#White Flag Library

[fishyartist]

Just saw someone say “oh the northeast/upper Midwest of the us isn’t known for its conservative values+bigotry” and Stranger idk how to explain to you how what you personally know a place for is NOT a good indicator of what a place’s actual values are

Like have u seen how fucking segregated neighborhoods are over here? Like Currently. And how gerrymandering is directly done around these segregated neighborhoods to disenfranchise voters, primarily black voters? They were talking in the context of the fucking Catholic Churches out here too like come ON…

[cressidagrey]

So High School

Pairing: Andrea Kimi Antonelli x Chiara Battista (Original Character)

Summary: Chiara prints his worksheets. Kimi pretends to forget formulas just to talk to her.

It was all working—until she stopped helping, and he realized he might’ve already lost her.

Notes: It's Italian Grand Prix Week! I kinda felt like a cradle robber while writing this, because Kimi is a few years younger than me, but YA was and always will be my first love, so I felt like this was very much in my wheel house.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

The school library was nearly empty that afternoon—just the low hum of fluorescent lights overhead and the steady scratch of pen against paper. Golden hour filtered through tall windows, softening the sterile white walls into something nearly warm. A lazy beam of light slanted across the long wooden table where Chiara Battista sat curled at the end, headphones in, highlighters fanned out beside her like a painter’s palette.

She was halfway through annotating a dense reading for their ethics seminar, blonde hair pulled back in a pencil-stabbed bun that had begun to lean to the left. She didn’t notice.

What she did notice was the sudden bang of the door slamming open.

She didn’t have to look up.

Only one person in their school had ever treated the library like a pit lane instead of a sacred hall of silence.

Kimi Antonelli.

She heard the sharp rush of his breath first—half-running, half-skipping steps echoing too loudly against the tile floor. He jogged toward her, slightly out of breath, sun-kissed and windblown from whatever race weekend he’d just flown back from. His backpack was hanging half-open over one shoulder, and there was a visible crease in the corner of his collar that said he’d either changed in the car or not at all.

“Hey,” he said, voice hushed but warm as he slid into her orbit like he belonged there. “Did we get that grammar packet? The one Mr. Rossi said he’d email?”

She didn’t even blink. “Printed you a copy,” she said, already reaching into her folder. “Figured you’d forget.”

He blinked, like he genuinely hadn’t expected that. “You’re actually a lifesaver.”

Chiara gave a small smile, sliding the neat stack of papers across the table. She didn’t say, I’ve been keeping a folder labeled “A.K.A.” for the last six months because you never remember anything and I never seem to mind. She just handed him the packet and returned to underlining a particularly obscure sentence about moral relativism.

Kimi didn’t move right away.

He stood there for a beat, fingers grazing the edge of the worksheet like it might slip out of his hands if he didn’t hold it gently. Like maybe he wanted to say something else, but couldn’t quite find the words.

Chiara glanced up from her notes.

“Did you win?” she asked, tone light, like this was all completely normal��like she didn’t secretly refresh live race trackers when she was supposed to be studying, heart pounding every time his name moved up the leaderboard.

“Huh? Oh—no.” He scratched the back of his neck, sheepish. “P6. But it was a decent drive. I think my engineer aged five years, though.”

Chiara smiled under her breath. “Poor man.”

“Yeah,” Kimi agreed, then added with mock gravity, “Pray for Bono.”

She laughed, and he lit up. Just for a second, like sunshine breaking through clouds.

“Thanks again,” he said after a moment, lifting the paper like a white flag. “You always think of stuff I forget.”

“You forget everything,” she teased, not unkindly.

His grin was all teeth, crooked and warm and just a little shy. “That’s true. But you don’t.”

There was something about the way he said it—soft and offhand but sincere—that made her glance up again. And suddenly they were just looking at each other.

It wasn’t new. But it was dangerous.

Because sometimes he looked at her like she was something steady. Something rare. And it made Chiara’s lungs feel too small for her chest.

She glanced back down, pretending to arrange her pens.

“Okay, I should—go,” he said, not moving. “Before Madame Ferragni starts hunting me down for Math homework I didn’t do.”

“You didn’t do it?”

Kimi immediately looked guilty. “I was a little busy driving a car at 300 kilometers an hour.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You had a week.”

“I was in Jeddah!”

“So was my cousin. She managed to post ten TikToks and finish the assignment.”

He laughed, short and surprised. “Right. Okay. I deserved that.”

She sighed but slid another annotated sheet across the table anyway.

He stared at it like it was a gift. “You even highlighted—”

“Don’t act surprised. You always forget the formulas.”

“I don’t forget. I just... deprioritize.”

“You forgot,” she said flatly.

“I forgot,” he agreed, holding up both hands. “But you didn’t.”

“You should go,” she said, more softly this time. “Library closes in ten.”

“Right.”

But he lingered.

“You coming to class tomorrow?” he asked, like he didn’t already know the answer.

“Unlike some people, I don’t fly around the world on weekends.”

He smiled again, that same quiet, unguarded thing he only gave her in empty hallways and between classes. The kind of smile that made her wish she could stop the moment and study it.

Then he nodded, tapping the edge of the worksheet against the table like a nervous tic.

“Thanks again, Chiara,” he said, voice low and sincere. “You’re kind of amazing.”

And before she could find anything to say—before she could ask him why he always came to her, why he always smiled like that but never acted on it—he turned and left.

The door shut softly behind him.

Chiara sat frozen for a moment, staring at her scattered notes, at the place he’d been standing. Then she exhaled slowly and picked up her pen again.

***

The courtyard buzzed with low conversation, the kind that floated lazily through the warm spring air alongside the scent of blooming wisteria and the occasional hum of a passing bee. A group of boys tossed a football across the far lawn. Someone played soft music from a cracked phone speaker. Birds chirped from the trees that arched over the stone pathways, as if even they were tired of studying.

Chiara Battista sat on the low stone wall near the edge of the flowerbeds, legs crossed at the ankles, sunlight warming the tops of her shoulders through her linen blouse. Her physics binder was open in her lap, pages fluttering in the breeze, her green highlighter spinning idly between her fingers like a coin she wasn’t sure whether to flip.

She wasn’t really studying.

Not in the focused, efficient way she usually did. Her eyes were on the formulas, but her mind kept wandering—to Miami, to engines, to a crooked smile and a hoodie that always smelled faintly like jet fuel and cinnamon gum.

Across from her, Giulia sat with her back against the wall, peeling a clementine with the kind of exaggerated slowness that said she wanted attention but was pretending not to.

The citrus smell was sharp in the air.

“So,” Giulia said after a beat, voice lilting and light in that deceptively gentle tone she always used when she was about to say something awful, “how long are you planning on being Kimi Antonelli’s personal secretary?”

Chiara blinked. “What?”

Giulia gave her a long, unreadable look, then popped a slice of clementine into her mouth with flourish. “Come on. You print out his notes. You remind him about tests. You keep spare pens for him like you’re part of his pit crew. It's kind of adorable. If it wasn’t so tragic.”

“I don’t—” Chiara began, heat creeping up her neck.

“You do,” Giulia interrupted, voice light and sing-song. “Which is fine. Really. He’s cute. I get it. He’s got the floppy hair, the whole baby-Mercedes-prodigy thing, the eyes. Honestly, I’d probably let him copy off my notes if he smiled at me the way he smiles at you.”

Chiara looked down at her highlighter, still gripped between her fingers, the green plastic suddenly too bright in the sun.

Giulia took another slow bite of orange and chewed, watching Chiara too carefully.

“But you’re smart,” she continued. “Like actually smart. You’ve got a shot at med school. Or engineering. Or politics, if you ever get over your allergy to speaking in public. And you’re wasting your time babysitting a boy who’s probably never even seen your handwriting on his own.”

Chiara’s fingers stilled. The highlighter slipped and hit her knee with a soft thud before rolling into the folds of her skirt. The green cap glinted in the sunlight.

Giulia leaned her head back, eyes squinting up at the sky like this was all just a mildly interesting observation, nothing personal.

“I’m just saying,” she added, quieter now, “he’s got his group. Enrico, Luca, all of them. You really think he’d still talk to you if you stopped printing out his worksheets?

Chiara’s lips parted, but no words came out. Her throat felt dry.

It wasn’t that the comment was harsh. Giulia wasn’t sneering or mocking her. That would’ve been easier to dismiss. No—this was worse. This was delivered like a kindness. Like honesty, served cold and sharp and gently poisonous.

The sun glinted off the green cap of the highlighter like it was mocking her. Chiara felt her fingers tense around it, her knuckles pale.

“I’m just saying,” Giulia said with a shrug, “I think he’s using you. Not, like, in a malicious way. Maybe he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. But he is.”

The words weren’t loud. They didn’t need to be.

They slid in quietly. Like they were meant to stay. Like they belonged somewhere deep inside her chest, where they could unspool later in the quiet hours.

Chiara didn’t say anything. She didn’t argue. There wasn’t a scene. She just shut her binder with a soft snap and reached down to tuck it under her arm.

Her smile came a second later—small, brittle at the edges, and practiced.

She stood.

“Where are you going?” Giulia asked, frowning.

“Inside,” Chiara said, without turning around. “I forgot something.”

She didn’t.

She just couldn’t sit there anymore. Not with the heat of the sun on her shoulders and those words seeping into her skin like ink.

She walked steadily, not fast enough to show she was upset, not slow enough to linger. Her shoes crunched over gravel, and her binder dug into her ribs with every step.

By the time she reached the hallway, her throat felt tight.

Because now all she could think about were the times he smiled like he meant it. The way he lingered at her desk like he wanted to stay. The way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t looking back.

And how stupid she must’ve been to think it meant anything at all.

***

It started small.

Kimi Antonelli wasn’t the most observant person when it came to school—he could memorize track layouts and sector splits like his life depended on it (because sometimes it did), but remembering whether ethics class was in Room 2B or 2C? Not his specialty.

But he noticed people.

And he definitely noticed Chiara Battista.

At first, he thought she was just tired. Exams were creeping closer, and she had that furrow between her brows that usually meant she was deep in study mode. But then she stopped handing him things before he even asked. No more worksheets quietly left on his desk. No more “Hey, by the way, Mr. Russo moved the deadline” in the hallway.

Nothing.

She wasn’t cold, exactly. Just… distant. Like she’d taken a step back and pulled some invisible curtain between them.

And he didn’t know why.

Kimi sat in class and stared at the side of her face while she took notes, neat and precise, a different-colored pen for every category. He used to tease her about it. She used to roll her eyes and pretend she wasn’t smiling.

Now she barely looked at him.

She hadn’t sat next to him during ethics the day before. She’d slipped into a seat near the window before he arrived. And when he’d caught up with her after class, breathless from literally jogging across campus to ask about the project, she’d answered his question with the same tone she used when telling the barista her name for a coffee order.

Polite. Blank. Forgettable.

And maybe that’s what scared him the most—that she seemed totally fine.

Kimi fumbled with the strap of his backpack as he walked across the courtyard, barely noticing when Enrico shouted his name from the steps. He waved vaguely in response, but his mind was somewhere else entirely.

Had he said something wrong?

Had she overheard him joking with the others and taken it the wrong way?

He ran through every conversation they’d had in the last two weeks like it was onboard footage. Looking for a mistake. A missed flag. Something he could fix.

But all he found was silence.

His stomach twisted the way it sometimes did before a wet qualifying session—the anticipation, the nerves, the uncertainty. Only this time, there wasn’t a helmet to hide behind or a lap time to chase. Just Chiara, sitting under a tree across the courtyard, her nose buried in a book he didn’t recognize.

And for once, he didn’t know if he was allowed to walk over.

He used to just know. That invisible thread between them used to feel real. Reliable. Like she’d catch his eye from across the room and there’d be a look—a shared joke, a spark, something warm.

Now, she didn’t even glance up.

He pulled out his phone and opened their messages. The last few were short. Blunt. He scrolled higher, to when they used to send stupid memes or homework reminders with four exclamation points. Her little typing bubbles had always come fast and familiar.

Now they didn’t come at all.

Kimi sat down on the edge of a low wall and stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard like it might offer some kind of answer.

Then, impulsively, he typed:

Kimi A.: are you mad at me?

He watched the “Delivered” stamp appear.

Then… nothing.

No typing bubble. No reply.

Just the quiet weight of not knowing what he’d done, and the uncomfortable realization that, for all the times he’d texted her for help, he might have never really said the things that mattered.

The things he meant.

And now it might be too late.

***

Chiara told herself it didn’t matter. She told herself it didn’t hurt.

That it was fine, really. Normal. Temporary. That people grew out of things like school crushes and imagined connections. That Giulia hadn’t said anything cruel—just honest.

Blunt, yes. But not wrong.

Because when she thought about it, stripped down past the little moments she’d been hoarding like secrets, what did she really have? A handful of library smiles. A few text messages. Some inside jokes about French grammar and his inability to remember his own locker code.

It wasn’t a relationship. It wasn’t even friendship, not really.

It was habit.

And maybe it was better to know now, before she got in any deeper. Before she built something out of glances and half-grins and the way he said her name when he was tired. Before she mistook kindness for something more.

So she stopped being proactive.

No more reminders. No more extras printed and labeled in neat folders with his name in the corner. No more nudging him in the hallway to say, You missed this, or, He changed the deadline. She didn’t ignore him—Chiara wasn’t cruel—but she was quiet.

Polite. Distant.

Unmistakably different.

And of course, that was when Kimi Antonelli started texting her more than ever.

Kimi A.: hey, did Mr. Russo say what the final project deadline is?

Chiara B.: Next Thursday.

Kimi A.: right. thanksKimi A.: do you know if we’re supposed to use the same groups as before?

Chiara B.: No, new groups. He said so in class.

Kimi A.: oh. I wasn’t there lol

Chiara B.: I know.

The “Read” receipt sat on the screen like a silent accusation. Four minutes passed.

She didn’t move. Just sat at her desk in her bedroom, textbooks spread in front of her, phone in hand, the quiet pressing in too tightly.

She should’ve been used to this by now—the ghosting, the silence, the slow burn of realizing someone was thinking about you less than you were thinking about them. But this was Kimi.

And Kimi was different.

Wasn’t he?

Her phone buzzed again.

Kimi A.: are you mad at me?

Chiara stared at the message until the screen dimmed and locked. Then she pressed the side button and brought it back again, as if the words might have changed in the dark.

Am I mad at him?

She wasn’t even sure.

Not exactly.

It wasn’t like he had done anything. He hadn’t broken her heart. He hadn’t stood her up or lied or made a promise he didn’t keep.

But he also hadn’t stayed.

He hadn’t noticed how much she gave. How quietly she rearranged her life around his chaos. How she’d memorized his schedule, his absences, his patterns.

He hadn’t noticed when she stopped.

And maybe that hurt more than anything else.

Not the rejection—but the realization that she was so easy to replace that he didn’t even notice when she disappeared.

Chiara glanced around her desk, at the binders and notebooks and that one stupid green highlighter he’d returned to her months ago after she dropped it in the hallway. It still had a faint smudge of oil on the cap. She still used it.

And every time she did, her heart did that annoying stutter.

She thumbed a reply.

Chiara B.: No. Just busy.

It wasn’t exactly true. But it wasn’t a lie either.

Final exams loomed. Graduation was a red circle on the calendar. Everything was ending—school, schedules, this weird little tether between them. And she had other things to worry about. College. Her future. Finding somewhere she belonged that didn’t hinge on how well she organized someone else’s life.

She had to stop wasting time wondering if every “you always think of stuff I forget” actually meant something.

She set her phone face down and tried to get back to her reading. But the words swam, rearranged themselves, refused to sit still.

The next morning, just after first period, her phone buzzed again.

Kimi A.: can I be in your project group?

Chiara read it. And read it again.

She should’ve said no.

She knew she should’ve said no.

But some part of her still ached to believe in him. Still wanted the version of Kimi who lingered after handing her a worksheet. The one who smiled like she was the only thing in the room worth looking at.

So she typed slowly.

Chiara B.: If you actually show up this time.

His response came faster this time. Too fast, like he’d been waiting.

Kimi A.: I will. Promise.

She stared at the screen.

Then locked her phone before she could respond.

Because even now, even after everything, even with doubt wrapped tight around her ribs—

Part of her still wanted to believe him.

And that part?

That was the most dangerous of all.

***

​​Kimi Antonelli was supposed to be having lunch.

 Instead, he was having a crisis.

“She’s not mad,” he muttered, arms crossed, pacing back and forth behind the table like he was walking a qualifying line he couldn’t quite stick. “She just… shut down. Like—quiet. Polite. It’s worse than yelling. She doesn’t even send me emojis anymore.”

Ollie Bearman, lounging like the human embodiment of ‘this is not my problem’, was leaned so far back in his chair he was practically horizontal, chewing absently on a pen cap. His Haas polo was wrinkled, and there were granola bar crumbs clinging to his collar, but he looked entirely unbothered by Kimi’s spiraling.

“You mean,” Ollie said, “she’s treating you like a classmate and not a potential boyfriend?”

“Exactly!” Kimi threw his hands up. “She used to send me PDFs with color-coded annotations. Now it’s just… black text. Periods. Not even an exclamation point! She used to remind me about class changes. Now she lets me walk into the wrong room and doesn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, no, that’s horrifying,” Ollie deadpanned. “Have you tried talking to her like a normal person?”

“I am talking to her,” Kimi snapped. “She’s just only replying about school stuff. Like, cold. Precise. Linguistically devastating. I asked if we could work on the physics project together and she just said, ‘if you actually show up this time’. That’s lethal.”

Ollie winced, cringing like he’d been personally struck. “Oof. That’s—yeah. That’s girl-code for ‘you’re on thin ice, bucko.’”

Kimi dropped into the chair next to him, slumped dramatically with his face buried in his hands. “This is hell. Actual hell.”

There was a pause, long enough for Ollie to sip from a sports bottle with exaggerated slowness.

“I still don’t get why you haven’t told her you like her,” he said, not for the first time.

Kimi looked up, hair flopping into his eyes. “Because she’s smarter than me. Because she has beautiful handwriting and  perfect grades and probably thinks I’m just an idiot in fireproof overalls who forgets his own password and uses ‘vibes’ to explain physics.”

“You punched her ex-boyfriend for cheating on her,” Ollie pointed out.

Kimi groaned. “That was your idea!”

“My idea was defend her honor, not uppercut the guy into next week!”

“You said, ‘make it clear he can’t treat her like that.’”

“Yeah! With words, not fists!”

“I panicked!”

“You panicked,” Ollie echoed, nodding like a therapist scribbling on a clipboard. “Because you’re in love with her.”

“Exactly!”

“I said to say something,” Ollie continued, exasperated, “not commit assault outside chemistry class.”

“I didn’t assault him! It was one punch!”

“One punch that required ice and a parental meeting!”

“I panicked!”

“You keep saying that like it’s a defense and not a personality trait!”

Kimi let out a strangled sound. “I don’t know how to do this! I know how to defend in Turn 1. I know how to nail a flying lap. I don’t know how to tell a girl that I remember her favorite pen color and I highlight things in green just because she does and I save her texts even when they’re about grammar exercises.”

There was a beat.

Then a voice cut through the chaos, dry and mildly horrified.

“…I don’t get paid enough for this.”

Both boys froze.

They turned simultaneously.

Toto Wolff stood in the doorway of the Mercedes junior debriefing room, espresso in one hand, jacket draped over his other arm, and the expression of a man who had walked into a live-action soap opera during what was supposed to be a technical meeting.

Kimi immediately sat up straighter, trying to brush his hair out of his face. “Hi, Toto.”

“Hello, Kimi.” A nod. Then: “Bearman.”

“Sir,” Ollie said, suddenly very upright, as if his posture might erase the incriminating conversation still echoing in the air.

Toto took a long sip of his espresso and closed his eyes like it might give him patience.

“Alright,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose with the kind of weariness that only came from mentoring teenage boys with fast cars and faster hearts. “First: no more punching. You are supposed to be a functioning adult, not an F1-themed vigilante.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Second…” Toto looked between the two of them, gaze settling on Kimi. “Tell her how you feel.”

Kimi blinked. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“But what if she—”

“If she doesn’t feel the same,” Toto interrupted coolly, “you’ll survive. It will hurt. But you’ll get over it.”

Kimi swallowed. “And if she does?”

Toto raised an eyebrow. “Then you’ll stop spending engineering meetings texting her instead of listening to race strategy. Win-win.”

Kimi opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked mildly betrayed by logic.

Toto gave him a long look. “You’re not the first young man to like someone smart and good and feel like you didn’t know how to deserve her. Tell her. Before someone else does.”

He pointed at Ollie without even looking. “And don’t take advice from him.”

Ollie gasped like he’d been personally wounded. “I’ve been offended by a team principal. That’s going in my memoir.”

Toto turned to leave. Then paused in the doorway and added, without turning around:

“And if you must punch someone, do it off school property. Less paperwork.”

Kimi gaped. Ollie choked on laughter.

“I’m joking,” Toto said flatly.

(He was mostly joking.)

As he walked away, they heard him mutter to himself:

“I manage race strategy, investor relations, and now teenage hormones. God help me.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

Silence.

Then Kimi looked at Ollie. “…Did Toto Wolff just tell me to ask out Chiara?”

“I think you just got father-figure pep-talked.”

“That was terrifying.”

“Yeah,” Ollie nodded. “He’s weirdly good at it.”

Then, a beat later, Ollie grinned.

“So… are you gonna tell her?”

Kimi stared at the wall, like he might find the courage in the pattern of the plaster. “…I might actually die.”

“You might actually kiss her.”

“…I might throw up.”

“You’ve driven Eau Rouge in the wet.”

“That was less terrifying.”

Ollie grinned and clapped him on the back. “C’mon, lover boy. Time to make Toto proud.”

***

They met at her house.

Neutral ground.

Safe ground.

Her mother answered the door in an apron dusted with flour, squinted at Kimi for all of three seconds, then said, “Is this the racing boy?” with a bright, knowing smile.

Before Kimi could respond—still half in his jacket and caught between alarm and confusion—she turned and disappeared into the kitchen with the ease of someone who had already decided she liked him. “There’s biscotti on the tray. Help yourselves.”

The scent of lemon zest and almonds lingered in the hallway like some kind of warm welcome Kimi wasn’t entirely sure he deserved.

They settled in her room—Chiara cross-legged on the carpet, laptop propped on a cushion, and Kimi sprawled beside her, shoulders brushing the edge of her desk, legs half-folded like he couldn’t quite figure out how to sit in one place for more than five minutes.

They’d been working for over an hour.

On paper, it looked productive. Slides moved. Notes typed. Bullet points organized.

But it wasn’t real.

A few awkward comments about font sizes and slide transitions. Some neutral territory filler like “do we need another diagram?” or “can you move that image left a bit?”

Nothing real. Nothing honest.

And it was unbearable.

Chiara had always been good at pretending—smiling through awkward dinners, nodding during group projects, making herself useful. But this was different. This was him. And the quiet between them wasn’t peaceful. It buzzed. Sharp and heavy, like static before a storm.

So, eventually, she broke.

“You know,” she said, still typing, not daring to look at him, “you don’t have to keep pretending.”

Kimi paused, glancing up from his phone. “Pretending?”

“That this matters to you.” Her voice was steady, but it was too practiced. Too careful. “The project. School. Me. You don’t have to keep texting. Or asking me for things. I’m not going to print your homework anymore.”

She said it like it didn’t cost her something. Like her throat wasn’t tightening and her chest didn’t feel like it was caving in around her words.

He blinked. His whole body went still.

“You don’t owe me anything,” she finished, and even though she tried to sound nonchalant, her fingers curled tighter around her laptop, like she needed something to hold her together.

Kimi’s brow furrowed, confusion washing across his face. “Chiara—”

“I’m serious.” She finally looked at him, and the effort it took not to let her voice shake made her jaw clench. “It’s fine. I get it. I was convenient. You needed someone to keep you afloat while you were flying around the world winning races. I was just… useful.”

The words hung there.

The silence that followed wasn’t quiet. It rang. It roared in her ears.

Kimi sat up slowly, eyes wide, his whole body shifting like she’d hit him in the chest with something he hadn’t seen coming.

“You really think that?” he asked, and his voice was quiet, but not soft. It was stunned. Raw.

Chiara held his gaze even though it hurt. “What else am I supposed to think?”

Kimi leaned forward, disbelief written all over him. “I never used you.”

“You say that now—”

“I never used you,” he repeated, louder this time. The desperation in his voice cracked something inside her. “You are the only part of school I like! The only reason I didn’t drop out three months ago.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “Because I printed things for you—”

“Because I like you,” he said. It burst out of him like a snapped chord. Breathless. Raw. Unpolished and real.

“Because I look for you in every hallway. Because I come to class after red-eye flights and brutal back-to-backs just hoping maybe you’d say hi. Because I have no idea how to talk to you without sounding like a complete idiot! So I asked about worksheets. I pretended I don’t understand physics! Because that was the only way I could keep talking to you without blowing it.” 

He kept going, voice lower now. “Because I saved every worksheet you gave me, even the ones I didn’t need. Because I still have the dumb green highlighter you let me borrow that one time. Because I thought maybe if I asked you enough questions, you’d start to like me too.”

Chiara froze.

Then she stared at him. Not blinking. Not breathing.

Kimi ran a hand through his hair and let out a shaky laugh, like he couldn’t believe he’d actually said it. “I thought if I said anything real, you’d look at me and realize I’m just… some guy who memorizes apex speeds better than grammar rules. That you’d stop talking to me completely.”

She stared at him.

Then blinked.

Then said—very softly, very brokenly—

“…Then why didn’t you ever say something?” she asked. Her voice wasn’t angry anymore. Just small. Frayed at the edges. “Why did you let me believe I didn’t matter?”

Kimi opened his mouth. Closed it again. Looked so impossibly helpless it nearly broke her.

And then—he didn’t answer.

And Kimi—stunned, frustrated, helpless in the way only a teenage boy in love can be—did the one thing he could think of.

He kissed her.

No warning. No hesitation. Just leaned in and kissed her like she was the finish line and he’d been chasing her all season.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t practiced. It was a little clumsy, a little off-center, his hand curling into the fabric of her sleeve like he was afraid she’d pull away.

Chiara didn’t.

Her heart stuttered, brain blank. And then—melted.

She froze, breath caught—then melted into him.

Her fingers curled into the hem of his hoodie before she even realized what she was doing. Her other hand slid to his cheek. 

He kissed her like he was terrified she’d disappear the second he pulled back. Like she was something he’d been waiting to find and never thought he’d get to hold.

When they finally broke apart, her forehead rested against his. They were both breathing too fast.

Chiara blinked, dazed. Her voice came out smaller than she meant.

“…That was new.”

Kimi gave a short, nervous laugh, cheeks flushed pink. “Yeah. Sorry. I panicked.”

She stared at him for a beat longer.

Then smiled—soft, surprised, and entirely real. “Do it again.”

He didn’t need to be asked twice.

[mariacallous]

A man checked out dozens of books on Jewish history and other marginalized topics from a public library in a heavily Jewish Cleveland suburb before filming himself apparently setting fire to them, local authorities said.

Local Jewish leaders decried the incident at the Beachwood Public Library, appearing alongside other interfaith leaders at a press conference Monday outside a local church to denounce the burnings.

“Whoever perpetuated the idea that you can burn us out of Cleveland, deport us out of Cleveland, deny our ideas or press us and frighten us, picked the wrong community,” Rabbi Robert Nosanchuk of Congregation Mishkan Or, a Reform synagogue in Beachwood, said at the press conference.

The books the man burned included a copy of “The Diary of Anne Frank” and a title dealing with “Jewish Solidarity,” a researcher with Princeton University’s Bridging Divides Initiative told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency. The Princeton lab, which tracks political violence, first flagged the man’s video with the library after seeing it on the social network X.

The researcher, who requested anonymity owing to the nature of the group’s work, described the book selection as “something that you would expect of someone that is going into the library and trying to get books about Jewish authors and the Holocaust and everything.” In addition, the man had also burned books related to Black and LGBTQ topics.

“I think the act of targeting these materials, burning them, carries specific threatening connotations with it,” the researcher noted.

The Princeton lab had first seen the video on an account affiliated with the white-supremacist group White Lives Matter Ohio, which appeared to have since removed it. Local media also reported that material related to the burnings had made its way to the social network Gab, which is popular with extremists. JTA could not independently locate the video; local clergy told media they were deliberately not circulating it, in an effort to tamp down on its influence.

The book-burning incident appeared to be an unusual local manifestation of a simmering culture war over books reflecting diversity, one that has occasionally ensnared Jewish books and has lately been folded into the Trump administration’s push against diversity initiatives.

[anothermaletfwriter]

How do you feel being a twink?

(Accidentally deleted the anon ask oops: can you please do a story where the library changes a total douche straight guy into the ideal, effeminate twink asian boyfriend of the gay guy he relentlessly bullies? would love if the guy feels himself becoming trapped in his own mind & unable to stop his new body from absolutely fawning over the new love of his gay life. your stories are soooo hot)

Liam Richardson never got along with his gay roommate, Daniel Lee. For starters, Liam didn’t even originally pick out Daniel as his roommate. The original roommate he picked was a straight white jock bro like himself but he never arrived. It was only after Daniel arrived that Liam learned the original roommate dropped out of university to work on his full-time job of teaching a course about selling other courses.

Liam didn’t consider himself homophobic. He just didn’t want people to shove their sexuality in his face, despite him constantly doing the same for his heterosexuality.

Daniel was the out and proud gay that caused agitated Liam. Daniel wore soft oversized colorful outfits. His bedsheets and blankets were a rainbow. He had rainbow pride flags and posters of K-pop groups hanged on his wall. Underneath his bed was his collection of BL and yaoi manga. He made the place smell of peaches and cream.

To most people, Liam was a bully to Daniel, making fun of his looks, gay voice and the gay media he enjoyed. He had resorted to verbal bullying after his first and only attempt at physical bullying had backfired. After a two hour gym session, Liam had come home, wearing a drenched muscle tee that barely covered his juicy pecs, to Daniel eating the chips he had left out on the counter that were meant for him. After a loud argument between the two of them, Liam put Daniel in a headlock, flexing his muscles as he shoved Daniel’s soft face into his musky pits. He stopped after a few seconds when he felt Daniel’s boner on his legs. He swore off to never do any physical bullying again, despite Daniel’s multiple requests for him to do it again, sometimes he even offered money for it, which Liam still turned down.

Because of Daniel, Liam had to calculate around his schedule, figuring what time he got home to sneak a woman into their place for a quick fuck session. His type were short busty women, except for Asians as he didn’t find them that attractive, especially if they wore nerdy glasses. He enjoyed how powerful he felt towering a foot over his women.

Daniel wasn’t shy about his dream boy: Soft, effeminate, twink and Asian. Liam was pleasantly surprised Daniel never brought any guys home. He didn’t want to see any gay sex, especially one that involved Daniel. When asked when he would find a guy to hookup with, Daniel simply responded with, “You’ll know when I bring him home.”

When he woke up this morning, he could swear Daniel was staring at him with a big smile. What made it even creepier was his recollection of Daniel speaking in Mandarin before he fell asleep last night and a glance at his laptop revealed he was looking at ancient love spells.

There was a new library in town, and Liam went there, voluntarily, not to study but to go searching for any women to bring home and breed. If he timed it right, he had an hour to find one and fill up before Daniel got home. His predictions were accurate as he was able to snag a seat that give him a clear view of the pod of sorority girls chattering amongst themselves. While Liam slowly got up to approach them, he stopped midway from his chair. A soft vanilla fruity scent clogged his nostrils like if someone had thrown a perfume bomb in the middle of the library. He looked around and noticed no one seemed to even realize the smell. As the perfume entered his body, he felt his chest grow warm, prompting him to go to the bathroom.

Once he arrived in the empty bathroom, he was shocked to see another face in the mirror. His nose was shorter with a wider base. His hair turned from deep wispy brown to spiky jet black. He now had monolids as his eye colors became black. His skin a golder tone than the pale beige it had before. He was Asian! Liam tugged at his elastic skin like it was a mask but it stung when he tried to pinch it off. It was his own flesh, not synthetic. But that couldn't be, he was a white guy named Liam. No he wasn’t. He was David Nguyen, far from an ordinary white guy.

A softer voice appeared in his head, revealing himself as David, “Hey I’m not done yet,”

“What the fuck? What do you mean not done yet?” Liam asked himself in the bathroom, his deep voice bolting like rain, “Get out of my head and fix me back to the white jock I was before.”

“That’s not what Daniel wants.”

“I don’t give a little shit what that gay boy wants.”

“That’s just too bad. Anyways, I’m taking over your form as per his request so enjoy the ride! It won’t hurt a bit, it will just feel even warmer!!” The voice taunted before disappearing, much to Liam’s protests for it to return.

Liam curled him up his biceps and made a fist, vowing to find Daniel before anything else happens. But before he could exit the bathroom, his body froze. No matter how hard he willed for muscles to move, they wouldn’t budge. Before he could think, his body returned back to the sink and mirror. David was in control of his body and Liam couldn’t even yell for help.

His body formed a smile as the rest of his transformation continued. His frame fizzled out. He had shrunk a couple of inches as the ceiling lamps seemed further up than a minute before. A natural red blush developed on his cheeks that made makeup pointless. His hands were smaller and softer, with the scent of strawberry hand lotion quietly on them. The tight tank top that wrapped around his big chest became loose as his pecs and abs flattened out. He raised his arms as the mirror revealed they losing most of their definition. He pulled up his pants and saw the atrophy of his leg muscles as well, they were slender and hairless like the rest of his new form. He coughed as his Adam's shrunk, sounding more feminine. While his muscles and strength shrank, On the flip side, his ass felt heavier, owing it to his bottom-friendly exercises at the gym.

Liam tried to reverse the transformation by thinking about his attraction to women but the harder he thought about their bouncing breasts and leaking pussies, the more of his thoughts became clouded with other men topping him. Liam begged to have his sexuality spared but David declined, stating it was the part most important to Daniel. He coughed out his heterosexuality. No more attraction to women, no desire to have sex with them. All in his male gaze was other men now. This couldn’t get any worse.

His roommate boyfriend, Daniel, walked in. His smile piercing through David’s confusion, as he squeezed the little muscle left on his chest, “You okay, David?”

Liam was no longer in control of his body, let alone his consciousness. All the douchey and toxic parts of his masculinity were cleansed out and replaced with a softer, effeminate and sensitive one. His voice rose in pitch, matching the one speaking in his head earlier, “Yeah, I just needed a minute to myself"

Daniel puckered a kiss on his lips, standing shoulder-height to his boyfriend of a few months. The internal Liam was in agony. He was no longer in control of his body, since if he was in control, he would have punched Daniel. Liam was straight, he would never even think of kissing another guy, let alone someone as gay as Daniel. But he wasn’t Liam anymore, he was David, an openly gay Asian man.

Memories of their relationship were the next to be modified. Their argumentative battles and awkward standoffs as roommates were gone. All the hostility within vanished, and what remained was tranquility and love. Instead of a rocky start, their sparks flew off instantly, since they shared many of the same interests: cozy games, crocheting, Drag Race and K-pop. All the nights Liam spent on his phone watching football highlights were replaced by the vibrant pink nights where David and Daniel cuddled on the living room couch together underneath a Hello Kitty Blanket as they rewatched Drag Race clip’s and K-pop MNET performances on Youtube. On the table was the strawberry bobas they ordered nearly every weekend.

David was enamored with Daniel not just because of his cute twinkish look but his soft, adorable personality. He would be infuriated if he knew that his old version as Liam bullied his adorable cinnamon roll of a boyfriend. David and Daniel could not imagine where they wouldn’t be living together in their cute penthouse in Manhattan. Their first date was at the dining hall, eating bland cheeseburgers and salty curly fries, as David was the first to say “I love you."

The couple soon returned home from the library. Liam’s stacks of weights and dirty stinky gym clothes disappeared as Squishmallows and other plushies and piles of neatly folded laundry that smelled off fresh fabric conditioner. The mirror Liam used to flex and even spray a few shots of his seed on became spotless. Its outer frame became pink and decorated with Polaroids of Daniel and David together, almost like a shrine to their relationship. Liam could only watch in the back of David’s mind and body as reality finished correcting its mistakes.

David and Daniel cuddled together and kissed on their beds that they had smushed together. Their hearts flustered as they touched every warm spot of their bodies out of love. They couldn't be any happier than this.

There was no Liam, only a David that had always existed and loved his roommate boyfriend, Daniel.

[kitkatpadywaks]

Recommended Fics

Fics/One-shots I liked.

Key: 🔥Smut - 💢Angst - ❤️Fluff - 💀Dark Themes - 💕Slow Burn - ❤️‍🩹Hurt/Comfort - ✔️Complete(Series) - ❌Incomplete(Series)

Last Updated: 10th December 2024

Bucky Barnes fic recs | Daryl Dixon fic recs | Arcane fic recs

❤️‍🩹🔥Kinks and All by @babblydrabbly - (Harley Quinn x f!reader x Rick Flag)

❌💀❤️‍🩹 Eternally Yours by @a-reader-and-a-writer - (Vampire!Rick Flag x Vampire!Reader)

💀💢🔥LOVE HURTS by @coweye - (Rick Flag x Reader)

💢❤️Already Married by @darling-i-read-it - (Rick Flag x fem!reader)

❤️💢💀🔥free ground by @foli-vora - (Rick Flag x medicf!reader)

🔥danger! high voltage by @foli-vora - (Rick Flag x metahumanf!reader)

🔥HOT TO GO by @seancekitsch - (Adrian Chase x Reader x Rick Flag)

❌💀🔥💕 when you become untouchable by @starforgedthor - (Meta-Human!Villian!Reader x Adrian Chase)

✔️💢💕 today i bury you in me by - @the-darklings

✔️💢He's cold-blooded so it takes more time to bleed by @kaznejis - (Erik Lehnsherr x Reader)

❌🔥💢Your ivy grows, and now I'm covered in you by @kaznejis - (Erik Lehnsherr x Reader)

we're hanging on by a heartbeat by @kaznejis - (Erik Lehnsherr x Reader)

❤️‍🩹Comfort in the Darkness by @awkward-walking-potato - (Erik Lehnsherr x Reader)

❤️magnetic field by @flowersforbucky (erik lehnsherr x reader)

🔥❤️Healing Touch by @librababe99 (Charles Xavier x Fem!Reader)

🔥Teacher's Pet by @comicbookslut (Charles Xavier x Reader)

🔥Kinktober Day One (Clothed Sex) by @comicbookslut (Young!Charles Xavier x Reader)

🔥❤️Who's Afraid of Little Old Me? by @lokidjarin-7567 (Erik Lehnsherr x Reader x Charles Xavier)

❤️🔥New Tricks by @thevillainswhore (Virgin!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader)

🔥Revenge Sweeter Than Honey by @thevillainswhore (College!Bucky Barnes x MILF!Reader)

🔥❤️change of pace by @nickfowlerrr (beefy!bucky barnes x curvy!reader)

🔥Kinktober 2024: Day 5 by @rootedinrevisions (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

❤️Almost Kisses by @aquaticmercy (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

❤️Beautiful Mess by @aquaticmercy (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

In Another Life by @aquaticmercy (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

❤️Of Black Ink and White Lilies by @aquaticmercy (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

❤️Of Heroes and Heartstrings by @aquaticmercy (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

❤️How I Met Your Father by @brunchable (Bucky Barnes x f!reader)

❌💀❤️🔥💢Winter King by @brunchable (King AU Bucky Barnes x Out of place Queen Reader)

💀🔥Captivate Me by @brunchable (Stalker!Bucky Barnes x f!reader)

🔥Fri(end)s by @buckymorelikefuckme (bucky barnes x fem reader)

🔥Bucky's Second First Time by @eufezco (Bucky x fem!reader)

🔥Silent In the Library by @soelstress (Bucky Barnes x female!reader)

🔥❤️love language by @flowersforbucky (bucky x avenger!reader)

❤️Every Part of You by @anonymityisfunwriter (Grumpy!Bucky Barnes x Sunshine!Reader)

❤️can you watch my boyfriend for me? by @jiarkives

🔥Water Proof by @vivwritesfics

❤️🔥Stay by @jobean12-blog (Bucky Barnes x female reader)

🔥the night trilogy by @thyme-in-a-bubble (bodyguard!bucky barnes x reader

🔥the abandoned tie by @thyme-in-a-bubble (matt murdock x secretary!reader)

❤️💢Peace and Quiet by @aquaticmercy (Carol Danvers x f!reader)

❤️‍🩹🔥Don't bet on it by @hollybell51 - (Castiel x AFAB!fem!Reader)

❤️rest your eyes by @perseephoneee - (castiel x reader)

✔️🔥"If you will have me, I am yours." by @gilverrwrites - (Human!Castiel x Fem!Reader)

✔️🔥Takeout Tuesday by @gilverrwrites - (Human!Castiel x Fem!Reader)

🔥Salt n' Lick by APerfectGrace (AO3 - Castiel x Reader)

🔥close call by @wife-of-all-dilfs - (bellamy blake x reader)

❤️bioluminescence by @wife-of-all-dilfs - (bellamy blake x reader)

🔥pretty fixation, wicked temptation by @wife-of-all-dilfs - (bellamy blake x reader)

💢🔥Unravel Me by @thoughtsofedin - (Diego Hargreeves x Hargreeves!Reader)

💀❤️If I Can't Have You by @watchstarscollide - (Homelander x Reader)

💀❤️‍🩹🔥Guilty Pleasure by @blindmagdalena - (Homelander x plus size f!reader)

🔥💀how hungry i always am by @citrusai (Homelander x afab!character)

💀🔥Vicarious by @plutoswritingplanet (Homelander x plus-sized!reader)

💢❤️colourblind by @come-on-darling-honey (paul lahote x reader)

❤️🔥the way feat. luke alvez by @mcondance

Treacherous Waters by @joaquinwhorres (Leonard McCoy x Reader)

🔥Sweet Southern Peach by @rustanddusted

Oblivious by @toboldlygohome (Leonard McCoy x Reader)

❤️smile by @specialagentlokitty (Patrick Jane x reader)

treat you right by @specialagentlokitty (Patrick Jane x reader)

💀🔥Honey and the Hatchet by @cambria-writes (Patrick Jane x Original Female Character)

🔥Redemption by @the-horned-witch (Patrick Jane x Named!Reader)

🔥The Rock N' Roll Got Harder and Softer by @dilf-docs (eddie brock x younger fem!reader)

🔥keep a secret by @val-made-a-mistake

🔥monster tongue by @star-crossed-sluts (eddie brock x reader x venom)

🔥Chocolate and Cream by @angel-of-the-moons (Eddie x Venom x Curvy!Fem!Reader)

🔥riding dexter in his iconic killer fit by @hisbuni (fem reader)

🔥good girl by @willieverseetheland (Dexter Morgan x reader)

A New Moon by @happy74827 [Dexter Morgan x Female!Reader]

🔥i think i'm 'bout to explode, i can taste the tension like a cloud of smoke in the air by @dexteri0us (dexter morgan x f!reader)

💀You are who you eat by @minawritesfanfic

[dadsbongos]

mouthwashinglings porn history/preferences

+18! mdni

inspired by @lanternlighting

~

CURLY

girls kissing he watches girl on girl and genuinely gets turned off if a man is introduced at any point in the video

jerk off instructions also... sultry voices affectionately cooing how fast he should stroke his cock just to command he edge himself

HATES blowjob scenes, they feel so awkward to him. he much prefers watching some chick get bent like a lawn chair until she gushes on his pelvis

JIMMY

fucking freak watches japanese time stop porn. old men magically pausing all physical space in the middle of a crowded train car or library to reach up pencil skirts and blouses

age difference is a big turn on for him, step-moms teaching their girls how to fuck right and step-dads preying on their sweet step-daughters

fake taxi, fake cops, fake agents - anything where a woman is getting tricked and fucked, he is such a weirdo...

i want him

ANYA

semi-public to public. side of the road trysts, women flagging down help for "directions" while exposing their cunts and getting groped, alleyway face fucking, etc.

pillow humping where you can see the person's cum soaking and staining the sheet

warm up porn is erotic kissing vids on twitter or tumblr

DAISUKE

DROOL! spitting in mouths, slobbering on fat dicks, smearing slick against the sheets and their partner's cheeks. anything that emphasizes drool makes him twitch

happy ending, massages in the back dropping allll the way to the prostate or g-spot

step-siblings. pervert likes the fantasy of having a live-in sex doll he has to sneak around with

SWANSEA

old school hotrods bending pretty ladies over pool tables for all the biker gang to ogle and smack

yeah, gangbangs. to the point where he's gotta watch ten guys pile around before it interests him at all

i can see him watching those porn parodies like of the wizard of oz or snow white but it's full of fucking. he's a classic guy, it doesn't take much to get him going

[literaila]

your newest fic has woken something in me, verity. can i request nice sweet petter with mean!reader, who isn't actually mean ? but she just teases peter and flirts with him and leaves him tongue tied and peter is like "its cruel of you to make me fall in love with you". thank you, you're the best !

masochism

tasm!peter x reader

a/n: this means absolutely nothing. and everything.

*

“peter,” you say, dryly, frowning as you set your bag on the chair next to you.

the library is usually empty this time of night. nothing but bookworms and tired librarians with their yawns to break the silence. but that’s how you like it.

that’s why you come this late. you don’t want to make small talk with a stranger asking if they can borrow one of your chairs. and you definitely do not want to get charm and pretty eyes all over you. it doesn’t come out.

“fancy seeing you here,” peter says, and he’s moving from his table to come and sit at yours. his papers are a mess and he doesn’t even blink when he almost drops a pen on the floor.

of course, he doesn’t even need an invitation because he’s peter parker.

“are you stalking me?”

“intentionally?” peter asks, and his smile is teasing and far too bright for the dark of this room. “no. it’s not my fault you always show up where i am. but i’m not complaining.”

“well, i am. i came here to study. alone.”

“and you got the pleasure of receiving my company instead. lucky you.”

you grunt but sit down anyway. even if you actually wanted him to leave, peter wouldn’t. he’s far too stubborn and shiny for that.

it was a mistake to take calculus in the first place, but it was a certifiable failure on your part that peter seemed to latch onto you. he was good at math (another red flag) and he liked to coo and you and your smudges and erase marks.

and he seemed to show up when you least expected it; like he wanted to give you a heart attack.

peter leans over the table, his hair falling over his eyes. “what’re you working on?”

“an essay.”

there’s a beat of silence, and peter laughs. “about…” he ducks his head, eyes teasing and smile incandescent. and irritating.

“the probability of committing homicide in libraries at eleven pm,” you tap a pen against his forehead, pushing him back.

“always at your service.”

“why are you here?” you ask him. “don’t you have babies you need to swaddle? old women you need to fond over you?”

“pfft,” peter says, leaning back, looking far too comfortable. “i already did that today. plus it’s a wednesday night, and the visiting hours at the nursing home end at eight.”

you nod understandingly. “well, unless you want to become apart of my research study, shoo.” you wave him away.

he only laughs. “but i haven’t seen you in almost a week. you’re not taking calculus b.”

peter is wearing a mock pout. his eyes are glowing in the three foot distance between you. and the smirk on his face is only a harsh reminder of how much you hate him. his hair is curled at the edges and it’s brushed across the top of his forehead. his teeth are straight and white.

and you can see when he swallows.

“oh you mean bodily torture part two? yeah, no, i figured i’d go with the classic bondage exposé class this semester.”

peter clears his throat, chuckling, and you watch as his cheeks tinge with pink.

“you’ve taken that class, haven’t you, peter?”

“haven’t had the opportunity, no.”

“well, if you never need a quick lesson…” you whisper, voice sultry and on the edge of manic laughter. watching peter squirm in his seat almost makes up for the lack of studying going on right now.

“good to know.”

you purse your lips at him, making an effort not to laugh.

while this conversation has headed into unfound territory, you’ve managed to pull out your notes and turn on your computer, making peter a little more than an object in the distance.

but not peter spins your computer around, illuminating his face, and frowning as he stares at the screen.

“this is a blank document,” he says.

“what wonderful observation skills you have.”

“your name isn’t even at the top.”

you steal the computer back, scowling. “i’m working on it.”

“oh, are you?”

“you’re distracting me,” you hiss at him, eyes glaring and heart burning as he smiles back.

peter is too smiley. he’s too effortlessly calm. too much for you, and too much for this entire library.

“oh, i’m distracting you?” he repeats, shaking his head. “that’s priceless.”

“i’m not sure what you’re implying.”

“i’m saying,” peter whispers, “that you’re the one talking to me about bondage while i’m trying to make pleasant conversation—“

“oh, i’m so sorry,” you interrupt, hand going to your chest in mock sympathy. “it just seemed like something you’d be in to.”

peter snorts. “really?”

“if the rope fits,” you say back, looking away from him and counting to ten.

you need lessons in holding your tongue. lessons in how to respond when someone smiles at you like there’s nothing else they’d rather be smiling at.

“that’s not funny,” peter says, but his lips are curled.

“then why are you laughing?”

“i like riling you up,” he says, “it’s very amusing.”

“you just called yourself a tease. you’re not even trying to hide it now,” you point out.

your computer dims because you haven’t touched it in the last three minutes.

“that would make you the masochist, wouldn’t it? since you’re the one enduring my teasing?”

“is this your idea of foreplay, peter?”

“is it working?”

you hadn’t even realized that you were leaning in with him. just a couple more inches and you’d be nose to nose.

you smile at him, undeterred by his proximity—at least, mostly—pretty and sweet. “why don’t you come over here and find out.”

peter tuts. “don’t say things you don’t mean, bub.”

“who says i don’t mean it?”

you’re mostly teasing him. mostly trying to get him to move as far away from you ask possible before you wrap your hands around his neck and either strangle him or kiss him until he wants to strangle you.

but finally, peter leans back, sighing. “you’re driving me insane, you know that?”

you shrug. “you’re the one stalking me.”

you look away from him, pulling your computer closer to you, and tapping on the keys to wake it up.

“i wouldn’t have to stalk you if you would just accept my offer to go to dinner.”

“i’m not really a dinner person,” you say, licking your lips while you purposefully avoid his gaze.

“coffee, then. or a trip to the schools gift shop. i’ll buy you a sweater.”

“mmm… i’m not really a peter person.”

“now that’s just mean,” he says, but you can hear him smiling. you can feel him watching you, his eyes burning circles into your skin.

it’s a pleasant warmth, though.

“i know,” you drawl, looking up at him. “and you still won’t leave me alone.”

peter sighs, shrugging, and he’s smiling while he looks at you. “maybe i’m the masochist.”

you try not to laugh and fail.

*

part two

[swee7dream]

Hi! Would like to request a jaehyun/jeno fluff piece inspired by ABBA's "Does Your Mother Know" ? :) Thank you!

does your mother know ? retro!college athlete!jeong yoonoh x female!reader

genres fluff, meet-cute, college!au, pseudo-historical setting (50s-60s) triggers mentions of alcohol ? jaehyun HAS been with other people before you i'm so sorry dear reader i'll kill him for not saving himself for you note ignore the fact i haven't written in months ... this legit was supposed to come out in october but c'est la vie idk . listen along w the song for a better experience :) thank you SO SO SO SO SO x127 much for the request . i'm honored you trust me to execute your ideas properly

Nice nose bridge, sharp jawline, dimples easy to adore: all characteristics that can be used to describe Jeong Yoonoh.

The way that his mother doted on him the minute he was born built a strong foundation for good self-esteem.

He’s well-versed in the practice of rejecting girls or dating them for just the right duration before breaking up amicably using just the right words. He knows a smile will get him an extra bread roll from the lunch lady and a soft gaze can calm down an enraged team member in denial of his culpability of a foul.

Jaehyun is subtle.

He drops a leaf instead of a pebble to see the ripple effect on the waters. He knows just what he can get away with right before people’s eyes and what he has to sneak around for behind their backs.

He would almost say he’s perfected the art, if not for his mother’s tight-knit connections to his university professors.

“Just because you’re on a sports scholarship doesn’t mean your grades aren’t important, Yoonoh.”

“I know, Mama. I’m keeping a close eye on them.” Jaehyun pretends not to hear the unsure hum from the woman.

Soft-spoken yet heavy-handed, his mother is an elegant, traditional woman who doesn’t tolerate a featherweight of disrespect. And so the sigh caught in his lung escapes as a cough as he does the latches on his suitcase and pulls it off the blue bedsheets.

“Thank you for letting me stop by.” He kisses her cheek. “I didn’t realize how many things I forgot to pack the first time around until I was actually back in the dorms.”

“Don’t thank me yet, son.” Soft, well-moisturized hands that smell of roses pat his cheek, the sly tone of her voice piercing like thorns into his subconscious. “I haven’t even told you the good news yet. I got you a tutor.”

“…a tutor?” It’s only half a second’s worth of a reaction, his eyebrows quickly twitching back to their normal position, but it’s too late. She already saw. “F-For what?”

“Yes.” She smiles. “Because I hear whispers from your brothers—” and other sources “—that your games have been gathering too much of your focus. Remember you that school with you, don’t give them a bad reputation.”

“No, Mama. I won’t.” Jaehyun feels like a puppet when his arms come up against his will to wrap around his not-so-frail mother. You’d think after eight children she’d at least be more gentle.

—

A letterman’s jacket in the school’s lemon green color isn’t a rare sight anywhere on campus. Anywhere except the library, that is.

Seeing all of the physics and engineering students hunched over their books in their dreary browns and blacks makes Jaehyun feel like a neon green highlighter. It hangs on the back of his chair not unsimilar to a white, droopy flag of surrender.

He’s not a particularly bad student. He wouldn’t be getting valedictorian, but he does well for himself. There really is no reason for a tutor. That’s just silly. He could study with his usual group of friends or a pretty girl he met at an away game. Maybe it won’t be so bad, Jaehyun relents; maybe this study session will turn into a study date with a doll with soft and plush lips.

Mid-daydream, Qian Kun comes huffing and puffing behind until collapsing somehow gracefully in the seat in front of Jaehyun.

“Sorry I’m late, Yoonoh.” He smiles brightly, pushing up his glasses with one of his knuckles before quickly taking out his things from his bag. “One of my brother’s cats did its business in one of my shoes, so I had to change shoes but my other brother stole the new ones I planned to wear instead so I had to start a whole new outfit from scratch! And then of course my sister asked for a ride to the basketball game later; I told her I’d think about it but she’s just so- well, you know how having siblings is.”

When he looks up it startles Jaehyun. He had been rambling for so long that he felt he was just listening to a radio show.

“…yeah. I get it. Don’t worry.” He sits up properly, copying the straight manner Kun has all of his pens lined up. “Should we start?”

Qian Kun, the eldest of seven siblings, is the closest thing Jaehyun has to a childhood friend at this stage of his life. The first victim of a rich couple’s philanthropic streak, he’s the poster child of adoptees, inspiring them to pluck six other children of unfortunate origin like hats off a window display before cruising over to the Middle East after hearing whispers of archaeological prestige.

Jaehyun specifically chose to move into the dorms to get away from the white picket fences and champagne nights at least for a handful of years. However, it seemed he had forgotten that ‘Coke-Bottle glasses’ Qian Kun became ‘Neo University pre-med student’ Qian Kun one year before him.

What a drag… Jaehyun’s dream girl with messy hair tied up into a bun with cute little glasses seems to have grown wings and flown far, far away into the same space that America and the USSR are fighting to reach.

“Oh, rats!” A snap from Coke-Bottle Glasses brings Jaehyun back to the present.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah.” He sighs, looking down at the hand-written message taken down by the librarian. She came and left like the wind, sitting in the exact position Jaehyun had seen her in when he entered the library an hour ago. “My sister called. I told her I had plans but she’s threatening me to take her to the game tonight otherwise she’ll spill ink on my new Vonnegut. I’m really sorry, Yoonoh.”

“Oh.” Nice. “It’s fine, Kun. I appreciate you setting aside time from your schedule for this. Go ahead.”

“I’ll make up for it! I promise. See you around.”

It appears that rushing around is a common sight for Kun, none of the others in the library giving him a second glance at his messy exit.

—

There’s a real pretty girl with bright red lipstick who always seems to sit closest to the balcony of the school basketball court's second level. Jaehyun feels the way her eyes follow him, not breaking contact even when he looks back up at her. Rather than blush and look away, he’s met with a wolf-like smile.

He wonders what his neck would look like with her kiss stains left on his skin.

“You comin’?” He asks, pushing his damp hair out of his face and landing his hands on his hips. There's a cocky smile escaping the side of his mouth, holding hope that the game wouldn't be his only win of the night.

“Where?” Her eyes sparkle with a danger that gets his heartbeat back up to the same speed he had during the match.

“Party at my buddy’s place. You’ll like it.”

“I will?”

“Yeah.”

“How do you know that for sure?”

“I’ll be there.”

“…which buddy, captain?”

“Jaehyun.”

“Hm?”

“That’s my name, pretty. Use it or I won’t find you the next time we meet.”

It’s an exhilarating feeling to see her weaken, her grip on the handrail loosen, and her eyes widen. It was only for half a second, but that was more than enough. He already noticed.

“Better yet, do you already have a ride?”

When she shakes her head, Jaehyun beams.

“Come on, I’ll walk you to my car.”

—

You hate autumn. You’re freezing in the morning, melting in the afternoon, and rechilled once the sun has set.

Even with your stockings, the breeze of October stabs at your legs and you try your best to ignore the memory of your brother insisting you wear a longer skirt.

“How long have you been playing?” You ask, trailing a step behind Jaehyun. Bottom lip caught in between your teeth, you keep your thoughts about the new charm you find in him out of his basketball uniform to yourself. His white polo is crisp and you wonder if he ever even gets it dirty.

“A little while,” the upperclassman replies while your eyes wander down to his slacks, tan and elegant. It reminds you of a leather bag your mother brought you from one of her trips. However, the bag has more volume than him. “How long have you been watching me?”

The sly tone in his voice makes you scoff.

“I haven’t been watching you, I’ve been watching the games. The fact that you play them isn’t a major factor.”

“You’re a big basketball fan?” He turns to you, and his dimples draw you in like a whirlpool you have no chance of getting out of.

“Huge.” You’re sure you look like a klutz; you couldn’t take the stars out of your eyes even if you tried. “You?”

“Uh, I dunno.” His head drops to the side, black silky locks falling into his line of sight. “I’ve gotten into something new lately.”

“What’s that?” Before you even realize it, your hand is coming up to brush his hair back. “You don’t use pomade?”

“No.” You feel your pulse beat against the palm of his hand when he takes your wrist. “I don’t like how it smells. But this new… interest of mine. She smells pretty nice.”

Does your body know something you don’t know? The way you let yourself be pulled, you feel like you’re soaring through the skies with your feet fully planted on the ground. Tasting crisp mint off Jaehyun’s lips, smelling his scent of musk and pears, feeling the cashmere of his sweater; it’s an overwhelming experience that makes your head spin.

When you separate, you find him just as out of breath as you, painted a pretty shade of red.

“Wanna sit down?”

—

The streets you’ve walked your whole life look so different through the window of Jaehyun’s red Thunderbird. It makes you feel less like the girl who skipped class to the point you almost repeated your junior year of high school and more like one of the middle-aged women of your neighborhood, riding luxury cars from their children’s Ivy League schools to balls and galas by the waterfront.

You’ve kissed boys before. Your first kiss was under the slide of your elementary school with Choi Taeyang from the class next door to yours, and your second with Eric Sohn from your seventh-grade chemistry class. Your brothers call you promiscuous, you call them lonely, lonely children in return. Despite your past experiences, no one has been able to get you wrapped around their finger as fast as Neo University’s 77.

“The car smells like you,” you say once you’ve parked, keeping the two of you in your own hidden corner of the world despite a party going full force less than 200 feet away. With your back to the house of flashing lights, all you can see before you is the thick woods through the windshield and the slight halo that glows around Jaehyun’s dark silhouette.

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Yeah. I mean, after the smell of sweat subsides, you smell like a magazine.”

“The smell of sweat?” He smiles, radiating light still despite the dark. “I smell of sweat?”

“It’s kinda strong.” You scrunch up your nose. “But I mean, you’re handsome enough for people to ignore it.”

“But you didn’t.” He leans in and you can smell the spearmint of his gum making your nerves go haywire again. “Am I not handsome enough for you?”

“You’re alright.” You bite down a giggle. “I think I’m a couple notches higher.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“…maybe you’re right,” he replies after his eyes linger a couple of seconds too long on your lips. “And I mean, you don’t smell like sweat either.”

“Yeah.” You shrug and the small movement brushes the tips of your noses together, the sensation tickling and spreading out to the rest of your face. “I mean, I actually shower.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” he hums. “You smell like soap… and caramel.”

“Caramel apple.” You bat your lashes.

“Ah, yeah. That’s the note I was missing.”

“Many do.”

“Lots of people get to have you this close?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Don’t play with me, girl. You already know I want you.”

With your newly found experience, you gather that the way Jaehyun kisses is hungry yet, at the same time, somehow refined. He’s slow and gentle but is always prepping you for more, like a slow uphill climb that will soon send you rolling down at light speed.

His lips are smooth from peppermint lip balm and his tongue tastes like spearmint gum. Each and every second of kissing Jeong Jaehyun is chilling like an ice bath that gets all of your adrenaline up in a single second.

Slender fingers are gentle on your jaw when he pulls you away, almost as if he was the one who needed to stop before he couldn’t stop himself from doing something he knows he shouldn’t do.

“I need a drink.” He sighs. His brown eyes shiver before you as if he’s about to explode if he doesn’t leave the stuffy, heated car.

“…I think I need some water myself.”

—

Johnny Suh is not a member of any sports team or famed club. He’s just a simple economics major with lots—and lots—of connections. Being Johnny Suh’s friend is gold in social currency. It can get you notes from students who took the class before you, tickets to a sold-out pep rally, and even the name of that one fetching individual you never caught the name of in your 8 a.m. Monday lectures back in the second semester of your first year. Most envied, however, are the invite-only parties at his family cabin.

With surround-sound radios and jukeboxes found only at the types of restaurants men in tailored, pinstripe suits eat at, Johnny’s cabin parties are objectively seen as the bee’s knees.

“How did you get in here?” You look around the dimly lit living room, hanging off Jaehyun’s arm. Apparently, somebody partied a little too hard and jacked up the electricity. Lucky for everyone else, that means the icebox needs to be emptied before all the soda gets flat. Unfortunately for everyone else, Mark Lee brought his guitar just in case of a situation like this.

“I’m close with the host, like brothers, you could say.” He guides you into the kitchen, and you see smoke coming out of the hallway that you think leads to the bedrooms. “What do you like to drink?”

“Just a soda for me, thanks.”

“Just a soda?” He raises his eyebrows before going to open the icebox. “Lucky me, I get a pretty girl to drive me home tonight.”

It seems that Jaehyun knows this place just as well as or better than his own home, handing you your ginger ale, opening it first, and immediately finding the beer opener in a drawer you didn’t even realize was a drawer.

“You don’t drink?”

“No.” You shake your head. “I tried it but it wasn’t for me. Besides, my brothers let me get away with a lot of things but alcohol seems to be the line for them.”

“How come?”

“They say I’m too young still, but Kunhang started when he was my age too so I don’t know what that’s all about.” You roll your eyes.

“Kunhang?”

“My brother,” you explain.

“Ah…” He nods. “I might’ve gone to school with him. His name sounds familiar.”

“God, I hope not.” You hide your laugh behind your soda can. “He’s a total weirdo.”

“You’re not particularly average either.” He raises his eyebrows at you before taking a sip.

“I’m gonna take that as you mean I’m an above-average beauty and intellectual.” You glare at him.

“The beauty part is obvious. I might have to take you out a couple more times to see about the intellectual part.”

“I get good grades. Unlike you, captain.”

“And what evidence do you have for that claim?” He pouts like a child facing the grave injustice of not having candy for supper.

“You can’t be handsome and good at sports and be a top student. You have to be a little thick-skulled otherwise the Lord isn’t fair,” you tease.

“Maybe I am. I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

You slap at his arm with a groan, Jaehyun’s laugh is heard only for a second before more voices enter the kitchen and drown it out.

“Thank God you’re here!” A high-pitched voice calls out.

In the dark, you can only see a messy head of hair being carried on the back of Jung Sungchan.

“Jaehyun,” he sighs. “Please take him. I don’t know if he’s drunk or accidentally took something but it’s like a baby turned the size of a grown man.”

“Baby!” The person being carried finally raises their head. You recognize him; he's that guy from your civics class. What was his name again?

“Haechan.” Jaehyun walks up to pat him on the cheek. It reminds you of how he held yours back in the car, but unlike back then, there’s a force that makes Haechan groan in pain. “Stop using Sungchan as a free ride when you don’t feel like walking. If you’re tired, go lay down.”

“I don’t wanna…” he whines, and you can’t help but make a face at the childlike tantrum. “I'm gonna party ‘till the sun’s up!”

“No way. Not while you still live with Mama. You don’t know what she’ll do if you’re not home by midnight.”

“I’ll just tell her I’m staying with you for the night!” Haechan rubs his face into Sungchan’s shoulder. The latter looks just as uncomfortable as you amid the conversation, looking around and nodding at you in greeting.

“Drop him, Sungchan. He’s fine.”

Haechan squeals in the most effeminate way possible. It makes you wonder how he could possibly be related to Jaehyun.

“You’re so mean, I hate you!” He complains from the floor.

“Just take this Kool-Aid and settle down.” Jaehyun clicks his tongue.

“Hi.” Sungchan gets your attention when he raises his hand awkwardly, deciding it’s polite to have a verbal introduction rather than just a nod. “I’m Sungchan.”

“Sungchan’s my brother’s teammate on the soccer team. He also does the job of his babysitter on nights like this.” Jaehyun sighs, slotting back to standing behind you with his hand ghosting over your forearm. It feels like some sort of protective measure against his eccentric brother, but you don’t have any mind to voice a complaint.

“I know you!” Haechan points at you, and even in the dark, you can see a spiked Kool-Aid mustache on his top lip. The finger pointing at your heart makes you step back for a second, and your mind rushes to see if you have any memory of wronging him.

“Uh, yeah,” You decide to answer once you’ve decided that no, you haven’t had any bad (or really any) interactions with Haechan. “We share a class.”

“Yeah! You’re Yangyang’s brother’s sister!”

“I’m… also Yangyang’s sister. But, yeah. That’s me.”

“Yangyang’s brother… um…” Haechan presses his fingers to his forehead as if he had a button there to activate the exact memory he’s searching for. “Kun!” He shouts.

“Kun…!” You repeat, unsure whether to try and match his energy or not. “Yup. That sure is my brother.”

“Kun is your brother?” Jaehyun turns to you. “Qian Kun?”

“Yeah.” You frown. “Why’d you say it like that?”

“I knew it!”

“Is that a problem?” You ignore Haechan.

“Yes. No-” Jaehyun stutters. “Maybe. Most likely.”

“Why does my brother’s name matter? Did you kiss my brother too?” You poke and prod.

“Obviously not.” He sighs. “I need a smoke.”

Left stranded in a foreign house with foreign people, you are left frozen in shock. The night was going so well, but all of a sudden, your brother was the problem? You’ll kill him.

“Jae-!” You call out through the crowd. “Jaehyun!”

“Hey…” Your same wrist that Jaehyun’s hand warmed when he kissed you in the parking lot of the school gymnasium is now cold in the hand of your brother. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here, Yang? Let go!” You flail your arm around but his grip is solid.

“Does Kun know you’re here?”

“I said I would be with my friends!”

“Well, where are they?” He frowns.

“I need to go, Yangyang.” You sigh.

—

The buzz of excitement Jaehyun felt outside of the lake house with you has dulled into nerves and anxiety about what’s to come.

He wishes he could be like the smoke from his cigarette, disappearing up into the sky. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to deal with the inevitable consequences of hooking up with his tutor’s sister.

He’d gotten too confident. He’s kissed girls under streetlights and behind bleachers, but it was all when both parties were under the influence. A kiss here and a touch there meant nothing when the sun came up, smiling politely to each other as any two strangers who meet eyes do when they walk past each other on campus. It was unspoken but obvious; this doesn’t mean anything, this spark will die with the fireflies of the night.

But tonight is different.

For some reason, looking at you is all he needs to jolt back to life. Even though he’s not supposed to keep this fling going past sunrise, he’s here, standing alone with his thoughts, trying to brainstorm a way to keep you until tomorrow and then some. Maybe on a date where you two can walk down the path of fire-colored, falling leaves, talking about everything and nothing at all as you stop by a coffee shop and he can see whether you like coffee or tea, if you like sugar or milk.

Jaehyun sighs, his breath appearing and disappearing before his eyes.

When did he get so covetous?

��

“He left you in a party full of people you don’t know. What would you have done if I weren’t here?”

“He didn’t leave me, he just needed to step out for a second!”

“Sure he didn’t. Why did he have to step out?”

“I don’t know!” You yell back, pressing the heels of your hands into your closed eyes. The people dancing around you look over their shoulders at you for only a moment before returning to their partners. “The weird guy from Ethics mentioned Kun and he got all stiff and just dashed! This is all because of you. You are getting in the way and Kun is getting in the way and Dery is getting in the way. How do you manage to ruin my life even when you’re not even here?!”

“Hey.” Yangyang hovers his hand above your shoulder but retracts it on second thought. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I think I should take you home. I was about to head out about now either way…”

“I don’t want to leave.” You shake your head, slumped over. “I want to wait for Jaehyun.”

“Jaehyun? Which-? The Jaehyun on the basketball team?”

You nod, hoping the voice of Connie Francis is loud enough to hide your sniffling.

“He brought me here. He has to take me home too.” You pause. “He… has to take responsibility. He can’t just leave me here, planted. He can’t just dump me here. He can’t!”

Yangyang does what he does best when you’re upset: stand at a distance close enough where he can be around to hear any requests you have of him yet far enough not to catch any of the heat you spit as you speed through a sluggish depression into a fervent fury.

“Yeah. Yeah, you… yeah.” He drops his hands to his sides. “I- I can go find him if you want-”

“No! I’m going to find him, okay?! I’ll find him and I’ll kick him in the crotch for treating me like this. What is his problem?” You finally raise your head to face Yangyang with the one expression he avoids the most.

Seeing the back of Jaehyun’s bowling-ball-sized head irritates you to the point that your muscles all tense at once. Even though you stomp on the gravel on purpose, he doesn’t turn around, and before you even realize what you’re doing, your hand has already made contact with his scalp.

“What the-” He looks up at you dumbfounded, crouched still in pain.

“Shut up!” You yell at him. “You do not get to just dump me in a party you brought me to. Who do you think I am? I don’t know anybody here.”—A lie, but he doesn’t know that.—“I came here for you and because of you. You were going to leave, weren’t you? You were gonna leave me here, stranded, and what was I supposed do? Catch a cab with your freak brother to get home? You must have me confused with somebody else because I’m not that kind of girl.”

“My… freak… what?”

“You better answer me right now or I will make sure you don’t have children, Jeong.”

“I-” Instinctively, his hands come in front of the middle of his legs. “Wait, listen-”

The crickets fill the silence Jaehyun didn’t expect from you, instead being met by your eyebrows high on your face.

“What?”

“I honestly didn’t think you would hear me out.”

“Was I not supposed to?”

“No! No, I mean, yes. I mean-” He sighs. “I do have something to say. I just… had the music bursting my ears and I couldn’t think. But, I have it now. Will you listen to what I have to say?”

“...” You stare at him. “Go on.”

There’s hesitation when he moves his hands, standing up straight and turning to face you head-on, yet his gaze goes everywhere except your eyes.

“It’s complicated.” He drops his shoulders. “Our circles are more intertwined than I thought and it could become a big deal if things go awry-”

“Intertwined like what?”

“Your… brother tutors me.”

“Kun tutors you?”

“Yes.” He gulps.

“…so you are thick-skulled.���

The buzzing inside Jaehyun’s brain stops in an instant, your little quip practically forcing him to meet your gaze. You’re clearly trying to stay upset, but the corners of your mouth are fighting to go up, making Jaehyun smile the same.

“I guess… a little bit, yeah.” He scratches the back of his head before realizing it’s still stinging from your slap of righteousness. “My parents know his- your parents. Something about a mentorship in a hospital in the city being guaranteed if he helps me out. I don’t wanna ruin stuff for him, or you, if we don’t… you know.”

“Oh my gosh. The Jeongs.” You sit on the graveled ground, immediately regretting your decision as the stones poke at your skirt, but don’t bother getting up. “You’re their kid? I didn’t remember there being a Jeong Jaehyun.”

“It’s a nickname. No one here really knows because I don’t treat it like one.” He slides his back on the wall to sit beside you. “Yoonoh just didn’t fit me. It doesn’t fit me.”

“I think it’s a nice name.”

“Thanks.” He turns his head, still resting on the cabin’s outer wall, to offer a press of the lips that somewhat resembles a smile with a dimple decorating each end. “Maybe it’ll fit me in like… thirty years.”

“At 52?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe.” You shrug. “Grandpa Yoonoh.”

He shivers.

“Don’t, please.” He chuckles. “I’m not ready for that yet.”

“Fair enough.” You sigh. “What a night.”

“I kind of ruined it for you, didn’t I?”

“It was a roller coaster for sure. But it wasn’t terrible. I’ve got hopes that you’ll do better the next time around.”

The fir trees brush against each other at the push of a particularly strong breeze, and the lake ripples quietly at the shore.

“If you wanted one,” you blurt out. “But if you don’t, that’s fine. It’s your loss, really. Honestly, planning a date is such a hassle because I’m just so busy. And you’re so busy. But it’s not like this is a date now. We’re just hanging out, right? We came together but that doesn’t mean we have to leave together, you know? Actually- I think I saw my brother back inside. I should get him home before Kun yells at us for staying out too long.” The words leave you at a speed too fast to be reviewed by your brain beforehand, too focused on making sure your heels don’t dig too much into the gravel and end up twisting your ankle somehow.

“I do.” Jaehyun grabs your wrist, grip tight enough to stop you from running away yet loose enough for you to shake him off if you truly want to leave.

“…can you start replying in a timely manner?” You look down at him with warm cheeks, shaking from the cold and embarrassment. “You do what?”

“I want to take you out again. Properly, this time.” His eyes disappear into crescent moons.

“What does ‘properly’ entail?”

“You know, getting you flowers, meeting the parents, getting you home before 10 and getting a kiss goodnight.”

“You already messed up the timeline,” you tease.

“I did, didn’t I?” There’s regret in his voice. “Does that mean you don’t want to?”

“No…” You look down at him. “I do.”

“Then, can you let me try and make up for it?”

His lips are warm against the back of your hand, and it makes you feel like a protagonist of a Jane Austen book.

“If you insist…” Your fingers clasp around his hand, urging him to get off the ground. “Ready for round two?”

“I think I’ll pass on round two tonight.” Jaehyun’s arms wrap around you. “Does your mother know you’re out this late? I don’t want to start this on the wrong foot with your family.”

“She doesn’t care, honest.” You try to push his chest, trying to avoid making eye contact with it, but he doesn’t budge.

“And your brother?”

“Which one?”

“You know exactly which one I’m talking about.”

“…It’ll be fine.”

“I’m not starting this on the wrong foot with your family. In the car.”

“What? No. Jaehyun-”

[megalomaniacz]

academic rival abby anderson 🎧📓🖊️

𝘮𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘣𝘰𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘣 @munsonsfairy

academic rival!abby who comes over before a big exam insisting that you both need to help each other relieve some stress.

academic rival!abby who praises you to the higher connections she has and has to hide her joy when you get emails enlisting you for opportunities you’d been dreaming about.

academic rival!abby who notices you making a very minor and sleepy mistake and annoyingly whispers “and i thought you were smarter than me?” in your ear. chuckling to herself as you scramble to fix it.

academic rival!abby who insists that she cannot stand you even though she’ll purposely hover near you in the dining hall and sit next to you in the library when her ex is there. “it was either you or her, and i hate to say this but, i’d rather sit with you.”

academic rival!abby who finds it so endearing that you’d forgotten your umbrella on a day where one of the worst storms would be hitting your town. her black jeep wrangler pulling up to you, insisting you get in because now that she’s seen you you’re her responsibility.

academic rival!abby who caught your girlfriend cheating on you and sent you the proof through a burner account. it’s not like she paid her childhood friend to seduce her and take as many pictures and screenshot as she could. promising an extra $100 if she could swiftly complete the task in one week.

academic rival!abby who is rich. not flashy designer rich, but pretentious tailored suit can afford to spend $2,000 a day rich. always sending you gifts under the guise of your out of state grandmother who she visited on a private plane. you still have no idea because she lied about her name and grandma is too old to be straining herself for memories.

academic rival!abby in a suit, pulling you off to the side at a banquet where she refuses to let you meet her heartbreaking hell of a cousin ellie williams. she jumps at the chance to be touchy with you, which shocks you immensely. you make a mental note of it to tease her about later.

academic rival!abby who is so obsessed with the idea of you settling your quips and being together that she waves the white flag first. drunk with confidence she finds herself leading you into an enclosed classroom on campus. a sweet and simple love confession spilling from her lips. one that you catch with a very passionate and long overdue kiss.

[nyx-is-missing]

Graceland too

Clarisse la rue x fem!reader (Athena's kid)

Sumarry: When a certain daughter of Athena felt unappreciated her whole life, someone was there to see her.

Warnings: Sad girl hours, shitty parenthood, hurt/comfort because im no monster and probably other things wich i forgot.

a/n: look who is back!

Demigod.

Half blood.

Half a goddess.

Half a human (?).

And yet, fully a disappointment.

When Athena sent me to my Dad's house, in a golden crib, dressed in pure white dress, glowing, how the myths would expect a demigod to be, then, and only right then i was a gift.

A piece o divine love, something to prove to him, till the end of his life, that at some point, he was good enough for a Goddess.

But days after, immediately, i was just a crying baby, hungry, with a busy father, without a mother, and that only made him remember that, that was it.

He wasnt good enough for her, she wasnt staying, she never even actually even considered, he would never have that kind of honour, only a crying baby he never expected.

I wasnt a gift anymore, it actually felt like i was a insult, everything about me started to enrage him.

And oh, how did he reminded me of that every single day of my existence.

When i got diagnosed with dyslexia all i've heard whas that Athena gave me up to him because i was defective, when i couldnt sit still during classes, and exploded with all the repression i suffered everyday, suddently i was a clock bomb, when my grades where great, i was never rewarded, it was "the least i could do, to make up for the shame that i was".

I was never loved, never wanted, never encouraged, at least not by him.

The very little love i've known in my life, i own to the people who felt pitty of me.

The teachers, the neighbours who have heard the insults, the stray animals who could sense sadness, the very old grandparents who never actually saw me more than twice a year, and the people who worked at a nerby library, who let me stay past closing time, leaving only with the cleaners.

I was 12 when he had enough and sent me to camp, literally the very day school was over.

I came home to my clothes packed and him waiting by the car keys.

Being in camp for the first time, was also the very first time in my life i have ever felt....normal.

Not good, not bad, not great, not terrible, i was one, and that was enough.

I spend that summer being quiet, i sat in the corner, i didnt spoke, i didnt interrupted, i didnt had any ideas, i wasnt good enough to do that, thats what i've been told my whole life, thats my true.

It took a whole new summer for Athena to claim me.

I have always wondered if she was fighting with herself, if she had any problems having to admit that she made a mistake, with me, or with him.

It didn't matter, for the first time i had brothers and sisters, who wanted me, who understood when i wasnt the best, who asked for my graded tests, to put up in the wall.

They understood when i was hard to crack, when i insisted in being quiet, when i wouldnt share my ideas, they understood it all.

I didn't.

Each and every new summer i spent there, all i could ask myself was:

Why could i not be great like all of them?

Why im still afraid?

Why i was still useless?

Im now sixteen and the same questions still were unanswered.

And today i felt worse than ever.

It was my birthday, and i havent got a single letter from him, nothing, nothing.

It felt like he was saying i wasnt worth anything again.

Earlier, i tried to pretend nothing was happening, smiling with my siblings, finally making plans for capture the flag, finally belonging like i promissed i would try to do that year.

My plan was used, it wasnt perfect, but it was used, and surprising myself and the other team, we won.

I could see the other team confused, and Clarisse cussing us to death.

Still i was so happy, for the first time in my life i showed myself, and i worked....partially.

The happiness of victory didnt last much in me, because i saw a new brother of mine almost bursting to tears, he was young and just got claimed a few days ago, he wasnt used to that, and he wasnt supose to get hurt, but the red that painted his arms said otherwise.

I couldnt stare at him without feeling like i failed again.

Why couldnt i be perfect for once?

I took him to infirmary and held his hand while he was getting his stiches, saying sorry all the time.

I tried thinking it was okay, people get hurt, move on.

I had diner, i took a bath, i tried to sleep, i couldnt.

The tears were falling down and i knew i wouldn't be quiet.

So i got up and walked to the cabin's porch, sitting on the last step and letting my head fall to my knees.

Why couldnt i be great?

Why couldnt i be in peace with myself?

Why couldnt my mom bless me?

Why couldnt my dad love me?

Why did he had to be so mean?

I was a kid for fucks sake.

"Are you okay?" I heard someone saying, that made me freeze, that voice was not from any of my sisters, was i crying so hard i woke up someone from other cabin?

"I- yes, sorry i didn't knew i was crying so hard to wake people from other cabins, im sorry"

"You didn't, i was sneaking out to train some more, and saw you, our cabins face each other"

That was...Clarisse?

I wiped my tears and look up, she was staring at me with a almost worried look

"Clarisse?"

"Yes, why are you crying?"

She sat down by my side, dropping a sword in the grass.

"Its nothing really, im fine, you dont need to bothe-"

"No, cut the crap" she stopped me mid sentence "no one ever weeps in the middle of the night out of happiness, you are not fine and im not letting you lie OR leave until you tell me what it is"

We stare at each other, and ill need to thank the night light being bad because i probably look like crap right now, im sure my eyes are red, my nose too, im probably with a very swollen face and id bet all the dracmas i own that my hair its no better than a nest of birds.

"Go on...tell me"

I layed myself in the stairs, looking at the sky, trying to think of a way to tell everything, without sounding crazy

"I dont deserve to be here, Clarisse."

"Here..where?"

"This cabin, i dont deserve to be called daughter of the goddess of wisdom, i dont deserve being here with them, my siblings they are great, more than good, great, they will do great things with themselfs, amazing writers, architects, brilliant musicians, historians, why am i here? Im not even good, why im with the great?"

"Wait wait wait" she made me sit down again and look at her "not even good? What are you talking about? Wasnt the strategy in the last capture the flag yours? Yall won, and if somebody asks me later i've never said this but that was good, some really good strategy, i was almost thinking of asking chiron to switch you teams, you were great, more than that, and now you're here telling me you are not egen good? Are you on drugs?"

"Clarisse you dont need to pretend you care that much, and my plan wasnt all that, my brother got hurt, that wasnt supose to happen, i failed him, if i was good enough he wouldnt even be there"

She had a very confused look on her face, like she really did not knew what i was talking about.

"You're not talking about the little boy you took to the infirmary and that small cut in his forearm are you? Cause that boy was far from almost dying like you are making it sound like-" she looked at my eyes, i didnt needed a mirror to have sure how i was, i've seen myself like that too much to count, everytime my dad said i wasnt good enough, sad, lifeless.

"I failed again Clarisse, im not good enough to be here, im useless, worthless"

She looked at me and did the last thing i tought she would, Clarisse hugged me.

"Dont say that, c'mon, worthless? I've seen you fight, i've seen your plans, you dont talk much but i've heard your ideas, you are far from being useless or worthless, who the fuck told you that?"

"My f- you heard me?" I looked at her, only to see a look i couldnt distinguish "what do you mean?"

She looked at her own feet, then at her sword, reflecting the moonlight.

"You really dont know?" She looks at me "i- well, i've heard you, the same way i see you everyday, thats how i know you like morning walks, sweet green grapes, baked goods...how i know you are probably the only child of Athena who has never read "the art of war", that you walk without looking at peoples faces....its weird, i've seen you so much throughout this years and it feels like this is the first time you are actually seeing me"

"But i've saw you before-"

"Thats not what i was saying, you looked at me many times, but did you ever saw me until today?"

I looked at her blinking, and after a moment of silent i said "you like dark chocolate, and lemon flavoured soda, and sneaking out to train when the harpies take their breaks, by the way you missed that, and you always ask for double the quantity of food you eat, so when you burn it you still can eat enough, by the way i stole that idea-"

She is smilling, big, really big, i think i am too.

Of course i saw Clarisse, who wouldnt, she was strong, brave, beautiful, to me was a wonder she didnt had people running to get her attention.

She got closer to me "does that mean i can-" i stopped her mid sentence again

"Maybe..."

"Im going to make you forget that "im not good enough" nonsense, belive me"

She is smilling while kissing me, and i am too.

[thegirlfromblackwater]

If the Van der Linde Gang lived in Modern Times (Modern Au)

Life gives you funny ideas...and I'm going to write them down

Arthur

Would live on a ranch in Montana or Wyoming as a rancher

Offers services like trail rides, lessons, and boarding

Has a herd of cattle

Spends every Sunday watching Rodeos on TV

Watches while sitting in his favorite worn-out armchair

Always has a cold beer and a snack or his dinner while watching

Has a pickup truck that's a bit filthy on the inside. Addresses his car as a "she."

Treats it like a horse: calls it a "good gurl."

Has a mounted Trout and some taxidermy on the walls

The Wifi at the ranch is spotty..doesnt understand why guests need it when they're surrounded by nature

Network Name: MorganRanch Password: Ynnel123

Tried to fix the router once but not exactly tech savvy. Ended up punching it

Texts Albert Mason sometimes

Dutch

Definitely lives in a city either Los Angeles or New York City

Lives in a Snazzy Penthouse in the clouds with a skyline

Works as a motivational speaker

Wears a lot of bling

Has a bar in at his place

Molly always tries to find a way in

Calls Hosea a lot

Has a weird fetish for black, red and white furniture.

Still loves reading books by Evelyn Miller despite that the writer is a nobody living in Idaho

John, Abigail & Jack

They probably live out west on a farm (very much like Beechers Hope)

John works on the ranch and also has side multiple side jobs (thanks to Abigail)

Jack spends his time in the school library

Abigail is obsessed with this one bakery

Molly

Lives in whatever city Dutch lives in

Tries to make herself at home in the penthouse

Famous on social media for her makeup tutorials

The neighbors can usually hear Molly & Dutch fighting

Dutch: "Not now Miss O'shea" Molly: "Pig!"

Bill

Lives somewhere in the Midwest

Works as a truck driver for Walmart

spends a lot of his life on the road

Has a bit of road rage

likes rest stops

when he's not working, he is a part of a biker gang

has a tattoo sleeve and wears a white wife beater

one of those bikers that wears a bandana with the American flag on it

Marybeth

Probably lives in a quaint town on the east coast

Works in a bookstore during the day and is a freelance writer in her free time

Lives in a cute townhouse with a small garden in the front full of flowers.

Her house is cozy

has a seating area with big windows that look out over the street

spends her time writing and reading there

likes to sit at cafes and drink coffee

Lenny

Is a full-time university student by day and bartender by night

Lives in Chicago or Atlanta

Probably double majoring in Business and literature (if that combination even exists)

Lives his single life to the fullest

Mostly an A student who goes full ham on the weekends when partying

Micah

Lives in Las Vegas

Sells illegal drugs

Has no money because he gambled too much

Stays in different hotels

Owns a pawn shop

Everything for sale there was smuggled across the border

Has dealings with the cartels & other shady characters

Hosea

Lives a quiet life out west

Goes to his lake house on the weekends to go fly fishing

Reads a lot of books

Also likes to go hunting

Is a part time English teacher who teaches children to read

Talks to Dutch by phone

Sometimes visits Arthur and stays at his Ranch

Uncle

Lives in a trailer park in Florida where the weather is always warm and the cold won't bother his illness

Sits on a folding chair outside his mobile home

Plays the Banjo

Drinks a beer

Is a complete mess inside

Doesn't own much furniture

Can't work because of the Lumbago

Sweats a lot

Naps and snores too loud

Lives next to a swamp

Javier

Lives in Arizona

Lives in the desert

Grows cactuses

Owns a Music shop

Travels around playing at local bars

Works part time as a music teacher at the local high school

Has a YouTube where he shows off his music

Sadie

Probably lives in a city like Dallas or Denver

Works as a cop

Likes to catch people for speeding and sits on the side of the highway

eats Chick-fil-A while waiting

Watches Dateline

Carries a Taser

Always looks sexy in her uniform

Charles

Definitely lives in a cabin out west

works as a conservationist

Likes National Parks

Goes fishing with Arthur

supports and donates to the Bison Sanctuary (if one even exists)

Likes Camping

Trelawny

Lives a wealthy life in Charleston, South Carolina

Lives in a large southern mansion

Wears a robe to sleep

Has a whole walk-in closet full of clothes and accessories

Has a sauna in the basement where he relaxes

Owns a bunch of fancy cars: He loves his Bentley

Reverend Swanson

Probably lives in Philadelphia

Still works part-time at the church

Mostly spends his time helping people with addictions

Hosts an AA meeting three times a week

Rescues crackheads from the street

Mostly sober

Wrote a memoir on his journey to recovery

Sean

Lives in Boston

Likes the university/young people vibe

works at a pub

Everyone's favorite Bartender

Makes customers laugh

goes back to Ireland once a year

Takes Karen with him sometimes

Karen

Lives in Portland, Oregon

Works at a bar as a bartender and a stripper

Good Pole Dancer

Her large tits are popular amongst the men

Puts on shows in the evening

Talks to Sean a lot

Gets Hammered

Strauss

Works in Finance in New York City

Is a Workaholic

Has no friends

Goes back to Austria every few years

Boring to talk to

Always on a work call

Listens to Classical Music

Tilly

Lives in Nashville, Tennessee

Visits Marybeth a lot

Wants to be a Nurse

Likes taking care of people

Wants to travel around the world

Pearson

Lives somewhere in New England

Owns a restaurant and catering business

The restaurant is interestingly enough called "Pearsons"

Probably has a wife and some kids

Loves Maine Lobster one of those people that wears a bib when eating it because he's messy

Is a good Butcher

Susan Grimshaw

Lives in Florida

Is a housekeeper

Cleans uncles' mobile home once a week

Tries to control Tilly and Marybeth from miles away

disgruntled

[johnwickb1tsch]

Sympathy for the Devil ~ Part 5

A Donaka Mark x housekeeper!Reader fic, based on @discoscoob 's concept & bot! Warnings: Donaka Mark is a bad man with a soft spot for you. dark romance, possessive behavior, nonconsensual voyeurism, red flag red flag girl!🔺, psychological games, power imbalance, eventual dubcon/nsfw.

one. two. three. four.

Five. 五

Donaka's house is beautiful, and it’s a pleasure to be in, even though you’re constantly working at this or that task to keep it immaculate. You don’t mind the honest work. It’s satisfying in a way working on a computer never was, more immediately gratifying than teaching, and certainly less heartbreaking than writing ever was. 

Sometimes you take a moment to just sit and enjoy the ambiance in his rooms, but by far your favorite space in the house is the library. Built in bookshelves line the walls, an antique table sits in the center, and a circle of comfy leather chairs sit by the window. You’ve taken to spending some of your breaks in there, reading this or that for the fifteen minutes allotted. 

You are reaching for a book on a high shelf, just out of your reach, when a much longer arm seemingly appears out of nowhere over your head, plucking down the volume easily. 

You didn't even hear Mr. Mark enter the room. Usually, he’s at work at this time of day, though you’ve noticed he’s been home more lately. You gasp and turn, finding him standing close enough that you feel the warmth emanating from his body. He’s like a furnace.

He enjoys sneaking up on you. There’s nothing he wants more, than to push you back against the shelves and take you, but he is a patient predator. He settles for just handing you the book with a lifted eyebrow. You take it absently, wondering if you are in trouble. It’s impossible to tell, from his impassable expression.

"Hello, Mr. Mark," you say softly. 

He smirks at your timid greeting, delighted with this development. He’s known for days, of course, that you were coming in here. He didn’t really mind–you were always careful with the books, reverent in the way you handled them, even the newer tomes that could be easily replaced. 

“Enjoying yourself?” he asks sardonically, implying that you should be cleaning something, rather than looking at his books on Chinese art. 

"Yes. I'm...on my break," you are quick to explain. 

Donaka lets his gaze slowly and openly travel over you. He can’t help but find you beautiful, even in your unassuming black dress and white apron, your hair swept back neatly. 

He takes a half-step closer to you, leaning against the bookshelf, caging you in with his broad frame. “You should use this time to take refreshment. Why are you so unkind to your body?” he scolds, annoyed that you do not treat yourself as well as he thinks you should. 

You frown a little, clutching the book to your chest like a shield. He inwardly scoffs at this, finding the thought that a book between you could save you from him. 

"I...didn't want to risk getting food on your books," you admit, annoyed that he seems to think he can control what you eat and drink too. Chill out, man. Even you are smart enough to let that die unsaid on your tongue. 

“Very kind of you,” he deadpans. You do not miss the dry sarcasm in his tone, and you realize you have made a mistake, thinking you could just come in here and be alone with the smell of old paper for a little while. But now you’re stuck with this book in your hands, which you can’t put away without his help. Your quick escape is thwarted.

“How about this,” he proposes, tilting his head. “You can come in here in the evening, any time you want. But right now, you should go have a cup of tea, and a healthy snack.” No potato chips, practically rings out unsaid between you. 

“That’s very generous of you, Mr. Mark,” you say, not happy with this offer at all. Maybe you could do worse, than your handsome employer taking an interest in your health, and offering to share his books with you. But there’s more to it beneath the surface, something darker, controlling. You sense it more than you could prove it.

You wonder how often he would find his way in here, if you started spending your evenings in one of those oversized leather chairs, curled up with a book… You can’t help but look at the table next. That sturdy fucking table, such a debauchable surface, if he were to grab you up and pin you down there…

Stop stop stop. 

You can’t stop. Not your thoughts, at least. Your feet, however, are ready to go. 

He is searching your face with that sharp gaze that sees everything. He doesn’t look pleased, almost as though he knows you’re not going to come in here again unless you are cleaning. 

Hoping to distract him before he can concoct something else, you hand him back the book to re-shelve, since you clearly can't reach it.

He accepts it, his eyes never leaving your face, but his fingers brushing yours. It feels like an electric shock, when he touches you, and that predictable rush of heat floods your body, from the tips of your fingers to your treacherous, aching, center. 

It’s almost as though you have no sense of self-preservation at all. 

"Thank you, Mr. Mark." You sidle around him, thinking about how you’re always fleeing the rooms he's in. It's almost becoming a comedic bit between you–but you’re not laughing, as you feel his hungry eyes on your back as you go.

“Y/n?”

You were so close to escaping. 

“Sir?” you ask timidly, turning slowly in the doorway.

“Tell Mrs. Wong I’ll have my tea early today. Bring it to me on the terrace.”

There is a single beat during which you consider reminding him you’re on your break still, and that’s not usually your duty around the house. The impulse evaporates as he fixes you with that dark stare, and you dare not defy him further. 

“As you like, sir.”  

He inclines his head with a little smirk, as though to say, ‘See how it goes for you when you defy me?’ All in all…you feel like you got off pretty easily. That is, until you are bringing him the tray with his beautiful burnished earthenware yi xing teapot, and some little dishes filled with dried fruit and nuts. They do look tasty, you have to admit, but that’s neither here nor there for you now. 

The terrace is cloistered by greenery, a pool beside it filled with flowing-finned koi carp. In the distance one can see the blue glitter of the sea. It really is a view fit for a king, and even though you still don’t really know a thing about Donaka Mark other than he is wealthy and ridiculously good looking, you are happy for him. 

You set down the tray without making a sound, and he smirks at you as you bow your head, making to flee once more. “Sit down,” he orders, in the guise of a polite invitation. You recognize it immediately for what it is. 

“Sir…” 

You don’t know why the thought of staying with him twists you up in knots inside. Perhaps simply because you want to, even while knowing it is not your place to do so. 

“Sit,” he says again, and with a sigh you do as you’re told, perching on the edge of the chair. It’s incredibly peaceful, in this place. The sound of the fountain tinkling beside you, the salt-tinged breeze coming off the water beyond…for a moment, you close your eyes, perhaps because you can feel his gaze boring into you. You’re not entirely sure what’s happening between the two of you, but that little instinct deep inside that is rarely wrong–and you rarely listen to…is sounding the alarm. 

“This teapot is two-hundred years old,” he tells you, pouring a cup. Your eyes go a little wide, as you think about the heritage you’d unwittingly carted across the house in your two little hands. It must be very valuable. “It makes an exceptional cup of dark oolong.” 

As he sets the cup in front of you, as well as the little dish of dried fruit and nuts, you know you resemble one of those open-mouthed carp in the pond in your surprise. “Another auction-house conquest?” you dare ask. 

“Something like that. It was not cheap.” 

Your lips twist as you attempt to keep your wry comments to yourself. As usual–you fail. “Do me a favor and don’t tell me what you paid for it, if I have to carry it back to the kitchen.” 

He chuckles quietly at that. “You think it was a waste of money?”

“No, there are definitely worse things to waste your money on.” 

You realize a beat later that your comment sounded far more specific than you meant it to, your personal prejudices making their way out the cracks of your armor.

Lucky you, he seems amused by this, though you can’t help but wonder if it’s a trap when he asks, “Oh? Like what?” 

“I didn’t mean you specifically…” 

The flash of his smile is like a baring of teeth; you are equally mesmerized as you are mortified. Is this what the little deer feels, a moment before it is snatched up in the jaws of the tiger?

“Yes you did. Come on, tell me.” 

“I’d rather not.”

“Playing hard to get as usual. Is it my art collection?” 

“No,” you answer immediately. 

“My beautiful house?”

“No,” you reply again in earnest. 

“My clothes?” 

No, you rather like those too. You simply shake your head, wishing, as usual, that you could run away, or turn back time, and shut your fat fucking mouth. 

“Hmm. What’s left? Ah, it’s my cars.” 

You are practically writhing in your seat, as he hits this nail on the head. 

“Absolutely none of my business, sir.” 

“Of course it’s not, but where’s the fun in that?”

You sense the fun in this for him is making you sweat. 

“So go on? What’s wrong with them? Lamborghini not to your taste?” 

You take a sip of tea, closing your eyes momentarily to appreciate the flavor. It really was wonderful, bitter yet somehow silky on the back of the tongue. Enjoy it now, you think–he’s going to fire you in five seconds. 

“Well. If they make you spend that much…” you deadpan, “You’d think they’d at least have the decency not to make them so ugly.”

For a moment you think you are dead–not fired, but soon to be murdered–until a bark of laughter escapes this usually so-severe man, the flash of his white teeth startling in the sunlight. “I’ll be sure to tell them you said so,” he retorts, saluting you with his cup of tea, before taking a sip. “Though you might feel differently, if you’d let me give you a ride.” 

You freeze for a moment while reaching for a peanut. He meant in his car you deranged dumpster fire of a woman. 

“I’m sure…its performance is bar none,” you answer diplomatically. You see his smirk out the corner of your eye, and you feel your ears burning.

“So tell me, my little housekeeper with all the big opinions. If you had my money, what would you spend it on?” 

His money? As usual, you can’t tell if he is baiting you with the subtle choice of his words. You sigh, taking a piece of dried fruit. You think for a few moments, though it doesn’t take long.

“Honestly? The same thing I’m doing now.”

He chuckles at this. “You like cleaning my house that much?”

“It’s not bad.” Despite the probable ulcer developing from living in proximity to this tempting man. “But when my work visa expires in six months, I’m going to travel again.”

Donaka’s expression sharpens immediately at hearing this, his brows pulling in a frown. “You’re leaving us so soon?”

“I…told your assistant, in the interview. It wasn’t a secret.”

Donaka still glowers at you, and you can’t help but feel like you did something wrong. But he wrangles his emotions, whatever they may be, into a neutral expression. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You are obviously overqualified for this position.”

“I am educated, but I don’t really feel like that qualifies me for much of anything.”

He lifts an eyebrow at that, and you sense he is still annoyed with you. “What about your writing?”

You shrug, even while it feels like a knife delivered to your chest. “It’s never come to anything.”

“How hard did you try?”

You trace the rim of your little tea cup, gnawing at the inside of your cheek. 

“Enough to break my heart one more time than I could take,” you admit, suddenly feeling raw under his piercing gaze. Rejection is wearing. So is pouring your soul into something that only amounts to very little when you were foolish enough to hope. You’ve never managed to turn anything you enjoy into a money making endeavor. It always makes you feel like you’re dying inside. 

 Donaka, however, seems less than sympathetic. “You shouldn’t give up.”

You shrug, ready to change the subject. It’s not like you’ve stopped writing. You’re just not writing anything that can ever see the light of day. “I will take that under advisement.”

He narrows his eyes, like he doesn’t believe you’re taking him seriously. “You know what your problem is?”

“Would you like a list?”

“Very funny. But I think you’ve never truly been afraid.”

“Afraid?”

“Exactly. I can tell. I think you’re intelligent, and maybe you’re tough, but you’ve never been to the edge of survival. There’s something about your contempt for the display of wealth that makes me think you come from it. You’re content with mediocrity because you know if you have to, you can always run home to mommy and daddy. You have a safety net that keeps you lazy.”

You blink at that. It’s maybe half true, though you would rather eat roadkill than go home to your father with your hand out.  “I’m not…lazy.”

“Of course you are. You’re certainly not realizing your fullest potential.”

This hurts way more than it should. Maybe…because he’s not wrong. This man has an edge of danger to him–it wouldn’t surprise you at all, to learn he’s a self-made millionaire. Maybe he had a rough childhood, and climbed over anyone he had to, to get where he is. Good for him. You wonder vaguely who he’s hurt along his journey to the top. Deep down, you know men don’t get where Donaka Mark is without someone paying a price. 

“Maybe not. But not everyone wins the big jackpot in life. I’m content with where I am now.”

“For now? And where will you go from here?” 

“India, I think.”

“Why?”

“There are still things I want to see.”

“Why?”

“Why not? Because I want to. Because I can. Why do anything in this pointless existence?” You are careful not to raise your voice to him, though your heart gallops in your chest like you are having an argument. The yawning void of your old friend nihilism opens up before you, a black hole you know well but haven’t had to contend with for a while.  

His lips curl for you, though it is not a nice smile. “You lack a sense of purpose.”

He’s not wrong, though you don’t think he understands you as well as he thinks. You find the endless march of humanity perpetuating itself tiresome and destructive. You find the rat race pursuit of wealth for the sake of winning a pissing contest exhausting. The hypocrisy of religion has never appealed to you. On the whole, you find homo sapiens to be a sad and ridiculous species with a few bright spots, but unfortunately you are one, you’re stuck here, and you have to find something to do with your time until you check out.

Usually you’re content in your own little world, trying not to harm anyone…but he flips this switch for you in two seconds flat, and you find yourself clenching your jaw as the weight of it crushes you down. You have to admit this was not how you expected this day to go. Silly you, for thinking you could just sit down with a book for ten minutes unbothered.

He pours himself another cup of tea, pretending that he doesn’t notice you’re stewing in an existential crisis while sitting across from him. “I could change that for you, you know.”

Confused and unsettled, which is probably exactly what he intended to do to you, you shift in your chair. Is he propositioning you? Or is he talking about something else entirely? You feel like a low-level current is running through your bone marrow, slowly cooking you from the inside. 

You’re not sure if he’s asking you to be his mistress–or to join a cult. Maybe it would be nearly one and the same.

From the flashing look in his eyes, you don’t think he expected you to laugh at him. It’s the only way you can get up the courage to say this to his face: “Respectfully…no one says that unless they’re trying to evangelize you into something, Mr. Mark.”

His lips dance as he smirks at you. “But you are above manipulation, Miss y/n?” 

“Probably not,” you admit, suddenly nervous all over again about where this is heading. Why does every conversation you have with this man have to feel like a fucking chess game? “Though I like to think…I am somewhat aware, at least.” 

“Being aware of manipulation is not the same as being immune to it, believe me.” Again he smiles wide enough to flash teeth, and you can tell he is truly enjoying himself now. “Can you really say that wealth doesn’t interest you? I don’t buy it.” 

“The ostentatious display of wealth doesn’t interest me,” you grumble, flashing back to the hellish court-ordered summers you once spent at your father’s tasteless mansion with your insufferable half-siblings always crowing about their latest couture conquests. 

“Ah. That’s why you hate the Lambo.” 

“No, I really do think it’s ugly.” It maybe feels too good to tell him so, after he was so brutally honest to you. However, you can tell immediately that you fail to hit your mark. He lifts his eyebrows, seemingly amused by your agitation, his dark eyes shining. 

You look at him sitting across from you in the dappled afternoon light; why does this man have the right to look so beautiful, while he’s being so mean?

“You know what I think?”

“I’m sure you’re about to tell me,” you grouse. You really would rather be scrubbing a toilet right now. 

“I think if you had real money, you would do the exact same thing I do; use it to acquire things that please you. You’re no different from me, or anyone else.”

What is it about this man, that makes you feel like you’re being slowly electrocuted? You dare to meet his gaze, finding his dark eyes veritably dancing with enjoyment for making you squirm. You cannot help but wonder if he counts you as one of those things. 

Maybe Donaka Mark thinks you’re an underachiever, but you reckon this man might be surprised by your stubborn streak. No matter your fascination with him…you need to cut him from your heart, because you’re more certain than ever that he would be the death of you. You do not possess a thick enough skin to tangle with a man like this on a regular basis. 

“That might be true,” you answer, looking back down at your teacup. “But at least I’m not a bully.” 

“Have I hurt your feelings, y/n?”

He fucking knows he has, and you would give anything to be able to quit the table right then. You consider dropping his precious teapot on the way back to the kitchen; but think better of it, and not just because you suspect he might string you up by your thumbs. It would be a tragic loss of art.  

“May I go, Mr. Mark?” 

“Not until you answer my question.” 

“Yes, you hurt my feelings. Now may I go?” 

“No. How did I offend you? By speaking the truth?” 

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” you answer with a sigh, looking out at the glittering water beyond. 

“Well?”

You make a plaintive sound, wishing the ground would just swallow you up whole, rather than having to admit the truth out loud to this man. But he waits patiently, and you just know there will be no escape for you, until you give this man the answer he wants. 

“I thought…you liked me,” you answer quietly. “But never fear, I am disabused of that foolish notion, sir. Now may I go?” 

“I do like you. Haven’t you been listening?” He sounds genuinely puzzled. 

You laugh at that, and it sounds pathetic even to you.   

Now, at last, he seems as frustrated with you as you are with him. “Fine. Go back to work, y/n.” He makes a shooing gesture with his fingers, and you have never been so grateful to be dismissed in your life. 

You hope this little interlude will convince him to just leave you alone.

“Thank you, sir,” you say with a cloying deference, and you hear him growl behind you as you scurry away. It sends an agonizing thrill jetting down your spine, and it’s all you can do not to run. 

Little do you know, you haven’t scared him off by half. You just threw down a gauntlet.

[deadpresidents]

Formal Presidential Proclamation Announcing the Death of President Carter

December 29, 2024

By the President of the United States of America A Proclamation

To the People of the United States:

It is my solemn duty to announce officially the death of James Earl Carter, Jr., the thirty-ninth President of the United States, on December 29, 2024.

President Carter was a man of character, courage, and compassion, whose lifetime of service defined him as one of the most influential statesmen in our history. He embodied the very best of America: A humble servant of God and the people. A heroic champion of global peace and human rights, and an honorable leader whose moral clarity and hopeful vision lifted our Nation and changed our world.

The son of a farmer and a nurse, President Carter's remarkable career in public service began in 1943 as a cadet at the United States Naval Academy. He later served in both the Atlantic and Pacific fleets before becoming a decorated lieutenant and being selected to join the elite nuclear submarine program.

After his father died, he shifted from active duty to the Navy Reserve and returned home to Plains, Georgia, to help manage his family's peanut farm. He worked hard stewarding the land while leading his community as a church deacon, Sunday school teacher, and board member of a hospital and library. His deep faith inspired a passion for public service that led him to be elected State Senator, Georgia's 76th Governor, and ultimately President of the United States.

As President, he understood that Government must be as good as its people -- and his faith in the people was boundless just as his belief in America was limitless and his hope for our common future was perennial.

With President Carter's leadership, the modern Department of Education and the Department of Energy were created. He championed conservation, and his commitment to a more just world was at the heart of his foreign policy, leading on nuclear nonproliferation, signing the Panama Canal treaties, and mediating the historic 1978 Camp David Accords. His partnership with Vice President Walter Mondale is one that future administrations strived to achieve.

Following his Presidency, President Carter advanced an agenda that elevated the least among us. Guided by an unwavering belief in the power of human goodness and the God given dignity of every human being, he worked tirelessly around the globe to broker peace; eradicate disease; house the homeless; and protect human rights, freedom, and democracy.

Through his extraordinary moral leadership, President Carter lived a noble life full of meaning and purpose. And as a trusted spiritual leader, he shepherded people through seasons of pain and joy, inspiring them through the power of his example and healing them through the power of his guidance.

As we mourn the loss of President Carter, we hold the memory of his beloved Rosalynn, his wife of over 77 years, close in our hearts. Exemplifying hope, warmth, and service, she and her husband inspired the Nation. The love Rosalynn and President Carter shared is the definition of partnership, and their devotion to public service is the definition of patriotism.

May President Carter's memory continue to be a light pointing us forward. May we continue to be guided by his spirit in our Nation and in our world.

Now, Therefore, I, Joseph R. Biden Jr., President of the United States of America, by the authority vested in me by the Constitution and the laws of the United States, in honor and tribute to the memory of President James Earl Carter, Jr., and as an expression of public sorrow, do hereby direct that the flag of the United States be displayed at half-staff at the White House and on all public buildings and grounds, at all military posts and naval stations, and on all naval vessels of the Federal Government in the District of Columbia and throughout the United States and its Territories and possessions for a period of 30 days from the day of his death. I also direct that, for the same length of time, the representatives of the United States in foreign countries shall make similar arrangements for the display of the flag at half staff over their embassies, legations, consular offices, and other facilities abroad, including all military facilities and naval vessels and stations.

I hereby order that suitable honors be rendered by units of the Armed Forces under orders of the Secretary of Defense.

I do further appoint January 9, 2025, as a National Day of Mourning throughout the United States. I call on the American people to assemble on that day in their respective places of worship, there to pay homage to the memory of President James Earl Carter, Jr. I invite the people of the world who share our grief to join us in this solemn observance.

In Witness Whereof, I have hereunto set my hand this twenty-ninth day of December, in the year of our Lord two thousand twenty-four, and of the Independence of the United States of America the two hundred and forty-ninth.

JOSEPH R. BIDEN JR.

[the-far-bright-center]

" The first character McCaig tackled was the young Queen of Naboo, Padmé Amidala. “She was the Force of nature trying to hold back a tide of evil, so I wanted her to be the first flag in the ground, a clear statement against which the other designs are measured.” To do that, he needed to understand the philosophy behind a character’s appearance and the deeper motivations that inform it. “If it’s called Star Wars,” McCaig says, “then what are the characters fighting for? What is the good that they are trying to protect, and why do we want them to succeed?

“George often said that it was a battle between organic lifeforms and machines,” he explains. “It’s not that the machines are bad, but they tend to steamroll over the soft, squishy organic things. Also, the squishy things misbehave a lot, creating conflicts. At the heart of it all is a Queen trying to hold everything together without going to war, and the Jedi doing their best to help her.”

Lucas mentioned being inspired by Princess Ozma from L. Frank Baum’s Wizard of Oz. “At the same time,” McCaig says, “he challenged us with the question, ‘What makes Star Wars Star Wars?’ When he made his first trilogy, he said, there weren't many other films like it. Now there's Star Trek and Blade Runner and Alien and a host of others. What, indeed, is a Star Wars movie? And how do we shift the Star Wars you know into a whole new time period?

With the help of Jo Donaldson and her team in the Lucasfilm Research Library, as well as “freelance-researcher-extraordinaire” David Craig, McCaig plundered the Art Nouveau style of the early 20th century, developing an approach for the Queen and Naboo culture in general, which he dubbed “Space Nouveau.” He was also able to tap into the historic Paramount Studios research library, which George Lucas had acquired a decade earlier. McCaig also went outside at Skywalker Ranch, drawing plants, trees, whole forests, absorbing anything and everything organic.

“George loves illustrators,” says McCaig, “Fine artists create to satisfy themselves, but illustrators create to tell stories, and those stories reflect the time they live in, encapsulating a piece of history.”

To help create a historical sensibility that felt distinctly Star Wars, McCaig tried to ensure that each design pulled inspiration from elements in three different locations around the world, or three different time periods, or a combination of both. “If it’s reappearing in these different places and different times, chances are it's an iconic archetype – something that's part of our collective unconscious.” Queen Amidala's white face paint, for example, could be found in Japanese Geishas, the traditional appearance of married women in Mongolia, as well as England’s Queen Elizabeth I. "

— from Phantom at 25: Iain McCaig talks Darth Maul, Queen Amidala, and working with George Lucas

[hopelessgirrl]

responding to @themarauderschild

Of course! I was so excited to write this

topics: the beginning, during, end and after the break up tags: Mariana Yamada Hockstetter, Antonio 'Anthony' Lazzaro, Patrick Hockstetter, Richie Tozier, Fulton Huggins and Losers club! (OC's and Canon!)

Tw: toxic relationship, mention of harassment, cussing, manipulation, distortion of the situation.

The Beginning (When It Felt Like a Dream)

Anthony noticed Mariana before anyone else did. He was drawn to her quiet, mysterious energy — it intrigued his ego. He liked the idea of being the only one to “unlock” her. To mold her.

He approached her with charm and sarcasm, teasing her lightly at first. She wasn’t used to attention like his, and that made it easy for him to slip in.

He played the “misunderstood bad boy” trope perfectly — said things like “I’m not good for you, but damn, you make me feel like I could be better.”

Mariana, craving understanding and connection, especially while living with Patrick and dealing with her mother's death, got attached. He made her feel seen — at least in the beginning..

He gives her presents and designer clothes. One of the presents he gave her was a pure silver necklace with a heart pendant. He gave it to her to celebrate one month of dating

Their “song” became Be My Baby by The Ronettes because he randomly slow-danced with her to it in a park at night once, and told her, “This song sounds like you — soft, but haunting.”

She never told anyone about their relationship at first. Anthony liked the secrecy — he said it made things more “intense.” Truthfully, it gave him more control.

During the Relationship

He constantly said shit about the things she loved subtly: “Youre drawing stuff again? You’re way too pretty to be a nerd, Mari."

BIGGEST jealousy issues. If she talked to anyone he didn’t like (the Losers), he'd guilt-trip her or get passive-aggressive.

Loved bombing her with affection one minute and ghosting her the next. It kept her emotionally confused and dependent on his approval.

He’d show up uninvited — at the library, her house, her art spots — claiming he “just missed her”, when in reality, he was checking where she was. (red flaaaaggg)

He had a way of twisting her words, making her feel like she was the one overreacting.

Boy get a grip?? 🖕🏻🙄

He never hit her — but he’d grab her wrist too tightly, lean in way too close when angry, and whisper threats like, “Don’t make me the villain in your story.” or “Stop struggling”

Not to mention the fact that he made her wear clothes that were EVERYTHING but her. Like a white dress with black details and a pearl necklace. Molding her, making her his little doll

The Breaking Point

Mariana began to open up to the Losers — people who actually saw her, respected her boundaries, and encouraged her independence.

The final straw was at a party when Be My Baby started playing, their music. The groping. The words. The fake sweet-talking. It was the perfect cocktail of every red flag he’d ever waved.

Anthony hated that. He started showing up at places just to “check on her.” At one point, he made a scene at the arcade when she was laughing with Richie???????

And she always had to stay with him and his friends, and even the Bowers gang since Anthony and them were """friends""" and all of them didn't like the Losers.

Fulton never liked him tho

She froze — but this time, something inside her snapped. Maybe it was Beverly’s voice calling her name, or the cold realization that she wasn’t his anymore, she never was.

She pushed him off and yelled in front of everyone. He smirked like it was a game, but her eyes were full of something he hadn’t seen before: clarity.

She left him that night. No explanations, no tears. Just silence. And that destroyed him more than anything.

Aftermath (Post-Breakup)

Anthony tried getting her back — not because he loved her, but because he couldn’t handle losing control. Losing his plaything “We had something real, Mari. Don’t throw it away like it meant nothing.”

He spread rumors, literally distorting the whole story like “She went crazy. She’s obsessed with me. You know how those girls are.”

He still calls her “Mari” sometimes when they pass by, just to get under her skin. She doesn’t flinch anymore.

Deep down, Anthony still thinks of her every time Be My Baby plays — and it burns. Because she doesn’t.

He developed PURE hatred for Fulton (Mariana's current boyfriend and a clear green flag), he can't stand Fulton. Because he's a better boyfriend and actually treats her well. “He doesn't love you, Mariana. Don't you see? I treated you much better than he did.”

Well, We don't want an Anthony in our lives, do we?

tags!: @phoenixgraced @marshbevvie @money-girls-death @kenzyduchanne-offical @itsyourgirlkenzie @itsdestinycriss @knyontop @solitudefears @graveyards-and-cats @lolita-hocksetter @loook-behind-you @henry-the-winner @patrickhockstettersweden25 @graveyards-end-cigarettes

[divorcedmoonlight]

If you ever wrote a mermaid au, would mermaid!Glinda be just as playful and possessive of Elphaba as she was in other universes?

Probably. Glinda is possessive in every universe. Girl doesn’t know how to share.

I can tell you that in She’s Perfect, fiyero being Elphaba’s ex has given Glinda a very fun and petty sort of possessiveness that is an utter joy to write.

Please enjoy the opening sentences to the next chapter:

They all crowded around a dusty stone table, the quiet darkness of the library feeling a lot warmer now. A few more torches were lit, flickering in an odd mix of pinks, oranges and white.

Fiyero scowled at them. “Did you have to light my torches with the lesbian flag colors?”

“It seemed the most appropriate.” Glinda smiled sweetly at him.

“It’s my castle!” Fiyero spluttered. “You could at least do *my* colors!”

The blonde hummed and inspected her perfect nails, a wicked smirk on her lips. “I could. But then I’d be forced to remember that you fucked my *wife* and I think I’d rather not recall that today.”