floor. 

“Honey” you greet him. “Got one of those for me as well?” You nod to the beer in his hand, frozen mid movement to his mouth. 

“Why?” He asks, trying to regain the upper hand. “Feeling thirsty?”

You laugh dryly, looking down at his crotch, where he’s painfully aware a bulge is showing. Instead of commenting on it he hands you the other beer bottle he ordered and watches as you wrap your red lips around the opening, swallowing down. He feels warm all over in the stuffy pub and he pulls at the collar of his t-shirt. 

He reaches for the cue sticks and hands you one. “Alright, darling” he sighs, knowing very well what kind of teasing hell you are about to put him through tonight, “let’s play.”

The playlist has gone from Ed Sheeran songs to Mumford & Sons and the pub is still packed with people, though the pool area remains empty apart from you and Tom. It's warm in there and Tom takes big gulps from his third beer of the night. He can feel sweat forming on his back, his brow, his chest. 

You’re not helping the situation. Although he’s pretty certain that helping is opposite of what you’re trying to do. 

“You’re so fucking annoying” he whines, as he watches you hit the white ball perfectly, resulting in two of your striped balls ending up in the pockets. He’s leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest and mouth in a thin line.

He fucking hates losing. 

“You know what you should do?” You ask, lining up against the table, arched back as you bend over with your cue stick; giving him a full view of your fucking fantastic thighs, “try to fuck it out of me.” You hit another perfect shot and a third ball goes in. You look over your shoulder at him, still bent over the table, and wink.

Standing up straight you turn to him. Swaying your hips to the music you lift the beer bottle to your red lips and you swallow a mouthful. Placing the bottle next to you on the side of the pool table you walk over to him, standing so close you’re almost touching. 

Almost

In fact, you might as well be, for he can smell your perfume, mixing with the scent of your shampoo. Can feel the heat radiate of your warm body. It’s been so long since he’s held you and his entire body is painfully aware of it. 

With your lips just centimeters from his you whisper; voice husky and low, “I know how bad you want me, honey.” You move your face so that you’re almost kissing the stubble on his cheek, mouth nearly pressed against it. 

“You want my hands” you whisper again, looking up at him, your hand hovering right over his erection, carefully as not to touch it, and he nearly bucks out to meet your hand. He’s glad that the area is more secluded, part of the wall hiding the pair of you from view. It feels like there’s just the two of you in the entire world; might as well be for all he cares right now. A blush colours his cheeks as he stares back at you.

 “You want my mouth” you breathe against him, your lips curled into an evil smile. “You want my tongue” and you lick your lips before biting it, eyes sparkling with mischief. 

“You wish I was on my hands and knees right now, so you could fuck my mouth.” you finish. 

His skin feels tight and overheated, but he keeps his tone casual as he replies, “actually I wish you were bent over the table so spank that arse of yours, but sure, I wouldn’t say no to a blowie.”

“What’s stopping you? You think you can hold on forever? You know I’m not going to give in, Tom. You know me. Can you imagine going to sleep tonight? Untouched? Again?” 

There’s no use he thinks as he plunges in for a kiss, pulling you tight against him; eager to touch as much as you as possible with impatient hands. 

He tried to beat the devil at her own game and he lost.

“Think you lost, honey” you say between kisses as he’s pressing you up against the front door. 

“Don’t give a flying fuck love, just keep touching me and I’ll die a happy man.” His voice is breathless and hoarse and his hands are all over you; as if he can’t get enough. Your hand is in his soft hair, holding on, as the other is cupping the bulge in his trousers, stroking him through the fabric as he whimpers in your ear. 

“We should probably get inside,” you whisper. “Unless you want your neighbors to witness me give you a hand job on the front steps.” 

He groans, but steps away from you. His hair is ruffled and his pupils are blown wide, spit from your previous kissing covering his lower lip. You imagine you look just as disheveled. 

“Think you need to learn a lesson in delayed gratification” you tease, not being able to stop yourself. 

His eyes go even darker and he takes a step forward again, cups your chin and looks you straight in the eye in a way that has bolts of excitement shoot up your spine. “Before the night is over” he says in a slow, gruff voice, “I will teach you all there is to know about delayed gratification.”

He digs in his pockets, pulls out his keys and unlocks the front door, guiding you in with a hand on your lower back. 

He feels as if someone has lit a match under his skin. His whole body is screaming with vehement urgency for yours. His hands can’t get enough of you; his lips never want to leave your soft lips again. Your soft little noises are filling his head and he hardly even registers your hands unzipping his jeans; until you’re pulling them, alongside his boxers, off of him in a sharp tugging notion. 

“Filthy girl, I fucking love you” he moans out between kisses as you wrap your soft hand around his hard cock. 

He pulls at your tank top and for a moment your skin separates entirely from his as you step away, so that he can remove the fabric from you. Yanking at the goddamn jeans shorts he pulls them down around your ankles and you step out of them.  Your underwear soon follows suit along with his t-shirt until you both are free of any inconvenient clothing. 

He needs your warm and soft skin pressed against his, needs your soft little moans in his ear as he fucks into you, needs the taste of your sweet skin on his tongue. 

He lifts you up on the bed and soon follows suit. Reaching down he slips a finger between your legs, feels how wet and warm and slick you are and groans loudly against your shoulder. 

Lining up against you, cock in hand he looks at your lust filled eyes. “Next time I’ll go slow, yeah? I’ll take my time.”

Your answer is your hands on his shoulder, pulling him against you and he slips inside you with an ecstatic moan. You moan as well, wrap your legs around his hips. He starts moving, thrusting in and out of you with greedy dragged out jabs. The wet sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room and mixes with your whimpering mewls. 

You are so hot and tight and wet around him and the pleasure is so intense it’s bordering on painful. His face is so close to yours, it is as if you are sharing breaths. 

He wants to punch himself from denying himself this for several days when he already had to go without for months.

“Did you think your hands could stand in for mine while I was away? That it could measure up at all?” He asks you, voice thick with lust. He’s so full of want for you and you’re all soft noise and wandering hands. Your warm breath on his even warmer skin. His lips on your nipples; kissing, sucking, biting. 

You writhe beneath him, unable to lay still as you buck your hips up to meet his; fucking into him. He’s not going to last long but neither is you and holding on is a losing battle. Like he said, next time he will go slower, gentler, softer. Drag it out for an entire night. But you both have too much built up pressure inside you to last now. He feels like a bomb about to go off, sparks of pleasure shooting up his spine, as he fucks into you with even greater force. You’re hot and swollen and hugging onto him so perfectly he feels like he’s going to lose his mind if he doesn’t get to come soon. 

But he knows that you are close. Feels it in your nails, dragging along his back, in the sharp movements of your thrusts, in your laboured breathing against his shoulder. He feels it in the way your cunt squeezes around him.

“I’m coming” you whimper and he wants to cry from the relief as he feels you spasm around him.

“Fuck” you moan out as your breathing calms down, and he’s holding you pressed against his chest. “Haven’t had a decent orgasm in months, I wasn’t prepared for that.”

“You really can’t function without me, can you?” he says with a smug smile and honestly, hadn’t you’ve been so blissed out you probably would have bitten him. 

A/N: I honestly don’t know if any of this made sense. I’m drunk and tired and I’m going to bed. If you read it, please leave your thoughts. 

[thekingreturn]

League Roadtrip Headcanons

Characters: Shigaraki, Spinner, Twice, Mr Compress, Big Sis Magne, Dabi

Tomura Shigaraki

Tomura Shigaraki makes your departure late waiting until he’s sure his devices are properly charged. Nevermind if you’ve got a remote charger, or that its only going to be a few hours, he’s not risking being screenless and stuck looking at the scenery (heaven forbid). You’ve (affectionately, probably) described his car ride habits as nesting. He swaddles his lower half in blankets, reclines the seat as far back as he can get away with, shoves a pillow behind his head, and settles in for a few hours with his headphones and whatever game he’s reserved for this thing. Just set whatever snacks you get him on his chest and he’ll graze on them at his leisure.

In general he prefers to be pretty quiet, long car rides actually aren’t great for him mentally. He doesn’t like the idea of being forced to be in close proximity to a person with no feasible exit. Not that he resents spending time with you, just that he gets grouchy and withdrawn on principle if he thinks he has no choice. Every two hours or so, though, he’ll turn off the game, straighten his seat (likely sending a shitload of crumbs into your car carpet) and just sort of. Butt his head against your shoulder until you start talking to him or at least pet his head. He’ll let himself enjoy it for a few minutes before relapsing back into his pseudo den

He can’t drive and thus you will be running this show for the entirety of it. Afterwards, though, you notice him..hovering, more than usual, just sort of urging you to lie down and bringing you food with the same sort of furtive expectance as a cat bringing you dead mice. You think this is his way of thanking you, but don’t confront him on it. Each time is a little easier with him. 

Spinner

Shuichi Iguchi (Spinner) may be one of the few members of the League who knows what he’s doing behind the wheel, but between you and him he actually doesn’t like doing it very much. He gets jumpy on the road and is prone to getting snappish with the other drivers. Still, he wants to do his part to pitch in, so tends to take the beginning and end of the drive. He also casually takes over snack detail and is the one to get out of the car and fill it with gas, as well as unload and reload the car. And navigation to boot. He’s a giver. Don’t tell anyone.

The level of conversational adeptness really depends on how long you’ve been seeing each other. Early stages comes up abruptly against his inability to small talk, you swear at some point he furtively checks his phone for icebreakers he found on the internet. Later stages bring ease with them, though, and with them Spinner’s favorite Olympic sport, complaining. The man pretends to hate gossip but if you hit the right buttons he’s more than happy to give you heavily editorialized anecdotes about the League and his various observations therein. Join in with some of your own, he’s a surprisingly good audience. The conversations will turn political at some point (and if you’re dating him, chances are good that’s somewhere you’re happy to follow) but if needed he can be convinced to leave work at work.

Spinner rarely initiates, even later on, but he’s kind of a sucker for tropey couple shit. Hold his hand while driving and he’ll get real quiet, even if it’s just for a second or two. Wrap your arms around him in the gas station while he pays, remind him that you’re proud to be seen with him. Kiss his cheek for getting your bags, make him feel valued. He’ll be following you around like a lovesick puppy.

Twice

Jin Bubaigawara (Twice) prefers to be the one driving, even going over his limits while insisting he’s fine. He can be convinced to take a break once you start to notice he’s barely holding his eyes open, but it will in fact, take some convincing not to get him to just slam back a questionable amount of five hour energies. He finds it relaxing, one of the few times he can just sort of sink into a process. Keep an eye on his turns, occasionally he’ll take a couple he didn’t mean to, but its a good way to feel a little more in control of himself and the situation.

He’s a good guy to have around a car, capable of changing a tire or getting the engine back up and running before you finish looking up tow services. He won’t necessarily ask for a reward but depending on how late in the relationship you are he’s definitely going to be giving you hopeful glances until he gets the affection he craves so badly.

The man basically invented rubbing your partner’s thigh while driving, he likes keeping a hand on you whenever he can, likes feeling you next to him. It’s such a simple thing but something about having you in his car really does make him feel trusted. He doesn’t really get a whole lot of areas where he feels competent. When you fall asleep a little before arriving home, and he gets to carry you inside, feeling how completely you let yourself depend on him? There’s nothing else quite like it.

Mr. Compress

Atsuhiro Sako (Mr. Compress) is...an ok driver. He thinks he’s better than he is, you can tell from the way he handles the wheel, the little flick of his hand as he hits his turn signal and the way he’ll narrate whatever he’s doing. And in practice, he is pretty good! Until other drivers with less of a showmanship factor hit the road. Which is always. All it takes is one guy pulling ahead of him too fast and he gets flustered enough to throw him off his game.

The two of you switch off driving at pretty even intervals. Even with navigation apps (which he does use, he’s not a Luddite) he still prefers to have a paper map on hand to cross reference it. He can be a little annoying with it but he more than makes up for it with the way he’ll touch your shoulder to indicate an offramp. “Why don’t we turn here, angel, its scenic.”

He’s much more about the journey than the destination, happy to divert the trip into an exploration of local curiosities if the two of you have time. He likes the anonymity of these small drive through towns where the two of you could be anyone, anything to the locals. He’ll squeeze your hand and murmur legends or history pieces if he knows any about the place (he makes about half of them up, but they’re nice stories anyways).

These things always take longer than it should, but he makes it all feel like but a moment.

Big Sis Mag

Mag Hikishi (Magne) is another one who prefers to drive than be driven, and to be frank, you may as well let her. If stuck in the passenger seat she has a bad case of invisible brake and tends to grip the ceiling a little too pointedly. She has absolute faith in your abilities, and also if she’s going to be in a car crash she at least wants it to be her own fault. Its alright, darling, just sit in the passenger seat and look pretty for her, won’t you?

Master of the shortcut that takes you an hour off course, its best if you leave without an expected arrival time. She likes starting trips bright and early, likes seeing the roads clear of other cars and getting to enjoy those quiet morning hours with you. Not that things are often quiet with Mag. She has this ability to get you talking about almost anything for hours, with plenty of her own contributions to boot. She’s lived a storied life, and she wants to hear your own.

Mag has strong opinions on gas station snacks (Takis, string cheese if they have any, and water being a go to) and will absolutely hover a little to make sure you’re well hydrated for long hours in the hot car. She has an eclectic collection of CDs if you don’t feel like talking, and if you need silence, well...that’s harder, but she’ll do it for you, only occasionally breaking it with a peck on the cheek. She enjoys these moments with just the two of you, able to just bounce off of each other and get absolutely mushy without her beloved coworkers around to tease. For a moment, at least, things all feel like they might be ok.

Dabi

Dabi, like Shigaraki, never got his license and isn’t really interested in trying for it. He doesn’t really like any form of transportation and tends to walk most places when he gets the option, given he has a tendency to get motion sick and it’s really hard to keep up your persona of unflappable bad boy while turning a few shades of green. Still, sometimes its unavoidable, so he flings himself in the backseat, props open a window, and prays he’ll knock out soon.

Dabi’s not the easiest partner in the world to communicate with under the best of circumstances, but now especially when every jolt makes him regret being born (moreso than usual) and the only thing coming out of his mouth when he opens it is complaints about how that brat of a leader is doing this to him on purpose, has to be. This is one of the rare instances where fussing over him actually gets some desirable results. Tuck a blanket around him, get him set up with some water, and check in on him every time you stop. Eventually a hand shoots out from between the front seats and grabs at the air until you take the hint and lock your fingers through his. Its not much, but from Dabi? Its everything.

Ultimately he does his best to sleep through these incidents and has you under a firm promise to never describe them to the others, ever. He’ll incentivize it if he has to. You know he’s good for it.

[goddess-pan]

c!Technoblade having a crush on a strong!Reader

Dsmp x reader prompt; c!Technoblade having a crush on a strong!Reader. Credit would be appreciated so more people can find this and make their own things based on it.

Requested from my idea list by @vanhakirja and @universal-vibe , if you would like to request something, you are still able to.

Mostly fluff and crack type prompt, romantic-coded

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Techno being very shy around the reader, but at the same time trying to show off. He'd get super flustered whenever the reader showcased their strength no matter if it was intentional or not. Even just the thought of a strong partner/lover makes his brain go brrrrr.

He finds strength really attractive and it would relieve his concerns in someone hurting them solely for the reason that it was him that was interested in them, because they would be able to defend themselves. While that is the first reason he would be attracted to them, he soon finds more by spending time with them. When they end up hanging out together they tend to gravitate towards things that interests them both, but occasionally they do something only one of them really has an interest in.

Even though the reader can defend themself, and Techno knows that, but he still has an urge to protect them. But due to not wanting to seem like he thinks less of them or that he's babying them, he tries to push it down and indulges himself only rarely in not demeaning ways like gifting them better armour and weapons. Though sometimes when his instincts get better of him he might ask to walk them home to make sure nothing happens to them or secure the perimeter around their house. One time he ended up fixing the stairs to the reader's house to make sure they didn't trip and hurt themself. While he might be able to find something to distract him from the thoughts of protecting the reader, because of the voices starting to immediately talk about it he isn't going to be able to shake the thought.

The voices might like the reader a lot too, but he is much more interested in the reader than they are. In fact he’s the one ranting and fawning over them constantly to the voices. And if Techno coached his voices on how to spot the reader in the wild in case he somehow missed them just so he could get a glimpse of them before they were out of his sight, that’s his business and his business alone. 

Techno would consider telling Phil about his crush just so he could have a another person to rant to about them. He’s kind of on the fence about it because there was this one time where the reader was helping him and Philza chop wood for the fires keeping their homes warm and he ended up not being able to keep his eyes of them and blushing every time they hauled wood back to the stockpile. Phil noticed it, because of course he did, and then began the light teasing of him over his interest in the reader and his blushing. Is Philza teasing him every waking second of his life worth talking about the reader to an actual person instead of just the voices in his head, not to mention a person he could get advice from regarding his crush? Techno sure as hell doesn’t know.

Should the reader at any point flirt with him or show interest in him in a romantic way, he would just be a flustered mess. When giving compliments to Techno he responds the best to compliments about his skills and talents since he can recognize that he’s good at those, usually it ends up with his tail wagging and ears flapping with blush spread across his cheeks while he makes tiny proud snorts unconsciously. If they called him pretty, beautiful or handsome (etc.) his brain would just shut down while he heavily blushed, averting his gaze and being unable to speak. If they compliment his voice he goes on a small tangent on how he polarizing his voice is and how some people like it, but other’s think he sounds like he’s smoked a pack for like a decade despite that not being the case, and with his tangent he forgets that the reader complimented him in the first place. He is also easily flustered by physical contact, though with hugging him they would have to keep an eye on not hugging him for too long since he can get super antsy due to being restricted and not being able to do anything if his mind doesn’t turn off. Though he would get the most flustered if the reader lifted him or picked him up. Please reader, pick this boy up and carry him, he will swoon hard.

While the reader is a strong person if their fighting techniques aren’t that great, Techno would gladly teach them what he knows and he knows a lot. Probably starting with the basics and then onto more advanced techniques plus any kind of life saving tricks he thinks they might need to know just in case. When the reader has gotten most of it down he would happily spar with them to help them practice that way as well, but he wouldn’t exactly feel comfortable fighting them if they didn’t know what they were doing despite their strength. And when the lessons are over and done with he wouldn’t be opposed to sparring with them in the future to hone both of their skills, but also to spend time with each other and have fun.

A funny thing that has happened to him was when he was just hanging out with the reader at his base feeding the hounds. While he was congratulating himself in his head for keeping his cool and appearing somewhat normal today, the reader stared at Ranboo’s house for second and then at Philza’s with a puzzled expression before snickering to themself. This drew Techno’s attention to them and they remarked

“You know both your neighbours are married...” He just grunted in affirmation, so they continued

“With your guys’ similarities, when is your wedding coming up big guy? Got someone special in mind already?” His mind immediately went to ‘Marry me’ as he locked eyes with them. Feeling way too self-conscious about his thoughts and feelings, he averted his eyes quickly and coughed clearing his throat. “Sounds nice, but probably not” he said.

“Why’s that?” They continued to question. He looked at them again, his face blank as he gestured himself. They just raised an eyebrow and stared at him in silence for a second. “If you so much as are even referring to yourself as being unlovable I will hug you until you stop talking nonsense.” 

“First of all, I didn’t even say anything an-”

“Now listen up here mister wise gu-”

“AND second of all is that supposed to be a threat?”

“It is, you handsome bastard, so unless you want to be unable to move for the next 10 minutes you better start watching yourself.” That caused his face to flush harshly while he quickly turned away going back to feeding the dogs and mumbled out a “Shut it.” Which got him a giggle in return and thankfully they didn’t deliver on their threat this time. While they changed the topic to something else, his mind was still running away with the thought of what their wedding would look like and the fact that he was called handsome.

[solcheeky]

Hii I absolutely loved that one sided love angst with hyuck and was wondering if you’d be willing to write it from the other side with Jeno dating the friend without having feelings for them? I feel like he’d be the type to feel too bad to reject someone he’s close with

summary: all jeno wants to do is keep you happy. so when you ask him to be your boyfriend, he says yes because what else could make you happier? if that’s what you wanted, that’s what he’ll give. even if that means pretending he loves you the way you love him. (3k)

genre: college au!, angst, gn!reader warnings: mentions of drinking alcohol, mentions of sex (but none of it) a/n: thank you for reading the hyuck one! though I can’t lie, it’s sort of difficult to write an exact plot I’ve already written before, sorry!! so I’ve changed things up a bit! but it’s still angst though, and under the same premises :)

“Don’t you think Jeno is a little… Hard to read, sometimes?”

Donghyuck swallows his drink hard, before placing his bottle back onto the picnic table and sending you a weird look.

“Isn’t he your boyfriend?” He scratches behind his ear then pushes up his sunglasses. “Wait, not even. You guys have been friends since… Before we even met. If anyone can read him, that’s you.”

Logically speaking, he was right.

But why didn’t it feel that way at all?

As you try to think of the right words to say, you fiddle with a leaf that had fallen from a branch of the tree hanging above your table.

“Are you guys in a fight or something?” Donghyuck steals back your attention. He had a weirdly calm look on his face for someone who was apparently concerned.

You sigh. Not exactly, “no.”

You weren’t fighting. Or at least, if it was a fight, you couldn’t say exactly when or how it even started.

Things were normal, like how they always were (you think), but there was something off about Jeno you just couldn’t put your finger on.

Except, whether things had only been like this recently, or whether it had been like this ever since you started dating but you’d only noticed now, you couldn’t tell.

It wasn’t that Jeno was directing any anger at you, he hadn’t done anything abrupt or out right mean at all.

If anything, he was doing exactly everything you ask for.

Yet somehow, you felt a sort of… distant from him, like there was a weird shift between your relationship you hadn’t been aware of until it felt too late—like you’d done all the buttons up wrong.

And how were you supposed to even begin to explain all that to Donghyuck if you couldn’t even pinpoint it?

“It’s not a fight,” you opt to say, but it comes out almost like a question. “It’s just-”

“Hey!”

Instinctively, both of you turn to face the direction in which the voice came from.

A few paces away, Mark Lee and your boyfriend were cutting through the grass and heading towards your table, it looked like they had just finished class.

You turn back to Donghyuck before they get within hearing range and mutter, “doesn’t matter.”

Except Donghyuck doesn’t even have time to reply because Mark pushes his shoulder with a strong hand, the other on the strap of his backpack, as he shoves him further down the bench to make space for him to sit.

“Move over!” The familiar, cheerful smile on his face makes you feel like things are back to normal, even just for a brief moment.

“Argh, Mark, seriously.” Donghyuck groans as he pushes his bottle and leather gym satchel across the table with him.

“What?” Mark’s laughing as he shuffles into the bench too, “I can’t sit on that side, can I?” He raises a playful brow at Jeno who was standing on your left.

You look over your shoulder and he smiles down at you.

“Hey,” he reaches down to pat you, palm warmly stroking the curve of your head before leaning down to place a brief kiss into your temple.

“Hi.” You say with a quiet smile as he slips into your side of the bench.

By now, Mark had already taken his attention off Jeno. “Why are you wearing sunglasses? It’s not that sunny.”

Donghyuck scoffs at the elder’s audacity. “The sun is clearly in the sky though, isn’t it? Use that big head of yours.”

But their bickering easily becomes background noise when Jeno gently takes the small leaf you were playing with from between your fingers and spins it between his finger and thumb.

He cutely looks at you in question and you just shrug.

So he flicks it away and slips his hand into yours instead and squeezes.

You squeeze back. “We still on for tonight?” Your voice low lest you interrupt Mark and Donghyuck’s ‘loving’ conversation.

You were planning to sleepover at his—weird to think that it was something you had gone out of your way to schedule but, it was nearing exam season and both your slots for free time had fit together like a box full of the wrong puzzle pieces.

It doesn’t take more than a second for Jeno to reply with a happy, “yes, of course.”

But a lump forms in the back of your throat at the urge to tell him you know he’s forced that answer out.

Later, when it’s already deep into the day, Jeno texts you to let you know he’ll be a little late

Although you kind of wished he’d told you sooner; you were already standing outside of his door.

Your first thought is not to tell him—knowing Jeno, the guilt would drive him crazy—and you probably would have done so that way if you were still friends. But things were different now; you were dating.

You should be comfortable enough to be completely transparent with him, even if about things as small as this.

Plus, he’d probably feel even guiltier if you didn’t tell him.

Except when Jeno does get the text, he feels even worse.

Not just because he’s left you hanging around wasting the rare time you could’ve spent together, but because it was entirely his fault that he was late.

He had managed to get off his lecture earlier than usual which gave him an extra hour to spare before your scheduled arrival time.

Usually that would mean he’d tell you right away so you could push that time earlier to have even longer to spend together.

But he didn’t.

Instead, Jeno wanted something else to occupy his mind other than you.

Was that bad of him? Probably… Maybe—He didn’t want to convince himself anything. As long as you didn’t find out why, everything would stay the same. At least that was what he was convincing himself to think.

So, Jeno was quick to chuck his bag full of study notes by his doorway, pick up some gear and his bike and immediately head out.

Just a few miles, he told himself. Nothing better to clear his mind than a quick workout, right?

Wrong.

You wouldn’t slip from his mind no matter what he tried to do.

All Jeno could think about was how he promised himself he would make this relationship work regardless of whether that meant he had to cross an ocean just to make the you that was in love with him, feel loved.

Inevitably, those thoughts eventually watered down to how bad of a job he’s been doing of it all.

It was probably bad enough he’d just referred to your relationship as a job.

Yeah, alright, this was worse than bad.

It’s just that you were so happy—the face you made when he said yes to being your boyfriend was all he ever wanted for you.

Logically, he thought that keeping things in tandem with what you expressed happiness for, would be enough to see that same smile again.

Jeno held your hand when you wanted it. He kissed you how you liked it. He let you sleep in his bed and sleep with him because that’s what you needed from him.

That’s all he ever wanted for you. So why did it feel like it wasn’t enough?

He was your boyfriend now. Wasn’t that supposed to make it easier?

Not to say that it was hard when you were labelled as friends—just that certain boundaries couldn’t be crossed and there was no way to stop eventualities of you finding someone else that would make you happy.

Jeno didn’t want that; he didn’t want to see you with another person. But the label ‘boyfriend’ on his own forehead almost felt like a burden, even though he knew he loved you. It was all really confusing.

Breaking it down, Jeno knew that you meant a lot to him. Really, he just wanted to give you the love you deserved. So being your boyfriend felt like the right choice, like it was the right thing to do if that’s what it meant to give you all his love.

But somehow becoming the ‘boyfriend’ felt even further away from you than when he was just a ‘friend’.

And at this point, Jeno was too far into this. Spending time with you was great, but it confused him. He had lost what defined the boundaries of how a boyfriend makes one happy, versus a friend.

Sometimes he even thought, what was so good about the label ‘boyfriend’? Was it worth all the things he’s done for you?

He had thought too hard and too much he didn’t even realize how far out he’d cycled; it was so far there was no way he could cycle back the same route in time to meet you.

Dangerously, a small, small, small part of him was glad.

But, no.

Jeno shakes his fringe out of his eyes and pedals faster. Just get home first, he tells himself, he can deal with that thought another time.

When Jeno finally arrives, he’s lugging his bike towards you, sweat dripping down his temples and breath still a few paces behind.

“Sorry,” he manages to breathe out, wiping the sweat across his brow with the back of his wrist before he leans past your frame to unlock his door.

You bite back a bit of a laugh, “you look crazy.”

He lets out a relieved smile and you tip on your toes to press a quick kiss into it.

A surprised sound muffles into your lips when you do, like he was about to say something but you had got to his lips first.

You pull away with a scrunched up face. “Salty.”

That makes him laugh. “Come on then.” He pushes the door open and guides you in first.

After putting away his bike, he shuts the door behind him and chucks his gear away while you place your things onto his desk chair.

“I’m gonna shower first.” He pulls off his gloves and watches as you spin to face him with a small smile.

From anyone else's point of view, you looked fine. You stood tall, a sweet smile across your lips and eyes full of affection for your boyfriend.

But Jeno knew better than that.

He throws his gloves into the hamper and pauses with his hands on the hem of his top. “Want to join?”

Your eyes light up and the heavy guilt on his chest suffocates him a little less.

“Only if you want me to.” You tilt your head to the side. If he was going to be quick, there was no harm in you waiting an extra 10 minutes, sure, you can handle that much.

But Jeno only wanted it because he knew you did. He knew every minute together meant way more to you now that you rarely saw each other.

So he nods his head towards the bathroom door to gesture for you to come, then proceeds to pull his top over his torso.

With Jeno’s shoulders under the showerhead, you keep your arms resting on the dip of his hip bones for warmth.

His own hands are in your hair, fingers gently massaging your scalp and temples, with a cute concentrated look across his face.

“Turn around for me.” He slowly presses a kiss into your forehead and you hum in compliance.

“I can do you instead, you know?” Now that you’re facing the other way you can’t read his face.

His thumbs press into the nape of your neck, following the direction of your spine into your scalp and your shoulders completely lose tension.

Jeno presses his lips into a straight line and hums a comfortable ‘no, it’s okay’. He was fine like this.

“Let me do this for you.” His low voice vibrates a lot closer to your ears than before.

It almost distracts you from your previous thoughts, but his words echo in your mind once more.

‘Let me do this for you.’ You know… That seemed to be all he was doing lately...

Now that you really think about it, you can’t recall Jeno ever doing anything for himself; it was always you before him.

He was always looking out for you—maybe never directly verbal—but he never failed to show how much cared by how much he noticed about you, whether that meant lending you his shoulder on stressful days of work, or for things even just as small as giving you his pen for the day because you forgot yours.

“Jeno?”

“Mhm? Ah!—Too strong?” His fingers come to a stop at the assumption he’s massaging you too hard.

“No,” you take his hand from behind your head and turn around to look at him in the eyes.

Jeno blinks at you in confusion.

Your eyes drop away from his face. “You’d tell me if there was something bothering you, right?”

At first, his brows crease together.

But then he’s laughing, eyes smiling as he calls you cute under his breath whilst releasing the grip of your hand on his wrist and affectionately brushing the bubbles away from the top of your eyebrow with his thumb.

“What are you talking about?” Jeno presses his forehead into yours so you can look at him and see that smile of his you love so much, “Is there something wrong?”

“No…” Not with you. But if there was with him you’d listen.

He presses his lips against yours. “I’m okay if you’re okay.”

Those words were a little tricky.

On the surface, they seemed like a sweet thing to say. Yet you knew it subconsciously meant something deeper.

But, you let it slide just this once.

The next time you’re in his room, it’s a week later and a day earlier than you had previously scheduled.

But instead of cute showers together, you have his heavy arm slung around your shoulder and alcohol breath against your cheek.

“Sorry.” Jeno’s half slurring as he nuzzles into your jaw.

You kick his door closed from behind you and heave his weight against your hip more. “Don’t worry about it.” At least he was sober enough to apologize now.

You had just come back from the bar nearest your campus where Donghyuck was stupidly holding an ‘end of the first exam’ event (A.K.A. any excuse for endless food and rowdy drinking games on a friday night).

Jeno releases his arm from off your shoulder and places a hand on the wall.

“Can you get me some water?” He presses his eyes closed and manages to take a step forward.

You think the cold night walk from the bar had kicked some sense of reality into him. “Yeah, can you manage?” You reach a hand out behind his waist just in case.

But he just hums and slowly continues his way forward with his fingers pinching between his brows.

It was okay if he closed his eyes, he knew his room like the back of his hand anyway.

As you rip open the pack of water by his door and pull a bottle out, Jeno drops his jacket off his arms and onto the floor before he slumps into his bed with a sigh.

By the time you approach his bedside, he’s sprawled out over his duvet with his eyes closed.

You open the bottle for him and he blindly takes it. “You don’t usually drink this much.”

He doesn’t reply.

“Is everything okay?”

Ever since you asked Jeno that question in the shower, he seemed as if he was extra cautious about the things he said. And maybe that was just your own imagination. Or maybe you somewhat wanted him to have a secret. Maybe you subconsciously wanted a reason to justify why he acts the way he does.

Jeno nods as he gingerly lifts his head just to drink some water.

“If there’s something on your mind, you can tell me.” You want to ask for more, but you don’t want to force anything out of him.

Sure, sometimes you might find it hard to discern what exactly goes on inside Jeno’s head. But just because you couldn’t read anything off him, didn’t mean he didn’t have any thoughts.

You at least know him well enough to understand how much goes on inside that selfless head of his, despite his generous puppy smiles and lack of verbalisation.

You know he worries a lot—Less about himself and more so about everyone else around him. So you can’t help but think he’s hiding something. Jeno’s more observant than others think.

With a frown, he reaches up to put the bottle onto his side table with a nod.

Then it clicks.

“Did.. Did I say something?” He leans up on one elbow, voice unintentionally baring a touch of mortification.

“What?—No.” You press a hand into his shoulder to get him to lie down again. “No.” Really, he didn’t. That was the problem.

You push his hair away from his forehead and he sighs sleepily.

Thank god, Jeno thinks. To him, he wasn’t exactly hiding anything from you. He thinks purposely ‘hiding’ something was different to just ‘not saying’ something.

Not that he was trying to get off from this with a technicality. Jeno loved you. He really did.

But somehow this ‘love’ just wasn’t turning out the way he thought it would.

And that was something he needed to figure out for himself.

“You.. You don’t have to know...” Is the last thing he says before he falls asleep.

Did you really mean that little to him?

You thought you could be as reliable to him as he was to you.

Were you just ...not enough?

to be continued...

reply below on this post if you want me to tag you when I post part 2 :)

a/n: I think this could’ve easily been a full prose fic, but,,, I’m lazy,, also I feel like I don’t know jeno’s character well enough to convincingly write about what he’d say, think or do ;/ but anyways! thank you for this request, just the perfect thing to give my brain a break from writing my endless hyuck and mark content

also! disclaimer(?) guys! please don’t do what ‘jeno’ is doing in this fic hahahaha this is setting a bad example of what a relationship and labels could mean! in short, what I wrote about was Damage -100hp and Dumb 500hp lmfao so don’t do it (or more so wish for it👁👁)

but yeah, I’m open to discourse in my ask box as much as I was for the hyuck version of this fic if anyone needs/wants to talk about anything! (I’ll also tag it as #os if anyone wants to filter it out)

scroll through these if you'd like the read the hyuck angst discourse

or read the hyuck version of this fic here!