#kit can write i guess

[thatawkwardwriter]

I'm about to attempt nanowrimo without an outline

this is going to go so poorly

[coldercreation]

So hi hello! Moving on! lmao

I opened the sad!Kitty snippet doc this morning for the first time since February and it's actually like... not so bad? And there were some scenes in Liam's chapter I genuinely do not remember writing at all!! but I thought they were especially good somehow?? Wish I would get possessed like that more often hahah!

I pretty much wrapped the first chapter's draft, which is Nathan's POV. It's quite simple and sweet, setting the scene. It's currently at 4223 but since it's only a draft it's still needing some fleshing out. (My Excessive Bish™️ side of the brain gets nervous seeing such a "low" word count for me personally, because that much mean It's Not Good Enough!!! Need Moar!! // But I decided not to stress about it, the chapters can come out as short or long as they feel like. If all of the chapters work well as a whole, the that matters in the end.)

Liam's chapter is currently at 6135 words and it's the one that's going to be the most challenging. Lot more worldbuildy/dynamicbuildy and exploration in this one, so it's not just vibes, I actually have to think for this one ew 😭 It has some sizeable chunks still missing but I managed to write a good amount today already so yay!

Kit's own chapter is only at 3223 words right now and the most WIP, but this one should be pretty chill. Not 100% sure what to have in this one but I'm sure something will start to shape up.

(Izzy doesn't get his own chapter for this because he's pretty heavily featured in Nathan's and Kit's POV. When I planned this snippet I had been writing a lot of Isac, so I figured it was time to write the others more. But now I feel like I've not written Izzy in a while so I'm sure I'll end up writing more of him sooner rather than later heh) xx

[seaswalllow]

where the angels weep.

--

warnings for: emotional manipulation, psychological manipulation. anti and chase should not be in the same room. ask to tag further.

--

golden hour, they call it. the sun sinks, honey-slow, beneath the horizon, steel and concrete glowing in her last hurrah.

it's beautiful, he thinks, as he slides into a pew warm from its time in the sun, close as it is to the windows that soar overhead.

rainbows scatter across the wooden floor, the last gift of the stained windows he pointedly avoids staring at. he knows them all by name, now; mother mary and her sweet little babe, swaddled in her arms, agrippina of… something. mineo, he thinks he remembers the little carved plaque under her window being.

his mouth twists against the sudden bitterness in the back of his mouth, and he twists back to the front, resting his arms on his knees. there’s nobody here to see him suck in shaking breath after shaking breath; nobody except the cold glass windows, and all they ever do is watch anyways.

he sits like that for longer than he cares to remember. long enough for the candles closest to the door to start to gutter out, the great hall dimming one pinprick at a time. long enough that the cool pew pricks at him as he shifts, the night-air heavy and metallic.

it doesn’t offer any more clarity than it has for the last two months.

swallowing back the bitter words that swell to his tongue, he braces a hand against the back of the pew, knees cracking like a gunshot in the silence, and turns. he turns—

and he startles as he comes eye to eye with his reflection.

well. reflection.

the jawline’s all wrong. harsher, in the shadows. stronger. there’s no dark circles, no unkempt beard. who he could’ve been.

the bitterness in his gut knots painfully, and it grins at him, leaning against the back of the pew, lazily assured as it ever is.

“you look like shit,” anti informs him, still grinning, and he would roll his eyes if he weren’t worried about taking his eyes off of it. he still thinks, very hard, about it.

“i’ll file the complaint with HR,” he tells it- snaps at it, more like. his last nerve is fraying, thread by thread, and anti’s presence rubs against it like a fucking cheese grater. “that, and the request for- oh, i don’t know. my fucking life back.”

anti waves a hand at him, and he steps clear of the wide arc. “you’re free, aren’t you?”

he scoffs, because if he doesn’t laugh, he’s going to scream, and then he’s really going to have to deal with the fucking cops. “i’m a wanted fucking man. what part of that says free?”

it shrugs again, following him out of the pews. step forward, step back. he doesn’t see anti’s knife, but he’s learnt it doesn’t need it. “it could be worse. you could still be in there, scratching at the walls like a good little lab rat.”

it comes to a stop by the last row of the pews, and he takes one more step back for good measure. he’s nowhere near the door right now; he’s still trapped.

“what do you want?”

by the faint flickering of the closest candles, he can see anti smirk.

(four years and five months ago, he stands in the doorway, flickering flame cupped in his hand, and the last thing he sees before the red lights wash everything out is its smile.)

(four years and five months later, they wind their way back to the start, his heart hammering out the same panicked tempo.)

his palms sting, and he blinks, breaking eye contact. his knuckles ache, and slowly, he forces his fingers to uncurl from the pale crescents he’s dug them into. anti snickers again.

“a hello would be nice. some gratitude.”

his tone dips, dangerously frosty, and chase hates that it makes his breath stutter and freeze in his throat. there are windows off to his side, the door is behind anti. the pistol at his hip is a comforting weight. (he could unload the entire clip and anti will only keep laughing.)

“oh, yeah,” he drawls, instead. anti arches an eyebrow as his voice cracks. “let me just thank the guy who is the reason my face is now on the five o’clock news each evening. i haven’t seen my family in four fucking years and he wants me to say "yes anti, thank you for committing mass murder while wearing my face- without my consent!"”

brave, brave, be brave, chase. you are alone and you are more scared these days than you have been for the first half of your life, and there will be nobody to rub your back once the worst of your fear has been heaved up, but at least you will have lived that far.

he is not a brave man, as far as it goes. he’s pretty chickenshit about horror movies, and he spooks, and can’t see his own blood. he’s just some guy, he’s not meant to be facing down his fucking demon incarnate.

yet here anti lopes around the edge of the pew with a snort. static shrills in his ears, move, move, move, and he stumbles back, grasping at the edge of the nearest candle tray.

the last ones flicker out, washing the church in cool, near-complete darkness. shreds of moonlight press their way through the stained windows; anti’s eyes glow, two sharp points of light, and chase bites down on his tongue hard enough to taste blood as anti skirts the last few meters.

chase is familiar with how thin reality can be, stretched cellophane-tight and ready to tear. sometimes, the cellophane tears; sometimes, it clouds, his breath fogging up. this late, the shadows erasing the edges of the altar and the moonlight softening the saint’s cold eyes, it feels like one exceptionally shitty dream.

anti’s shadow, in contrast, is painfully sharp, superimposed atop the gauzy midnight hour. there is nowhere to look but anti. he doesn't think he could've looked away even if the fucking sun was in his eyes.

“you could’ve been another nameless face,” anti says softly, so softly his voice doesn’t echo off of the vaulted ceilings. “you would’ve been another number, rotting away in a shitty little room with a shitty little tennis ball and a metal chair, and nobody could’ve cared less if you wasted the last few years of your life being interrogated like you were worth less than a warm body.”

chase has nowhere to go, back against the windowsill. anti stands before him, and for all that they feel like they should be the same height- anti towers, burning as the angel silhouetted behind him never does even at the peak of day.

saint michael the archangel, he thinks, half hysterically. protector, protector, protector. his hand finds the hilt of his pistol, warm where it rests against his holster, eases it free, inch by inch. off goes the safety.

“i gave you your life back,” anti says, voice barely above a hiss. “tore you out of hell.”

burning, burning, he’s burning in the waning moonlight, haloed in saint michael’s gold, wings stretching not for the skies, outwards, towards him. judgement and sinner; victim and executioner. terrible in his vengeance, glorious in his purpose, wasn’t that what they said about the angels?

saint michael’s blade flashes, a silver arc, and chase throws himself backwards, three quick pops shattering the silence. the first two go wide; one embeds itself in a pew, another splinters anti’s halo into a shower of gold sparks; the last one sends his angel to his knees.

(fallen, his mind supplies, hysterically again, and he really wants to get off of this shitty metaphor now. he wants to disembark this fucking train. not michael, never michael- lucifer, maybe, beautiful in his lies. he never wanted him.)

“you,” he says- whispers- “destroyed it. you tore out everything i had to call a home.”

anti’s eyes bleed red as he climbs back to his feet, back popping in ways that chase thinks would send him to the emergency room. perfect twins to the bloated corpse of a moon that hangs outside the shattered window.

he’s smiling, chase realizes with a jolt, and the hair rises on the back of his neck. anti is smirking, sharp and wide, heedless of the glass that he leaves in his wake like beads of blood. the church rattles in his ears, heaving for breath.

“you did half the work,” it coos at him, and lunges; his back slams into the little ledge beneath the window and he wheezes, driving his knee into whatever he can reach to roll anti’s slimmer frame off of him. he ends up unbalancing them, slamming into the ground with anti first beneath him; then a leg wraps around his hips and flips them.

he keeps ahold of his pistol by sheer force of will, and is about to raise it-

the tip of a knife digs in, just below his throat. he freezes, painfully aware of how he heaves for breath, the blade pricking with each gasp. anti stares down at him, seemingly unbothered, but taut as a bowstring.

“you did half the work,” he repeats again, voice harder. the moon hangs, rotting and red, behind him, smearing what little features chase can make out in the hazy light. fallen angel, fallen halo. “your children, your wife- i never touched a hair on them, chase. you’re just as good as me at ruining your own lives, if not better. would you like to see, chase? would you like to see how stacy herds her younglings to school day after day, and carefully tells them how papa was sick, papa was sick enough that he has to get better first before he can see them again?”

chase’s breath stutters as the knife presses in. above them, he can make out the window he was trapped against; saint jude, jude of thaddeus, patron saint of one chase brody, stares down at them, eyes mournful in the bloody light, the stained glass weeping in a way that chase knows isn’t right and still flinches at when it drips next to him.

“all i have ever done for you,” anti murmurs, false breath rustling his hair, “is set you free.”

they stay like that, dangling on a knife’s edge, anti pressing a knee to chase’s chest and chase resting the barrel of his gun on anti’s chest.

chase is, on some level, aware of anti’s weight pressing him into the ground. there’s glass digging into his back, into his shoulders- that’s real enough, isn’t it? there’s no heat to anti’s weight, saint jude’s tears don’t leave a trace in the fading shade of the eclipse, but the knife to his throat is painfully, painfully real.

nothing makes sense, here.

he tears his eyes away from the weeping saint, from mary’s little lamb with his pretty little smile of red, and lets both of his hands thump gently to the floor.

(saint jude, patron of the lost, weeping for a cause so lost he doesn’t even know which way is up, anymore.)

“you killed people,” he accuses softly. there’s but a sliver of moon left, like anti had taken his knife to the heavens and carved a furious red slit in between the stars. “you lie, as easy as you breathe.”

anti laughs at him, and pulls back the knife; chase sucks in another breath, but all anti does is pry the gun out of his hand, curling his fingers around the hilt of the knife instead. the grip fits like a glove, like it had been made for him and him alone.

it pauses, for just a moment; when chase looks over, anti is staring at his hand. at the band of silver that wraps around his finger, worn from years of fiddling and stained from blood that never washed off right.

he can't make out its expression.

then it turns its head, teeth catching the dim midnight light, one hand tightly wrapped around his. around the hilt of the knife, the band of metal digging into the leather of the hilt. it hurts. he doesn't let up his grip.

(he can't. he can't let go.)

cold, his mind wants to supplement- but there's no heat. darkness is an absence of light, cold is an absence of heat- but that implies anti was ever capable of warmth.

“your hands, chase." anti is talking like he never stopped. "your heart pumping, your neurons firing to coordinate all of those unwieldy muscles. was it me? or was it you? what do you think the world would say?”

his face, still. his voice, laughing in the screaming halls. chase shuts his eyes against the furious pricking in his eyes.

he wants- to wake up. to go home. for this to be over. to stop screaming.

“why,” he whispers, “won’t you leave me alone?”

anti hums again, a buzz of static that raises goosebumps. he shivers. a hand threads through his hair, just harsh enough to make him wince; he doesn’t pull away.

“if you want to be alone so bad,” anti murmurs, “why do you keep turning back to look for me?”

[lilredghost]

what aboutt 46 & 56 for the ask game? :D

Yeah! 💖💖 46 and 56 from this ask game

46. How would you describe your style? (Character/emotion/action-driven, etc)

Originally I thought of it as very character-driven. Most of my scenes would revolve around my 2 characters together, or one of them thinking about the other. But then I started writing a longfic and I realized that I find lots of pleasure in the worldbuilding and the side characters too! Ultimately everything still comes back to Obikin being mutually in love and their journey, but I've found space to have the plot act on them as well!

56. What’s something about your writing that you pride yourself on?

Foreshadowing!! This is also something I learned writing "Their fragrance came from you", actually. I wasn't sure I'd be able to pull it off, but on multiple occassions I've had long, slow-building reveals that knocked readers off their feet! It was incredibly satisfying to see that some people were surprised and some people picked up on the hints along the way; it made me feel like I set it up just right!

[kitsunabi]

Every time I try min maxing stats on Yukong's relics I just remember that none of her support buffs scale with her stats

[thatawkwardbookthing]

hey so apparently someone *coughs coughs* @tn1sq *coughs coughs* wants me to write smut about my ocs for them wtf wtf wtf

[entropy-sea-system]

I accidentally snapped another needle at the eye again even though this time it was the right kind of needle ....😭

[sanguineterrain]

window pains | jason todd

Summary: He's got a habit of coming in through the window. You want him to start staying... and using the door. 

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader 

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings/tags: injured Jason Todd (he's okay dw), angst, pining, mentions of Jason's death.

A/N: sooo.... i guess i'm a dc girlie now. just a reminder that every character i write will always be 18+!!! this is probably canon divergent but we make our own canon.

If you like this fic and want to see more, please let me know through reblogs ♡

the divider

"Can't you enter my apartment like a normal person?"

"You know who you're talking to, right?"

"You're getting blood on my carpet, Todd."

It doesn't really matter. He'll come back and scrub it out as soon as his ribs are whole. And fuck if he's not good at getting blood out of surfaces. Jason Todd ought to start a housekeeping column. 

You catch his limp as he climbs over the windowsill. It almost topples him, but he gets to the couch before it does. He doesn't make a sound. 

That had freaked you out the first few times he'd stumbled through your window. Once, he came with part of a windshield wiper impaled in his shoulder. He'd lain on your couch so still and so quiet, you'd thought Red Hood had croaked in your apartment. Which would not have been a good look for you. Or maybe it would. Depends on who you ask. 

Sometimes you want to tell him to make sounds. To hiss and grunt and complain. To grab your wrist so you'll slow down as you pull thread through flesh. 

But it's not your place to request such a thing. You don't know where you reside in Jason Todd's life, but it's not somewhere where you can request to hear him hurt. 

Outwardly, his injuries aren't bad-looking. He takes off his helmet and tosses it somewhere under the coffee table. You offer a hand to help him lie down on the couch—he doesn't take it. 

"Jesus Christ, Jay." You suck in a sharp breath and peel back his bloody suit. "What'd you do?"

"Took a midnight stroll in the Botanical Gardens. Why, what'd you do?"

You frown, eyebrows pinching in the center of your forehead. Jason's stomach is mottled with purple and red bruises. There's a sticky gash right above his hip. A knife. Or a sword, maybe. Apparently, swords are commonplace in Gotham. 

"How'd they get you?" you ask. 

It's a rule-break. Jason's number one policy: don't ask questions.

You always do. Even when it was new, this… thing between you two, you'd ask. Who were they? Why did they hurt you? Did you hurt them back?

The last one, you always know the answer to. 

"There were, like, ten of them," he says. "Cut me some slack, will ya?" 

He has a cut across his lips. A ringed finger that caught on his skin, you guess. You wonder if he'd wince if you kissed him. If he'd wince at the pain or the kiss itself. If you'd know the difference. 

Rage suddenly cuts through you. It makes your hands careless, cruel; you pull the bandage around his waist too tight. Jason coils up slightly. 

"Jesus—ever heard of bedside manner?" he asks, looking at you through his lashes. 

"Ever heard of not breaking into someone's apartment and making them patch you up?"

"I don't make you," Jason says easily. "You wouldn't do it if you didn't want to."

That only increases your rage. Because he's right. You wouldn't be here if you didn't want to be. You'd have kicked him out four first aid kits ago if you minded. 

You yank down his shirt and pack up the kit. Jason shifts on the couch. A sliver of skin above his waistband is still exposed. You have to turn your head to force your gaze away. 

"No bandaids?" he asks. "All my cuts'll be exposed to the elements."

"You can put them on yourself." 

His cheek could use one. And his eyebrow. You're not in the mood. 

Jason doesn't say anything in response to that. You get up to put the kit back under the sink. 

"Can I crash here?" 

"Do what you want," you say, suddenly exhausted. Like it's you who just went six rounds with Gotham's scumbags.

You peek over the kitchen counter when you hear rustling and the couch springs squeak. Jason leans heavily on the arm of the couch, reaching for the window. You walk over and stand in front of him. 

"What're you doing?" you ask. 

"You want me to go," he says flatly. "So I'm going."

"I didn't say that, I said—"

"I can read between the lines." 

"If you could read between the lines as well as you think you can, we wouldn't be in this situation," you say. 

"What situation?"

You turn your head. "Nothing."

Jason steps towards the window. You block him again. 

"What is the matter with you?" you ask. "You're injured. Lie down."

"I'm not your responsibility," he says, glaring. "I'm leaving."

"No, you're not. And since you're allergic to using the door, you don't have a choice."

Jason's eyebrow rises. "Are you saying you'd physically prevent me from leaving?"

You lift your chin. "If that's what it takes."

"Hm. Can't tell if your confidence is stupid or brave."

"Lie the fuck down, Todd."

His lip curls. "I don't stay where I'm not welcome."

Sometimes you forget how young he is. Not that you're not also young, but, well… you don't feel your youth as acutely as other people your age might. It's something you two have in common. 

Here, in the gritty glow of Gotham, you are reminded that Jason Todd died once. Before he finished school. Before he fell in love. 

Your stomach churns every time you see that Y-shaped scar on his torso, strapped over him like a chain. 

"I didn't say that you're not welcome," you say. 

"Yeah, well, you didn't have to."

He sags against the couch and it occurs to you that he's as exhausted as you feel. 

"Can you just—" You touch his bicep. He winces even though there's no injury there. "Can you just lie down?" 

You stare at each other for another minute. Slowly, Jason lays down. His eyes are alert instead of heavy with sleep. Instantly, you feel guilty for making him think he has to be cautious around you. His hand curls protectively over his stomach. 

"Do you want a blanket?" you ask. 

He squints. "It's August."

"I know, I… I thought maybe the blood loss made you cold." 

"'M fine. Perks of being risen from the dead." 

You watch him get settled for a minute. He shifts his weight to his uninjured side and meets your gaze. His eyes are gray in the weak light. 

"You're tired of me," he says. 

Your head snaps up. "No, I'm not."  

"You are."

"I'm not tired of you, Jay."

You see it. The fear. He thinks this is the last time you'll let him in. He doesn't know you can't lock him out. You won't. 

You get up and go to get the kit from the sink again. Jason follows your movement the whole time. His face scrunches in confusion when you sit in front of the couch and unzip the kit. 

You pull out the tiny red bandaids. You'd bought them as a joke, initially. It had made Jason laugh and that had been reason enough to keep buying them. And then he let you actually put them on.

You peel the adhesive off of one and gently stick it on his cheek. He blinks at you, thick, dark lashes kissing the corners of his eyes. 

"I'm not tired of you," you say softly. 

"I'd be tired of me." 

"You keep this city safe. How could I be tired of Gotham's defender?"

Jason scowls and turns his head into the cushion before you can put the second bandaid.  

"I'm not its defender. The others protect this city a hundred times better. Nightwing does it with a smile on his face."

"I like that you go out there even when it's hard, Jay," you say. 

He doesn't respond. You lean in, so close that you can count the freckles on his neck. 

"Can I finish putting the bandaids on?" you ask. 

"I don't need 'em."

"You do. You need another on your forehead."

"It'll heal fine without it."

Your shoulders bunch like a cat on defense. You grab his cheek (gently, always gently) and his head whips to yours in surprise. 

"Jason Todd, I am not tired of you. I'm tired of the fact that you only come by when you need fixing."

He scowls. "I never asked you to fix me. If you want me to leave, I'll leave."

"I don't want you to leave, I want you to stay!" you burst. 

Jason scoffs. "No, you don’t. I'll overstay my welcome real fast."

"Maybe I care about you on purpose!" you say, voice rising. "Maybe I didn't stumble through a window; maybe I walked through the door and bought the bandaids and learned how to stitch wounds because I wanted to."

He suddenly looks overcome by grief. The agony in his face startles you. 

"I don't know how to use the door anymore," he says quietly. "All I do is stumble through windows."

Your hand slips off of his cheek. Jason closes his eyes; they fly open when you stick the second bandaid above his eyebrow. 

"You can come in any way you want to," you say, face an inch away from his. "As long as you come back to me."

His gaze darts to your mouth. You don't kiss him hard. He breaks anyway.

You avoid the right side of his mouth entirely, not wanting to pull at his cut. Jason shudders into your mouth. You cup his pulse through his neck and it quickens.

His eyes are wet when you pull away. His chest heaves like he's been swinging through the city. 

"I wanna try to use the door," he says. 

You touch the bandaid on his cheek, humming. 

"Then I'll leave it unlocked." 

[thatawkwardwriter]

Psychopomp

The vulture guards the graves 

Bare head bowed down low 

The grass far too green where he sits  

Beneath the oncoming tempest 

Gray swirls in the sky 

And tiny pellets of rain begin to fall 

Yet he stands his ground 

Black feathers sleek in the dying light 

He won't abandon his post 

Won't abandon the souls wandering lost 

From world to world 

He guides them 

To someplace they hope is better 

But hope is all they can do 

[writingmeraki]

hurt hearts — k.mg drabble.

❝ in which you learn mingyu has a big heart ( and chest—) and he's terribly hurt while you might just beat the shit out of him.

( or mingyu's heart was already yours before you even knew it )

pairing : secret!agent mingyu x secret!agent reader, acquaintances stage. genre : fluff, angsty. warnings : mentions of injuries, treating wounds ( inaccurate forgive me🙏) mingyu ( he's a warning ).

a/n : the double update as promised hehe also the pic is not even related to the drabble but I just had to use it yk?? thank you to @etherealyoungk for feeding my delusions. also this got angsty quite quick 😭 ???( might do a summer fic with this mingyu hehehe ) pls I was also like naurr why is it so sad suddenly but eh it's fine. take this as some sort of teaser for the full secret agent mingyu fic I guess! and yes I will never get fed up of writing these two <3 let me know what you think of this mwah 💌

word count : 2.7k

“Are you fucking stupid?!?”

Silence enveloped the room as you asked in a voice laced with agitation.

It was all whispers of panic and chaos while you took in the scene in front of you, quiet and in your thoughts, but the more you thought of it, the more you got enraged.

“Do you even realise what could have happened?"

It seemed as though the wound on his chest was glaring at you as you spoke, unable to look away from it as it continued to bleed. You winced, frowning more as you shook your head.

Mingyu, on the other hand, like the true annoyance he was, blinked in surprise as he heard you cuss. It was rare you did, it was rare you talked actually, choosing to only answer in small replies.

Or maybe you just hated him because he swears he’s seen you not only talk but also laugh and giggle with Vernon and Chan, even Seungcheol!

He didn’t want to admit it before but now he can, he absolutely disliked the fact that you were more nonchalant to him than any other person. Was he the problem?

No, no negative thoughts right now. Perhaps you were just shy around him.

Right because a shy person would definitely be glaring at him with all the rage enough to just burn him with a gaze.

Who was he trying to convince? You hated him and for all he knew, he was just a nuisance in your life.

“Where’s Wonwoo?! Is Dr.Jeon not there?” You sat him down on the lounge chair in the agency building. It was supposed to mimic how an actual office building would be, hence they even did the extra and added the typical reception desk and waiting area at the ground floor.

Wonwoo? Since when were you on a first name basis with Wonwoo?

He frowned at that, he didn't want to admit it but it annoyed him just a little. Though. He did have other bigger problems right now.

Like the gash on his upper chest that was bleeding. But it seemed the adrenaline had dimmed down the pain. It felt more numb if anything.

“He-he left. I mean his shift is over there's no one—”

“How the fuck is there no other doctor on duty?! In a fucking place like this you'd expect at least one how—”

You pinched your nose and took a deep breath. You were on the verge of possibly killing someone.

Mingyu was bleeding and you needed to think.

“Seungkwan. Get me the first aid kit. Chan, go get some water. And you-”

You looked back at Mingyu in question,

“Can you walk?”

Instead of answering, he nodded curtly, not really wanting to provoke you than he already had. He knew when and where to speak up when he should. At least sometimes he did.

“Great, let's go to my room.”

[ A few moments later ]

Your office space was very…you. It was like a reflection of what he thinks you are.

Your artefacts, some polaroids with people in few and more so sceneries. It resembled a lot of you but also not enough to satisfy his curiosity. He wanted to know more.

He sat down on the sofa, a light pink coloured one, one that stood out in the monochrome room. But it was nice. It was pretty.

He also thinks you look pretty, even though you were tense, eyebrows scrunched as you cut the bandage tape precisely.

You look pretty all the time though.

“I'll need you to remove your shirt.”

Mingyu would love to hear so much from you, and wanted to hear you say so many things for him. This was one of them for sure, but definitely not in the circumstances he wishes.

“I-what? ” He chokes up, immediately sitting up from his leaned back position, one you forced him into when he came there.

You put down the bandage after you finished, looking at him with an eyebrow raised, now crossing your arms.

“How else do you want me to treat your wound?”

“You're-you’ll be treating it?”

“Does it look like there's anyone else right now who can? If you're scared, just trust me, I uh- I have experience from treating my own and others as well.”

You said it firmly because you realised the unsurety in his voice might be right. He didn't know that you knew basic first aid and actually more, it was a requirement for most agents but perhaps it was different here.

Mingyu did trust you. That wasn't what he doubted. He doubted himself, whether he'd be able to handle you touching him in any way. He's terrified he might pass out.

“Okay, now I'll need you to actually remove your shirt, I'll help if you-”

“NO!-uh no I'll do it myself.”

He immediately raised his hands and began unbuttoning, as the shirt got more loose, you focused on how the wound was.

It was a slice, not a stab luckily, so it wouldn't have caused as much damage as a stab would. But it still was damage that hurt.

He hissed in pain as his shirt moved away from his hurt chest, the wound being open to the air.

Slowly, he removed his other arm and finally got his blood soaked shirt out. He questioned where to put it without saying anything as he looked around but you just grabbed it and tossed it in the dustbin.

It was one of his favourites.

Seeing the slight pout on his face, you rolled your eyes because of course, Mingyu would find that to be an issue and not the fact that he was bleeding out.

“I'll get you another one.”

That made him look up at you, to which his eyes widened,

“Uh no I-”

“Shut up.”

You finished preparing the cotton to clean up his wound first, you turned to face him and for a brief moment you paused.

You didn't expect what was in front of you. Mingyu being shirtless was expected of course, but his toned torso and wait…were those abs??

You cleared your throat when you realised you might have been staring a little too long.

It wasn't like you weren't used to seeing people with muscular bodies or so. It was natural in your field for people to be fit.

But Mingyu. Holy shit, he looked like someone personally took their time on him.

“Uhm, okay so I'll just clean up your wound first and then disinfect it, then just bandage it up alright?”

Your voice sounded a lot less angry than before. Actually it sounded more timid if anything. It made Mingyu both shocked and curious as to why suddenly you'd seem so…nervous?

You moved to sit beside him, trying your best to not let your eyes waver more than they already have.

Unfortunately for you, fortunate for Mingyu, your eyes did wander and in fact lingered a little too long on his exposed chest. Along with his torso.

And he noticed.

And he realised.

Gulping slightly, no ordinary person would know but Mingyu did and the glint in his eyes shifted to something more confident, you raised your hand and gently began to clean the open wound.

It seemed it was not as deep as you initially thought.

Holy shit, I'm touching his chest.

You're not a teenager for goodness sake pull yourself together?!???

But his chest is buff and so- fuck. Fucking hell.

Your internal thoughts were in conflict as you cleaned up his wound, not even realising you were going over a place that was already cleaned.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed yours and you were startled out of your conflict.

“You already cleaned it enough,” Mingyu had to bite his tongue to not slip out any sort of pet names but that didn't stop the small smirk on his face from seeing your somewhat composed demeanour be a little thrown off by his sudden nakedness.

His hand holding yours made it seem like you were burning. It burned when he touched you.

And how would one react to a burn?

They'd move far away from the cause of said burn.

You pulled your hand out and stood up quickly,

“Right, right, I was just uh- making sure. I wouldn't want any infections or anything like that.”

You turned back to your first aid kit, turning your back on him and slightly shook your head.

Pull yourself together. He's just…a guy.

But was he really just any guy?

He was Kim Mingyu. The guy who caused you more stress than anything. The same guy who also would bother you a lot during missions.

And yet he was also the same guy who saved you today. You were ambushed during the mission and outnumbered.

It was you against six. You could handle them practically speaking but you also would have your attention split more than it should be. Meaning you wouldn't be prepared for a seventh guy from out of nowhere.

But Mingyu happened to be able to come there. On time too. As though he was keeping up with you despite being in another room with another problem.

What you didn't know was how quickly he made it out of that room when he heard you were ambushed. How he felt his heart drop when he heard you yelp in pain when you got attacked out of nowhere. How he couldn't actually care about the rest of the mission after that and what he cared about most was getting you out of there. Safely.

He knew perhaps it was risky to have jumped in front of you when you were going to get stabbed but darn it be him than you anytime.

Luckily you were also quick enough to make sure he wasn't actually stabbed and pushed him aside as you gained the extra hand and were able to take down the ambusher.

You were not at all happy with what he did. In fact, going as far as to not talking to him till you reached the agency because you were boiling in rage.

“You know you shouldn't have jumped in between like that.”

You said as you soaked up the cotton in hydrogen peroxide.

“But you would have gotten terribly hurt.” Mingyu frowned at your words. The doubt from before raising as to why you'd been so upset with him when he actually saved you.

“Yes but that would be my fault. I would get hurt in my own fight. I'd bleed and patch it up myself. There would be no one else hurt but me.”

You turned to face him, holding the cotton in your hand as you walked up again towards him.

“Not you who got hurt because of me. I wouldn't feel the…the guilt. You got hurt. Because of me.”

His eyes softened upon hearing your words. It made sense now. You were feeling guilty and that's why you'd been so upset. He thinks he'd feel the same too if you were to get hurt somehow because of him.

“I'm…I'm sorry I didn't think about that but I couldn't just sit back and let you get hurt knowingly, I just, I couldn't do that. Not to you.”

You sat back down to your original position, now having completely different emotions than before. But you weren't sure which you preferred because the current ones were only making you feel more worse if anything.

Lightly pressing the soaked cotton on his open wound, he hissed in pain as the alcohol came in contact with his open skin.

“It's fine Mingyu, you don't need to explain, I get it. I'd also do it. Thank you for…saving me.”

You don't need to thank me.I'd only do it for you though. I'd risk anything for you.

But instead he could only gasp in pain as you continued to clean,

“Yeah, what a time to say thank you when you're causing me only more pain.”

You rolled your eyes at his words but felt a little bad for him due to knowing the pain of hydrogen peroxide to an exposed wound.

“Oh, shut up now you big baby, this will help you.”

“Baby? Are we moving on to pet names now?”

“What??? I didn't- I didn't mean it that-”

“Oh I know, I was just messing with you.”

“You-!”

After a bit more cleaning and more arguing, you got up and grabbed the bandage.

“Now how will I wrap this?”

You questioned as you held it. He also got up, feeling a bit better but you still warned him not to move to much as the wound was not yet wrapped.

Then you got the idea of how to wrap it.

“Listen, what I'll do is wrap this around your entire chest, like the entire upper part alright? I don't have anything else besides this right now but it'll help temporarily. Tomorrow you go and get it properly dressed from Wonwoo.”

He nodded obediently and it was slightly cute as to how he almost resembled a little puppy quietly following instructions. Though you could see him getting tired from the way his eyes seemed to drift.

“I'll do it as quick as I can.”

And quickly you did, already wrapping over the wound enough,to the point Mimgyu had to tell you he felt like he couldn't breath and that's when you stopped.

No sign of blood.

You noted as you taped over the left over end part on the right side of his chest.

For this part, you were very close to him, to ensure the best precision. He was just glad it wasn't the left side of his chest or else you'd definitely feel how fast his heartbeat was going from the moment you got closer.

Mingyu likes you. Like really really likes you. You who stayed behind and treated his wound. You who felt guilty for him getting hurt for something he chose to do.

He thinks in this situation no matter how hurt he got, he was now sure about you. More specifically liking you.

“There. All done.” You patted down his chest lightly as you moved a little behind but before you could properly go, his hand out of nowhere held your own and pulled you closer.

It was unexpected so you couldn't help but stumble a bit as your eyes widened.

You were very close. Too close in fact you were sure if you moved a bit more closer, you might just end up kissing him.

It didn't seem like too bad of an idea.

“Mingyu, what are you doing?”

“I just, I want to tell you thank you for helping me out right now, properly.”

He smiled softly at you, his canines slightly peaking from beneath his closed lip smile and you swore you felt your body flush.

He looked…as handsome as he always did. Brown eyes shimmering in all sorts of emotions, lips a shade of pretty pink.

But you couldn't. You couldn't dare. Not now.

Clearing your throat, you pulled back and stepped behind, your body suddenly feeling a weird coldness from the sudden distance.

On the other hand, Minghu seemed confused. Did he push too far? He didn't mean to, he didn't want to rush anything, he just wanted to properly say thank you like actually say it and not do anything-

“It's alright. I hope you get better soon. I'll call Seungkwan to get you a shirt. You can get changed here. I'll just leave now, it's late anyways and you should to.”

“Have a goodnight agent Kim.”

Agent…Kim? Not even Mingyu?

Before he could even question your change of behaviour, you'd already moved out of your room as if you life depended on it.

As if you'd rather be anywhere but there.

As if you suddenly remembered your dislike towards him.

“Wait! Y/—”

Sighing out, in likely relief as you got out of your office, you made your way down to the lobby.

You couldn't help but feel the guilt, if not even more at how you left Mingyu just because you were a coward. Just because you didn't want to admit how he made you feel.

You couldn't do that to him. Not at this moment.

And perhaps you couldn't do that to him ever, for Kim Mingyu deserves the best.

And that was surely not you.

perm. taglist ( open ! ) : @mansaaay ; @gyuguys ; @toplinehyunjin

( if you want to be added just send an ask/reply to this !)

all written works as well as images and edits (unless credited) belong to pri. do not plagiarise, repost, re-edit or claim as yours. pics mostly found on pinterest.

writingmeraki Ⓒ 2024

feedback is always appreciated 💌 !

links : main navi ! | svt masterlist ! | info !

[dreamescapeswriting]

Stray Kids Reaction || Sewing Hearts On Their Sleeves

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - September 2023

⤜MASTERLIST

CHAN:

It had been a long three weeks without seeing you in person and it was starting to put a strain on Chan's work, because how could he write music when you were his muse and you weren't here to inspire him? He sighed a little trying not to get too stressed about everything, he could always start fresh tomorrow and that was when his phone buzzed beside him.

You: Don't forget to go home early, you need some sleep xx

The text flashed on the screen and Chan smiled to himself, it was about ten so he could head home to the dorms now and get some sleep. As he began packing everything up he stopped and stared down at the hoodie that was sitting on the sofa behind him. It wasn't completely obvious but sitting on the right cuff of his sleeve were two little hearts sewn into the fabric, a blue and pink heart and his heart clenched a little at the thought of you spending the time to do that.

MINHO:

The boys relentlessly teased Minho for wearing the hoodie you'd sewn hearts into but he adored it. Not only was it cute but the hoodie smelled like you so he always knew what to do whenever he was missing you.

"Who would have guessed that Minho was a softy." Jisung teased as he watched his older member take out the hoodie from his wardrobe and change into it, taking in a deep breath before visibly relaxing in front of everyone's eyes.

"I can't help it," He mumbled a little glancing at the boys who were all smirking in his direction now.

"They've barely been gone two days," Chan teased before a pillow was launched in his direction by Minho who went back to snuggling into the hoodie.

CHANGBIN:

There had to be over five different hoodies that you'd sewn cute little hearts into, and then there had to be more T-shirts as well and Changbin took every single one of them on tour with him. He did it so that he could feel close to you while you were so far away from each other,

"Are you wearing the heart shirt?!" You squealed, Changbin had called and while you were talking he'd posted a photo of him at the gym. He was dressed in one of the shirts you'd sewn a bunch of hearts onto the chest of.

"I've worn one every chance I've got," He laughed a little before you giggled excitedly at the thought of your boyfriend doing that just because he missed you.

HYUNJIN:

"What are you doing?" You laughed as your boyfriend came rushing into the living room you shared and dropped - what had to be every single shirt and jumper he owned at your feet.

"Can you do it to every single one?" You stared at him a little dumbfounded,

"Hyunjin, I'd be here forever. Do you know how many clothes you own?!" You teased before he sat down beside you, looking at the careful needle work you'd been doing on the sleeve of one of his hoodies.

"Okay...Maybe a couple of my favourites, then I can always have you with me," He pouted a little before you nodded, kissing his pouting lips and watching in amusement as your boyfriend found out all of his favourite pieces.

JISUNG:

You thought Jisung was upset with you at first, he'd come in from work to find you sitting cross-legged on the bedroom floor with your sewing kit around you and his favourite hoodie in hand. Before you could explain what it was you were doing he'd run out of the room and you hadn't seen him since.

"I bought yours," Jisung said as he came back into the room, sitting in front of you and matching your exact position,

"Now we can have matching hoodies." He said as he pointed to the heart on his sleeve and then held out the hoodie for you to start sewing another matching heart into.

"You sure?" You teased, you knew he'd been wanting matching clothes for ages now but could never figure a way around it until now.

"I want matching clothes with you," He whined before you kissed him and began to get to work.

FELIX:

As soon as fans started to see Felix wearing the hoodie they all began to question him on where he got it from since none of them could find it online. Your relationship was still a secret for now and he was nervous about telling them he'd been the one to sew them into it since he would be taking credit for your hard work.

"Tell them, baby, it's fine." You laughed as he asked you if you were sure for the millionth time that day, he gave you a sad look.

"I love them, I love you, and You and I both know who really did it." He told you before kissing you and smiling a little as he blushed.

"I do. Now go," You whined pushing him toward the bedroom where the phone was waiting for him to go live.

SEUNGMIN:

"You're gross," You grumbled to Seungmin as you watched him cradle the hoodie to his chest and shake his head at you. It was in desperate need of a wash, You knew why he didn't want you to wash it but it needed it and you weren't going to let him get away with a dirty hoodie.

"Babe, it has stains all over it." You mumbled trying to take it from his grasp but he only seemed to tighten his hold on it and you sighed at him.

"What if I agree to do another hoodie for you? Will that mean I can wash this one?" As soon as you suggested it Seungmin dropped the hoodie and smirked at you, running to go and find a different one for you to sew into.

JEONGIN:

Sewing things into your clothes had been something you'd picked up over the years, it started when you had nothing else to do while watching a show and now it was something you just did for fun. Which was why it was surprising to you when Jeongin begged you to do it to some of his clothes,

"Can you do little hearts? Two of them! In our favourite colours!" He yelled from the bedroom as he came out with two black hoodies, one for you and one for him and a giant smile spread across his cheeks. How could you ever say no to that?

Tagline: @chiisaiblog @hanasonmi @sw33tnight @taestannie @acciocriativity @scarletemeterio @halesandy @aerastus @laylasbunbunny @critssq @lenfilms @btsiguess-kpop @meowmeowisdaname @imafivestarkpopstan @lost-leopard-beanie @illicee @djeniryuu @backintomykpopphaseagain @choisoorin

[amoscontorta]

Hi, I write fanfiction about Love and Deepspace. Currently Sylus-specific, although I love and appreciate most of the LIs. Full summaries and tags are in each link.

Alike and cornered beast, Sylus's POV | ao3

I was desperate for Sylus's point of view during the first time that MC meets him in the Alike and Cornered Beast chapters of Long-Awaited Revelry. I wanted to know why he touches MC so reverently but also quite brutally, so I spent a lot of time thinking about possibilities and this is the result.

Roleplay, undercurrents, and rising curtain, Sylus's POV | ao3

It really bothers me in the game that the clearly traumatic experiences MC undergoes in the canon storyline don't seem to have any consequences for MC's character development. Yes, yes, this is a self-insert gacha mobile game, blah blah. MC has PTSD from chapter 4 (you know the one), and no one can convince me otherwise, so I re-wrote the auction bits from Sylus's POV to fix this grievous oversight, because I am also firmly convinced he is a champ at handling MC's trauma.

No way out, revised | ao3

I thought that MC was too mean to Sylus in his 4 star No Way Out card, and I didn't like it, so I fixed it. I mean, I rewrote how it went like a proper rabid fan. Sylus shows up injured near MC's place, MC tends to his injuries, and he takes advantage of the situation like a vampire and secures himself an open invitation into MC's home whenever he 'needs' it.

Datura tea, or how all you want is to get some sleep | ao3

You're suffering from insomnia due to untreated PTSD (probably, I don't know, I'm not a doctor or a therapist) from your family getting, well, exploded, and the longer this goes on, the sloppier you become in combat and just existing, and a bad idea is born (let's go to the club alone, drink enough to finally get drowsy and then go home and finaaaaally sleep it off). Zayne treats some of your injuries, Mephisto does Sylus's stalker bidding, and guess who appears at the club right before you're about to probably violate the Hunter's Association code of conduct on an idiot who has a hard time taking no for an answer? Spoiler alert: he can't sing but he can dance, even if he chooses to dance to the music he'd rather be hearing than the music actually being played. Full of clichés but hopefully with refreshing twists.

Sylus gets a headache | ao3

Sylus has secured the promise from you that he can use your place as a safe house if he's in the area and needs it. Sylus's definition of "need", it turns out, might be different than your own, as illustrated by the first time he shows up unannounced at your door.

Wine time with Sylus | ao3

Sylus invites himself over, helps himself to your first aid kit and your kitchen, manipulates you into tasting wine with him, discusses his latest business venture, and gifts you more than one present before he's good and ready to finally leave.

[cassandraclare]

*sighs a bit* Okay. Guys. I have been asked this question a lot, and answered it a lot. I don't know how to give a better answer — Dru & Ty&Kit share significance as main characters — so I guess I'll talk a little about comparison and structures.

First, all series have different structures. I don't think it's super useful or predictive to try to map an upcoming, unknown book series onto an existing series. In TLH the main character was Cordelia, everyone else was secondary to her, and people's roles and the significance of them altered from book to book. It was a big ensemble cast and they mostly stayed put in London especially in book 1.

TWP focuses on a smaller group of people. It also has a very different structure. In book one, Dru is not with Kit and Ty. They are in different places, both of which have their own stories that are significant to the plot. There is no way to see Place One without following Dru. There is no way to see Place Two without following Kit and Ty.

I know that TWP is a long way off. I know there are people who are very angry with me that there's such a gap, but there isn't anything currently I can do about that, or about the fact that I don't yet have the schedule for my upcoming books. That rests in the hands of several different publishers who must coordinate the release times and production schedules for four different series. I am not withholding any information about when these books come out. I simply don't know it yet.

I understand that TWP being a long way off makes for anxiety, and that those who are worried Kit and Ty will somehow be secondary are looking for tiny clues in microscopic details — micro-reading the of placement of the word "and" in my newsletter and such — that are meaningless, but I get that it all comes from anxiety. (FTR, those worried Dru will be secondary are equally anxious.)

I think there is only so much I can say. Because there's a big gap between TLH and TWP everything I do say or every image or hint about it is freighted with a weight of assumption it can't really support. Anxiety is always going to trump reassurance. And truly, at the end of the day, if you only care about Kit and Ty and find the idea of a Dru story tiresome, you will feel like they got shafted because when you absolutely hate a plotline, you will always feel like it's taking up way too much space. That's just how our minds work.

I've been doing this long enough that I know no book can survive a hostile reading. I know that Book Three of a trilogy is the one people hate until they don't. (When Clockwork Princess came out people hated it so much I considered quitting writing!) I know that it's wonderful to love a character but can also be a problem for people when I put out books that aren't about that particular character or dynamic. I know that for a lot of people, Sword Catcher and Ragpicker King are just tiresome things that have no business on my schedule because they're not Shadowhunter books. And I get it. But I also have to block it out, because I've been writing a long time, and I've gotten to a point where I know that I have to write the thing I want to be writing, because if I don't, if I sit down and try to force myself to write something I'm not feeling like writing at that time, I'll be making myself physically and mentally sick. And that's no good for anyone, really.

I suppose the positive thing is that, while this would not have been true five years ago, I am at the place where I want very much to be writing Wicked Powers. I missed these characters and am glad to be back with them. I consider this a story in which there are three main characters. And that is all I can say right now because it's all that I know.

(And this was much more of a general response to a lot of things than a specific response to this question, but I did feel like it was stuff that I needed to say. Creators are at the end of the day, just people. Sometimes we are powerless to reassure. Sometimes we are tired. Sometimes we are wrong. Sometimes we try things and they don't work. Sometimes we can't explain to you what our story is going to make you feel, because only reading it is going to tell you that. This may be one of those times.)

[snailmail444]

Can I get a headcanon of the bachelors and how they'd be sexy with you when you're down? Like, if they're trying to cheer you up and be a little goofy with it but also tryna HIT. THAT. 🤣🤣🤣

Thanks Snail, ILU.

Bachelors Goofing Their way Into Your Pants

18+ 🌱 MDNI 🌱 NSFW (-ish)

This one was a tough ask Libby but I’ll do nothing if not stand and deliver 🫡 Honestly might be my favorite head cannon list for the bachelors I’ve ever done so THANK YOU for this prompt icon. NSFW? -ish under the cut (lewd?? Idk lol)

Harvey-

💚 Perhaps the goofiest about this

💚 He would not try to come onto you when you’re down unless he KNOWS it’s going to pick you up

💚 So once he’s confident let’s start there

💚 It’s a song and dance

💚 Dissappears, and when he’s back he’s got his med kit

💚 He gets out the stethoscope and all. The whole nine yards.

💚 That’s right folks. We’re paging Dr. Love

💚 Will NOT let you stop this routine. Dr. Love WILL be completing the full assessment. Listening to your heart rate, checking your throat and ears, somehow always having to complete a chest exam

💚 (M or F he will be groping your tits for this one)

💚 The diagnosis is in

💚 There’s Only One Cure for What Ails You

💚 You guessed it! You need a little lovin’ (Dr. Love’s catchphrase)

💚 Important note: Dr. Love is not a licensed medical practitioner

💚 This works a little too well perhaps. He’s so confident for no reason at all LMAO

💚 Lowkey want to write a Dr. Love oneshot now because this is really fun and cute

Elliott-

❤️ If you’re feeling down man will preform the absolute worst ad lib poetry

❤️ Silliest lymrics you’ve ever heard

❤️ Dumb dumb dummmmmb

❤️ Very dirty and stupid bad poems about you

❤️ Specifically about his favorite parts of your body

❤️ Or his favorite things you do during sex

❤️ The worse it is, the better as far as he is concerned

❤️ Raunchy dirty filthy

❤️ But like. In the most grade school mother goose style he can manage

❤️ No flowery language here

❤️ Takes off your clothes to expose the parts of you the he’s referring to

❤️ When you do x thing (then tries to make you do x thing)

❤️ Will be proving his point. Period!!!

Alex-

🤎 Physical touch legend

🤎 Wrestles

🤎 Winner gets whatever they want from the loser

🤎 Has a wrestling name and all

🤎 Does the John Cena theme

🤎 His hands end up in all sorts of places that they don’t need to be

🤎 Most wrestlers aren’t grabbing ass 🤨

🤎 Gets you in some really tight, close pins, but somehow you end up winning anyway

🤎 No I didn’t let you win don’t be ridiculous I respect the sport too much to ever—

🤎 He let you win

🤎 You can take your prize now 😌 Whatever you want 😌

🤎 And if his hard on is pressing against you? Well. Maybe he has some ideas about what your prize should be

Shane-

💙 Gets you through the hard stuff first, so once you’re on the mend he’s goofing to the max

💙 KING FLEXER!

💙 Aw babe come on? How can you be so sad when you have these guns to look at?

💙 Runs through a series of absurd poses to show off his muscly farm boy arms

💙 Lays it on really thick about being a stud

💙 “No matter what at the end of the day you have a trophy husband” (even if he’s not married to you. ESPECIALLY if he’s not married to you)

💙 STRIP! TEASE!!

💙 Showing off everything you’re so lucky to have with a big goofy grin on his face

💙 Throwing his clothes across the room and everything

💙 Making the music sounds with his mouth

💙 You HAVE to whistle or hoot at him or clap or something

💙 He demands applause from his audience if he’s not getting some singles at least

Sam-

🩷 Another song and dancer

🩷 This man was born for the stage I fear

🩷 Genuinely and truly putting on a SHOW about it all

🩷 The drama of it. Uh oh, he’s compromised!

🩷 Will end up ‘stuck’ under the couch or table or anywhere else

🩷 Uh oh! I hope nobody takes advantage of me 👀 When I’m so exposed 👀👀 and vulnerable 👀👀👀

🩷 The worst stage acting you’ve ever seen in your life

🩷 Starts stripping in the middle of the living room because he “didn’t see you there!”

🩷 Pretends to be scandalized when you finally succumb to his advances

🩷 What are you doing?! Huh? What do you MEAN I was coming on to you? I always take off all my clothes in the kitchen, that’s ritual

🩷 insists he’s been objectified and taken advantage of

🩷 That kind of turns him on though let’s be so fucking real

Sebastian-

🖤 Okay so we’re going blunt king here

🖤 Two possible options

🖤 Uses it as a way to hard reset the system mid breakdown

🖤 Full crying, upset, whatever, he’s been holding you and trying to calm you down but it’s not working

🖤 “Wanna have sex?”

🖤 DEADPANNNNNN delivery

🖤 It never fails. Tried and true

🖤 Option two?

🖤 This is ONLY if mans is super comfortable in your dynamic

🖤 A classic

🖤 Whips it out

🖤 Thinking about that one tweet of the boyfriend who was in the mood and just put his dick on her shoulder while she was watching tv

🖤 Like that but buried under sixteen levels of irony

🖤 “I know what’ll help” and then he pulls his dick out

🖤 Probably the least likely to actually hit with these methods

🖤 However, he’s maybe the most likely to help improve your mood substantially

🖤 Through sheer presentation if nothing else. Man can deliver, and knows when to hit with the absurd to make it the most impactful

[thatawkwardbookthing]

Of course I suddenly get the motivation to write at the exact moment I’m supposed to be getting caught up on schoolwork

[reidbae]

Ecstasy

summary: You’re always nervous around your professor, which he has taken note to, but had chosen not to speak on. It’s not until you come to his classroom late to turn in a missing assignment that he decides to ask you about it, and he’ll do anything for the answer.

warnings/mentions: dom!spencer x sub!reader, teacher x student relationship, tall x short, reader is 22+ and spencer is 32+, age gap, AFAB reader, use of Y/N in slowburn but pet names used during smut (sweetheart, baby, doll, honey, etc), degradation, praise, choking, fingering, rough sex, hair pulling, vaginal sex, office sex technically lol, literally just filth dude

wc: 4.4k

a/n: hey, i’m kit! i write a lot in my free time and i think it’s high time i made a tumblr. this is my first post and the first smut i’ve written in a while. this is partially slowburn but it’s MOSTLY smut. anyway, hope you enjoy and also know that i take requests!

You knocked on the classroom door before entering it, shutting it quietly behind you. “Professor Reid?” you called out, unsure if the intelligent doctor was even here so late.

He looked up from his desk, his nose previously buried in paperwork. He was no doubt grading assignments, and you felt a twinge of guilt for interrupting him.

You nervously cleared your throat, beginning to approach his desk. “I’m sorry for interrupting you. I- I know it’s late. I just have that missing essay you wanted me to make up?” you explained, holding out the essay that you had finished shortly before you got here.

You noticed Spencer’s eyes darting to your clothing, lingering there for a few moments as he seemed to be taking in the view of you. You’d pulled on the first thing you’d found in your closet, a skimpy red dress that was tugging forcefully against your body. Ultimately, however, Spencer didn’t say anything and cleared his throat, then accepted your paper from you.

He looked it over for a second, then spoke up. “This is a lot of work, Y/N. It only needed to be two pages,” he pointed out to you.

You began to sweat at that comment, gazing at him with an apprehensive expression. “I- I know, sir. I just wanted to make up for the fact that I’m turning it in late. I hope you won’t take points off,” you explained. He may have made your palms sweat, but you did still care heavily about your grades.

“I’m not going to,” he said with a soft smile, placing your essay down on his desk. “Your essay seems to be well written, as usual, from what I’ve read so far.”

You could feel your face heat up at his praise and you gently nodded. “Thank you. And thank you again for giving me an extension.”

He nodded, too. “You’re welcome. But I hope you’re aware that I won’t always be so understanding, Y/N. I was glad to give you an extension this time, but I won’t shy away from taking points off if this happens again. I want you to learn to be more punctual,” he sternly continued.

It was conversations like these that made you heavily aware that no matter what you felt, Spencer was still your professor, and he wasn’t afraid to remind you of that. Shyly, you nodded your head, becoming more nervous as the seconds went on. “I- I understand, Professor Reid. I promise that it won’t happen again,” you could barely stammer out, coherent sentences beginning to fail you.

He smiled up at you and gave you another respectful nod. “Good. Make sure you live up to that,” he said firmly.

Did he have to be so overly stern? “I will,” you simply returned. You weren’t really sure what to say at this point now that the reason you’d come here had been addressed. You took a shaky breath, then nodded in finality. “Well, um, I guess I’d better get going now. Again, sorry to disturb you so late, Professor. I’ll see you tomorrow,” you timidly told Spencer, turning on your feet and starting to walk towards the door.

Spencer’s husky voice stopped you dead in your tracks. “Can I ask you something, Y/N?” he asked you. Nervously, you turned back around, looking at him.

“What is it, sir?” you politely responded, giving him your best innocent smile.

“Why are you always so nervous around me?”

Your eyes widened as your cheeks flushed red, caught off guard by his sudden question. You knew that, at some point, he would confront you about your continued nervousness around him that had started the second he became your professor three months ago. You were awful at hiding it: You blush and sweat, you stutter and stammer, and you toy with your hands and hair when he talks to you. You couldn’t be blamed for your attractiveness to the handsome doctor, but, really, you wish you were better at burying it.

“N- nervous?” you responded, in a feeble attempt to sound clueless. “I- I’m not- What makes you say that, Professor?” you asked, knowing exactly why he was asking.

“You seem much more nervous and tense when you talk to me as opposed to when you talk to others. It’s something I’ve noticed since the beginning of the semester,” he explained to you, folding his hands atop his desk.

“Uh, well, you know,” you nervously laughed, avoiding eye contact with him at all costs. “I’m just shy.” Yeah, right.

“You’re loud and exuberant around your other professors, along with your classmates. I’ve heard you laugh and joke with quite a few people. It seems like this nervous demeanor is only saved for me,” he pointed out, sounding completely convinced that he was correct in his observations. He paused for a brief moment before continuing on. “Did I do something to make you uncomfortable?”

Your expression turned shocked at the fact that he could possibly think that anything he did would make anyone uncomfortable. “No, no, I swear, it’s not like that,” you mumbled shyly, shaking your head.

“Forgive me for thinking so, Y/N, but my words do hold some truth to them. You are aware of this behavior that you’ve constantly displayed towards me over the last few months, though, correct?” he asked. His words came out so fluently, as though he had been meaning to come to you about this for longer than you’d anticipated. In regards to how you were speaking at the moment, you wish you could say the same.

“S- Somewhat,” you admitted.

He looked more intrigued now that you had confirmed the fact that you were nervous around him. He leaned back in his chair now, hands in his lap as he stared up at you. “Then, tell me what it is that’s making you nervous. I’d like to clear up whatever it is.”

You immediately shook your head, eyes still averted from the brunette professor. “I- It’s nothing.”

“It’s not ‘nothing’ if you’re constantly stuttering when you talk to me, or fidgeting with your hands when I walk by your desk,” he said, his stern tone growing increasingly prominent with each word he said. “I want to know what’s going on, Y/N.”

“Nothing’s going on,” you instantly defended. You were not in the mood to blow your cover about this. Not today, and maybe not ever.

“Oh, really?” he asked you in return, cocking an eyebrow. “You just told me you know that your behavior has been odd over the last few months,” he sighed. He grabbed a pen on his desk, clicking it a few times before continuing. “You and I both know there’s something wrong. This issue will never be resolved if you don’t discuss it with me. I promise that it will be to your benefit.”

You couldn’t help but remain silent. If you spoke, you’d stutter, only further proving Spencer’s point. You didn’t shake your head or give any sign at all that you’d heard him.

At this, he sighed again, shaking his head from what you could see out of the corner of your eye. “Am I going to have to figure it out for myself?” he asked you in a genuine tone. His voice, you noticed, was notably lower than it was before.

You only rolled your eyes in response to that. The fact that he had asked why you were nervous was one thing, but the idea of him attempting to figure it out was much more daunting, and you weren’t looking forward to it.

“Don’t give me that, Y/N,” he demanded when you rolled your eyes, tone fierce. “If you can’t verbally tell me what’s going on, your body language will.“

“My body language has nothing to tell,” you tried to correct him, trembling hands finding your hair and messing with it anxiously, eyes still torn from Spencer’s.

“You seriously believe that?” he almost scoffed, shaking his head. “I teach you how to read this stuff. Your body language has nothing to tell? You mean your shaky hands, stuttering, and red face have nothing to tell? Or, what about the fact that your hands are tangled in your hair? Or, that you can’t even look at me?” he went on, and he didn’t stop there.

“Do you want me to list every possibility I can think of until you tell me why you’re so nervous?” he asked. There was no tone of joke in his words: You knew that he would do it, and he’d do it with pride, at that.

“No,” you told him, the first word you’d said since the beginning of his ramble.

“Are you sure? Maybe that’s what you need.” Maybe it was the hour or the context of the situation, but you could swear for a second that this sentence had some air of teasing to it.

“I- I don’t, Professor Reid,” you stammered out.

“Tell me something, Y/N. Why are you the only student I have who still calls me ‘Professor Reid?’” he questioned.

“It’s respectful,” you tried, but it sounded like bullshit even as the words left your tongue. Spencer wasn’t that far off your age. Every one of your classmates called him by his first name, as he had said he was comfortable with several times. But you knew that calling him by his first name would put him on the same level as you, and if you didn’t see him as your professor, you weren’t sure you’d be able to control yourself.

“I’ve said several times that it’s okay to call me Spencer. All of my students do, and some even call me ‘Reid,’ they’re that comfortable. Yet, you only use ‘Professor,’ ‘Professor Reid,’ and ‘sir’ to address me,” he went on. You slowly started to realize that he was profiling you, and you felt your face grow redder, already knowing the outcome: He would figure you out.

In hopes of making yourself seem clueless, you shrugged. He wasn’t buying it, and asked, “Does this have anything to do with your continued nervousness around me?”

“I- I’m not nervous,” you could barely manage to get out, let alone lie properly. Deflection was your last hope of getting Spencer to drop this topic, a hope that you were almost positive would not be worth hoping for.

“Look at me, then, Y/N.”

No. Immediately, no.

“If you’re so ‘not nervous’ around me like you say, then look at me. If you’re not anxious, or shy, you should have no problem doing so,” Spencer said in a confident tone.

“I- I can’t look at you,” you immediately returned. You wanted to, but given the context of this situation, you knew he’d easily get you to talk if you did.

“Why?” he asked, his tone one of pure and utter confusion. Because I’m afraid of what I’ll say if I do.

“I just can’t,” you repeated, rubbing your eyes.

He sighed again, sounding genuinely exasperated. “Do you need me to profile it out of you, Y/N? Because I have no trouble doing that,” he said sternly. “I want you to feel comfortable around me. But I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on with you.”

When you didn’t respond, he took a deep breath, tapping his fingers on his desk before standing up and continuing. You were really looking away now. The fact that he was at least five inches taller than you was not helping.

“You show common signs of tenseness when I’m around you, like a stiff jaw, sweating, shaking, and, above all, avoiding eye contact,” he started, and you scoffed. Fucking profilers.

“Your body language offers common tells of your continued nervousness around me, like touching your face, constantly fidgeting with your hands and hair, and turning red when I say your name.”

“Stop,” you managed to say, your face growing darker at his words. But he continued.

“You’re talkative and open with others, but closed off and shy with me. You talk with your hands during class but they find their way into your hair the second I’m in your presence,” he went on.

“Stop,” you tried again, your voice growing quieter and your singular word coming out in a low whisper.

“You’re my only student who seems to refuse to call me by my first name. You can present in my class without flash cards but are unable to form clear, coherent sentences around me-“

“For fuck’s sake, Spencer, I’m attracted to you!” you finally blurted, unable to take any more of this.

He stopped talking, looking at you as if he was physically unable to process what you had just said. “What?”

“I’m attracted to you,” you repeated again, finally looking up at him and now realizing how hard it would be. Your cheeks were clearly flushed red, and your body was trembling.

He chuckled for a second, then immediately stopped. “That’s what this is?” he asked you in disbelief, his tone evidently amused, as if this was something he heard on the daily basis. “Attraction?”

“Yes,” you returned.

“And it makes you this nervous to talk to me?” he asked you genuinely, but his voice still showed underlying tones of amusement.

“Yes.”

He thought for a moment, truly taking in your words. Then, a faint smirk danced across his face as he walked around his desk with his hands in his pockets, stopping a few feet away from you.

You refused to give him whatever satisfaction he seemed to be gaining by teasing you and looked away as he looked at you. He chuckled, stepping closer. “You’re nervous because of a little crush? Come on, Y/N. How old are you?” he teased.

You rolled your eyes again and remained silent.

“Look at me,” he said sternly, taking another step closer. There was now minimal distance between the two of you. It would be easy to lean and kiss him. What the hell is he doing to you?

All you did was shake your head. Absolutely not.

He reached out to cup your cheek, caressing his thumb over it as he looked down at you with a smirk, from what you could see out of the corner of your eye.

“You’re always so good in class. Be a good girl for me now, won’t you, Y/N?” he cooed, continuing to smooth his thumb over your face. You felt yourself growing redder by the second.

You shook your head, not at him, but at yourself for what you were about to do. You were too easy. You made eye contact with him, gazing lewdly up into his auburn eyes.

“That’s it,” he murmured. You were correct: He was smirking at you. He spoke up again. “Three months is a long time, sweetheart. How many fantasies have you had about me in that time?”

You blushed harder at that, stuttering out, “A lot.”

“Voice one to me,” Spencer continued in a raspy tone. His voice was riling you up, and you were almost unsure of how to answer. “What’s on your mind?”

“I- I’ve thought about-,” you tried, but you stopped, unsure if you should even speak the explicit fantasy that came to your mind first into the universe.

Noticing your hesitation, Spencer said, “You can say it, sweetheart. What have you thought about?” he demanded, although his words were almost sweet.

You took a breath of courage before replying, “A- About you, bending me over your desk,” you barely managed to stutter out.

He chuckled even further at your shy admission. “Doing what to you?” he asked in his teasing tone.

You let out a small frustrated groan. Isn’t it obvious?

“Fucking me.”

He gave you a flirty smile at your words. “What do you want, sweetheart?” he now asked you in a raspy tone, the distance between you becoming too hard to resist closing.

“To take you across this desk,” you openly admitted, finding it difficult to stare at his eyes when his lips were so close.

“Then do it.”

His words mixed with his proximity gave you the confidence to finally pull him in, wrapping your arms around his neck and fervently kissing him. To your surprise, he reciprocated instantly, roughly grabbing your waist and backing you into his desk.

He lifted you up with ease and sat you on the only part of it that wasn’t filled with papers, his lips never leaving yours as his tongue explored your mouth. After a few minutes, there was nowhere his hands hadn’t roamed, as he shamelessly grabbed your neck, cupped your tits, and squeezed your ass.

His fingers found their way under your dress, his cold hands meeting your warm skin. You shuddered at the contact, moaning surprisedly into your kiss. You could feel him tugging at the hem of your panties as he pulled back from you, breathing heavily.

“Professor,” you breathed out, calling him ‘Professor’ out of habit. He shook his head at you in response to it.

“Say my name,” he demanded of you, continuing his movements with his hand as he looked down at you.

“Sp- Spencer,” you stammered out, breath quickening at his dominant tone.

“Attagirl,” Spencer praised, hands dipping suddenly into your panties. You gasped, looking up at him with a sultry stare. His fingers slid in between your soaked folds and you involuntarily let out a whorish moan.

“Fuck, doll, you’re already this wet?” he asked you in a tone that was a mixture of both surprise and excitement as his fingers felt all of your built up arousal. “Is this all for me?”

You didn’t know what to say, in pure and utter shock that this was even happening.

He gave you a look that screamed both pleading and demanding at the same time. “Talk to me, sweetheart,” he cooed, moving his fingers in no particular direction, which made you moan softly anyway.

“I- It’s all for you, Spencer,” you stammered.

“There you go. I like hearing that pretty voice of yours,” Spencer cooed. He buried a finger into your cunt, and you groaned at the sudden intrusion. He started slow, making sure you were comfortable with this sensation, then stuck another in, quickening his pace.

You arched your back as he curled his fingers inside of you, hitting a spot that you had never been able to reach when you were touching yourself alone. He knew exactly what he was doing, using another finger to rub slow circles around your clit. He pumped his fingers in and out fast, eliciting several moans of pleasure from you.

You leaned in to fiercely kiss him as he continued to finger you, sliding your tongue into his mouth. He accepted it gladly, gently choking you with his other hand as the two of you kissed. You groaned into it, his use of force getting you closer and closer to your high.

He pulled away, then started on your neck, kissing and sucking harshly as he continued to finger you below. His pace was getting faster, pushing his fingers deeper with every second that went by. When he curved them further than he had before, he found exactly where your pleasure point was: Your G-Spot.

“Fuck, Spencer,” you groaned out, your climax directly around the corner as he left kisses and no doubt hickies all over your neck.

He payed close attention to your reaction, making sure to continue to finger you directly where you needed him and continuing to rub your clit in quick motions. You were nearly there, and he surely knew that. However, suddenly, all movements ceased, and he pulled away from your neck to lustfully look down on you, retracting his fingers from your wetness.

You looked up at him with a mirroring lustful expression, but only because you were so close to releasing, and he had just taken that away from you.

“Sp- Spencer? Why’d you stop?” you stuttered out a little frustratedly.

“Because that’s not where I want you to finish,” he said, like it was the most simple thing to humanly comprehend. He backed up a step, then lifted you from his desk, spinning you round and bending you over it in one swift movement. You gasped as his hand found your lower back, his crotch pressed up on you and his bulge pressing into your ass.

“Spencer-“

“You said you saw me bending you over across my own desk, right?” Spencer reminded you in a low voice.

“Y- yeah,” you returned in a needy voice.

“Thought so.”

You could hear him unbuckling his belt from behind, working quickly to undo it with his only free hand. The sound was followed by that of his zipper, and then of him shrugging his pants partially down. He then turned his attention to you, pulling your dress up and revealing your red panties that matched the color of your dress. He chuckled, no doubt at that fact, then pulled them down.

He took his cock out of his boxers and pumped it up and down a few times. You tried to turn your head back to look, but he used his free hand to turn your head back around. You were about to say something about it, until he suddenly thrusted deep into your cunt, and you let out a whorish moan.

“F- Fuck, you’re so big, Spencer,” you couldn’t help but moan out. He was far inside of you, and his throbbing cock was no doubt seven inches minimum.

“You can take it,” he groaned back, placing his hand on the back of your head as he moved slowly but deeply into you. His hands roamed your body again, settling on your tits. He used a hand to grab one, eliciting a mewl from you. He fondled it with force, running his thumb in forceful circles around your tit as he pounded into you relentlessly.

“You like being fucked like this, sweetheart?” he cooed in your ear, voice audibly raspy as his movements didn’t cease.

“Yes, sir,” you responded in a slutty voice, calling him ‘sir’ for the first time in what felt like years.

“Such a, fuck- Slut for me,” he said in between thrusts. His pace was getting faster now as he rammed into you from behind, going at a speed you were finding difficult to not readily climax from. His words only enhanced this feeling.

He grabbed the back of your head by your hair, turning you to face a part of the classroom to your left.

“That’s where you sit in my class. Perfect view of my desk. Do you fantasize about this when you look at it?” he asked. His words came out in groans as he tried to both talk and maintain his quick pace.

“Maybe,” you breathed as you looked at your own desk where you had been sitting mere hours beforehand, never in a million years anticipating this.

“That’s not an answer,” he forcefully said, ceasing his movements and beginning to pull his cock from your cunt.

“Wait- Fuck,” you sighed, whimpering when you no longer felt him inside of you. “Yes, I do,” you admitted, telling him exactly what he wanted to hear.

He chuckled at your needy attempt to feel him inside of you again, teasing your wet entrance with the tip of his cock. “That desperate, huh?”

“Y- Yes, sir,” you said softly, finding it hard to get any words out as you took note of his teasing. He thrusted back into you, pushing hard and fast.

“Slut,” Spencer grunted. He pulled your head back by your hair, managing to grip it gently despite his rough pace. “My fucking slut.”

You moaned at his use of degradation, feeling your climax beginning to bubble up inside of you again, but you held it back, wanting to prolong the pleasurable feeling that you were receiving.

“Such a, fuck- Slutty dress,” he suddenly commented, toying with the hem on your dress. “Always wearin’ skirts hiked all the way up to your ass. Hoping I’d notice that, sweetheart?” he asked, the hand that was pulling your hair roaming over to your neck and choking you.

All you could do was nod as your words failed you, coherent sentences vacant in your head and absent from your mouth, as they usually were regardless.

“Use your words, baby,” he demanded of you, squeezing down harder on your neck.

You groaned out, complying and stammering, “Y- Yes,” in response to his question.

“That’s a good girl. Doin’ so fucking good for me,” Spencer praised you.

You were moaning loudly now, the sound of both of your grunts filling the air as Spencer continued at his quick speed. You could feel your eyes watering at the pressure and size of his cock that was deep into your cunt, and your climax was approaching as fast as his pace was going.

“Spencer,” you whispered, cheeks hot and absolutely flushed.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Spencer groaned back.

“I’m close,” you breathed, words breaking.

He let out a soft moan at your words, then moved his hand away from your neck and down to your clit. He rubbed it in quick circles as he had done before, gladly helping you to reach your high. You bit your lip, loud moans and whines falling from your mouth.

“That’s it, doll. I want to hear you,” he demanded of you in response to your moans, his long fingers moving on your throbbing clit as fast as his cock was pounding into your cunt.

You happily complied, continuing to moan out as broken murmurs of his name fell from your lips. He let out his own moans as he chased his high, too. He used his free hand to grip your ass, holding you roughly as he groaned behind you.

“Come for me, sweetheart. Let it out,” he groaned.

His words pushed you over the threshold, being all you needed to finally moan out his name loud as waves of pleasure crashed through you. Spencer groaned out your name, too, as he finished inside of you, gripping your ass as roughly as he possibly could.

When you were both done, he pulled out, breathing heavily as he returned his cock to his boxers. You pulled your panties up and your dress back down, breathing heavily too as you looked back at Spencer with tousled hair.

Spencer stuck the two fingers he’d used to finger you into his mouth, sucking away whatever elements of your release he had managed to get on his hand. You let out a soft moan at the view as Spencer looked down on you. He moved his other hand on your waist.

“You taste sweet,” he whispered to you, caressing his thumb over your hip. Your legs were shaking, and, taking note of this, he picked you up and sat you on his desk. You smiled tiredly up at him as he did.

“I take it this means I’ll get a good grade on my essay?” you joked, giggling.

He smiled down at you, planting a sweet kiss onto your forehead. “A+, baby. A+.”