#people have said this before and i'm sure i have too

[reidsdaisies]

oblivious

༉‧´ˎ˗ paring; spencer reid x fem!reader ༉‧´ˎ˗ summary; secret relationships can’t stay secret for long at the BAU, especially when the two people in the relationship are awful at hiding it. ༉‧´ˎ˗ content warnings; secret relationship/idiots in love trope, some kissing, background Morcia. ༉‧´ˎ˗ wc; 1.2k ༉‧´ˎ˗ a/n; 2 of the scenarios in which they are discovered as a couple are ideas from the lovely @mandarinmoons! tysm for all the help you give me :( also! this is my entry for @reiderwriter’s 5k writing challenge - congrats on the milestone! i'm not 100% sure if this still qualifies for the challenge since i only used a daydreams prompt... i only realized after 😭 i hope it counts otherwise this is embarrassing

cm masterlist ; main masterlist ; request guidelines ; inbox

Since the beginning of you and Spencer’s relationship, things had been very secretive. Not between the two of you; you guys were very comfortable with each other — too comfortable at times — it’s just that a relationship between two coworkers isn't the most ethical in the BAU, and at the time it seemed like the only option.

Despite not willingly sharing information pointing to the fact that you two were together, your coworkers were all seasoned profilers, and it was tough to get things past them, but you’d been doing a fair job — is what you’d thought.

“Mm!” a girlish little giggle tumbled from your mouth as Spencer pulled back from your lips, moving to plant a sloppy kiss on your cheek.

“Stop!” you laughed, whisper shouting to him through a dopey smile.

“I can’t,” he breathed out, kissing your lips again, tilting your chin back. “I’ve waited all day to do this.”

“To hold me captive in a closet?” You joked, throwing your arms over his shoulders.

“It’s not holding you captive if you’re a willing participant.” To his satisfaction, his words just make your smile widen. It's harder to kiss you like that but it’s cute to see, the way your nose scrunched and your eyes crinkled as you tried to fight back the smile.

Knowing you, you’d have said you looked like an idiot right then but Spencer would correct you, telling you how beautiful you look – smiling carefree just for him.

He ducked his head, mouth right next to your left ear as he began to whisper something in it that’d surely weaken your knees, when there was a commotion outside.

Your breath hitched as your attention turned towards the door, your eyes wide. The noise was a thump of boxes hitting the ground, most likely someone trying to return some boxes back into the storage room, made for storage, not for making out.

You hurriedly pushed him off you, fixing your hair as he readjusted his tie just in time as the door was unlocked and opened. Spencer turned around, skimming the shelves as if looking with a purpose, and you followed his lead, crouching down to peek at a few files in the bottom drawer of a filing cabinet.

JJ entered the room, her eyes scanning over it, before she greeted you guys with a kind smile. Peering up, you waved back.

“What are you guys doing in here?” She asked, working on putting the 2 boxes back where she took them.

“Research,” Spencer murmured, plucking a folder of interest and beginning to flip through it.

“Yeah,” you agreed, closing the drawer when you pretended like you couldn’t find it. “He wanted to study up on a certain case.”

“Mm, and now I’ve got the file.” Tucking it under his arm, he walked past, exiting the stuffy room.

You got up, free of charge and calmly walked out, calm in contrast to how very rapidly your heart was beating. You exchanged final glances of relief with Spencer, sharing a wordless “that was a close call”.

Though JJ was none the wiser of what was going on before she encountered you, you couldn’t say the same for Derek when he overheard you and Spencer the following week.

It’d been late, having been called in around the time you and Spencer usually would head to bed.

“Did you remember to take the laundry out of the machine?” You asked Spencer, standing in the plane, talking amongst yourselves as Spencer lifted the coffee pot, pouring the liquid that spouts out into your mug.

The task mentioned was a pretty domestic one, and Derek turned an eye. No one even knew of your relationship, they for sure wouldn’t know that sometimes you stay over and it’d be ideal if when you returned you could grab your stuff easily.

“Since when did you two have discussions about each other’s laundry?” He spooked you, catching you off guard, a small gasp of surprise escaping you.

You sighed, waving him off and accepting the mug of coffee Reid made for you.

“It’s actually–“ Reid started beside you, but you gave him a small signal to shush for now.

“You and Garcia talk about it all the time,” - you chimed, dropping a bit of information you should not have been privy to - “why is it odd for us to talk about it? And, you know how forgetful Reid can be. A genius with an impeccable memory.. until it comes to household tasks.”

The first part of your sentence choked him. Whatever you were referencing was not something Spencer knew about, and not something you should have any knowledge of either.

“Just like your ‘babygirl’, I’ve got eyes and ears everywhere, Der.” You used his nickname, patting him on the shoulder as you left him there.

It wasn’t the most convincing of covers, but at least it was the truth, he could be forgetful, and it was also a bonus to get to mess with Morgan and let him know that he isn’t as sneaky as he thinks. Hopefully that did its job to shut his teasing up, at least for a while.

There was nothing to say to get off scotch free when it came to the small scene that played out when Emily walked into the break room one afternoon to return her dish to the sink and was met with the sight of Spencer gently swiping his thumb at the corner of your lip to remove a bit of creamer, you looking up at him all doe eyed.

She just smiled to herself, rolling her eyes and began washing her dish, right beside you two oblivious love struck idiots.

When Spencer pulled away you noticed her, and your head hung low in defeat. There was no way she hadn’t just seen the clearly non platonic act of service.

“I- uh, we- uh,” Spencer sputtered out, stuffing his hand in his pocket, trying to think up an excuse.

“You two can stop trying to sneak around, we all know.” The raven haired woman laughed to herself in amusement.

“Just don’t forget, you need to have a talk about this with Hotch, there’s quite a bit of paperwork accompanying this sort of thing.”

“Thanks for the reminder, Em.” Spencer tightly smiled.

It’s definitely not like that’s exactly what you were trying to avoid revealing to him.

You nodded, finally getting to freely peck your boyfriend on the lips as a goodbye.

That following Monday you found yourself sat beside Spencer in chairs positioned across from your chief at his desk.

It’d been embarrassing to confess to Hotch how long you’d been actually together and what led you there, but even more humiliating was the fact that Hotch came prepared, like he knew exactly what was at the top of your list to check off that week.

“Don’t look surprised, you two should have learned by now that things don’t easily get past me. Especially when I hear two people’s over-the-phone flirting turn into more. Or when two other people make something so obvious. Don’t think your under the table hand holding goes unnoticed during case briefings.”

Spencer Reid fluff taglist: @tw1npeaks @bellasprettywords @spencerssoup @hiireadstuff @thievin-stealing @onlymyleftsideisgay @broadwaytraaaaash @khxna

If you’d like to join my taglist click here! Or dm to be removed x

If you enjoyed this fic, please let me know your thoughts in the comments or my inbox and like & reblog to support! It’s what keeps me writing. Much love <33

[thegoldencontracts]

Tease

Summary: You flustering twst characters. What's not to love?

Characters: Azul, Jade, Leona

Azul Ashengrotto

"You're really pretty, you know."

Azul's eyes widened. You just continued staring at him with a fond little grin, giving him a small wave.

"P-Pardon?"

Though you were really just saying your thoughts aloud, you couldn't help but take notice of how his face flushed, eyes looking anywhere but you. It was clear you'd flustered him quite a bit.

Cute.

"I said," you continued. "You're, like, really pretty."

"D-Darling," Azul said with a sigh. "Please refrain from such antics."

You just smirked.

"Hey, I'm being honest!" You were. You also thought it was funny watching him try to hide how embarrassed he was.

Azul just sighed, returning to his work.

"Wait!" You said, waving him over.

An unimpressed, "Yes?"

You pressed a kiss to his cheek, dousing whatever ire he had.

"Thanks!" You said, turning back to your own homework as you watched Azul practically bluescreen in your peripheral.

Jade Leech

Jade was always quite the tease. That was simply a fact of your relationship, it seemed. Not that you minded.

But, that didn't mean it wasn't sweet when you finally get the chance to tease him back.

"Ah, apologies," he said lightly one day while talking about some of his newest mushrooms. These new ones were all rare, and fascinating, too. How did he even get his hands on them? "I must've frightened you with all this talk of mushrooms."

Eh? That wasn't true at all! It was always awesome listening to Jade talk about his mushrooms. The way he explained things was just fascinating to listen to, and sometimes the facts you learned even helped you during Alchemy!

"Keep going!" You said. "I like hearing you talk."

Besides, he usually wasn't this expressive. There was something so captivating about the way his eyes sparkled whenever he talked about his newest spores, or his new terrariums.

You really didn't expect the way his face turned red at that, eyes blown open in shock.

"Jade?" You said. He cleared his throat hastily.

"A-Apologies," he said, hastily composing himself. "That was rather rude of me. Let us move on."

You gaped at him.

"Are you embarrassed?"

Jade's eye twitched.

"Let us move on from this topic of discussion," he said pointedly.

So he was. No way. Of all people, Jade Leech? Embarrassed about something? It was almost too good to be true!

"No way," you said. "That's so cute-"

"Not a word more about this, please," Jade said, looking awfully meek. You just laughed.

"Sure, sure," you said. "Not a single word more."

Leona Kingscholar

Leona has an odd habit of helping you in the weirdest of ways. Instead of asking you if you needed help, he'd always just "happen" to have whatever you needed lying around. It pretty quickly became apparent he did it on purpose.

Really, you didn't get why he hid it. You always appreciated the help!

"About that worksheet or whatever you couldn't finish, I found a book about it lying around. Take it if you want."

You checked the book. It was pretty much perfect for what you were doing, filled with small notes too. Leona clearly did this on purpose.

"Thanks!" You said. "Love you!"

Leona stared at you for a moment, before instantly averting his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah," he said. "I..."

He trailed off, seeming rather embarrassed.

"Huh?" You asked. Leona glared at the floor like it had personally offended him.

"What're you gawkin' at, herbivore?"

"You're cute."

Leona scoffed.

"Love you too," he said, before waving you off. "Now go- do whatever it is you were doin'."

You laughed. He looked so embarrassed.

"Of course."

[theemporium]

Hiii! Hope you’re doing well 😊😊 Could I please get a violet fluff #1 with Max Verstappen? Thank you for everything you write, I love every single thing you put out there! Have the wonderful day you deserve 💞💕💖

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

1."I can't smile at you, I'm mad"

.

“I said I’m sorry!”

“Multiple times.”

“Baby, it’s funny.”

“Said that a lot too.” 

You stared at your boyfriend with a withering look, watching as he turned the key in the lock and opened your shared apartment’s front door. You followed him inside, watching as he instantly cooed at the cats as they came to greet him before they did the same with you. 

“You know,” Max started again, standing next to you as he tried to bite back his smile. “It really isn’t that big of a deal. Nobody noticed.” 

You gave him a blank look, long enough to make him squirm a little before you returned to scratching behind Jimmy’s ears as he meowed at you. “Everyone noticed.” 

“You panicked! It’s fine! It happens!” Max tried to reassure you, reaching for you as you stood up but you batted his hands away. 

“I said the Eiffel Tower was in Italy, Max,” you grumbled, your nose scrunching up as the memory replayed in your head—still fresh considering it was only thirty minutes ago. 

“It was a pub quiz, schat, people say a lot of things when they are under pressure,” he stated, so simple and blunt like it was a known fact. But the smile he was trying to hide wasn’t selling his usual nonchalance. 

You narrowed your eyes. “You laughed the hardest like the geography nerd you are.”

“C’mon, you think it’s funny too. I know you do,” he mused, grinning a little when you finally let him wrap his arms around you and pull you closer. “C’mon, baby, give me a smile.” 

“I can’t smile at you, I’m mad,” you huffed, but your resolve was already starting to crumble when you felt his hands dip under your sweater and his thumbs lightly caress your skin in small swipes. 

“So I should probably not try to kiss you, huh?” He shot back, already leaning in to press his lips against yours before you had the chance to throw some witty retort at him. 

You sighed against his lips, the tension leaving your body as you sunk into the kiss and let your hands rest on his chest. You felt his smile widen before he deepened the kiss, tugging you closer until your bodies were pressed against each other without an inch between the two of you. 

“M’still mad at you,” you murmured, pulling away enough to smile a little when he tried to chase your lips. 

“If you kiss me more, I’m sure I can make it up to you,” Max retorted, squeezing your sides as you squealed a little under his touch. “Maybe you can get a kiss for every famous monument you correctly identify—” 

“Shut up!” You laughed, shoving him away as he just grinned in response.

.

[coffe-and-tea-time]

Yandere shop! Choose your yandere!

I was thinking, did you ever listen to yandere asmr videos? If so, you will catch on quickly that this is based on the yandere shop, which was so popular in asmr videos during the pandemia. - coffee

If you didn’t, quick summary Coffee gave me: imagine if there is a place where you can enter and you can ‘buy’ (they pay you since you are going to take care of a serial killer so he don’t kill people while you two got your twisted love) a yandere of your choosing. - tea

Word count: 1.2k but this will be edited to correct misspellings or weird sentence structure later, sorry in advance.

tw: yandere behavior, willing reader, delulu, written in you/yours, reader is a little nervous but really interested, you can choose humans yanderes and non-human (although humanoid) yanderes!

You fix your clothing and take a deep breath, your mind filled with ‘what if..’ yet, you were here, in a place that you didn’t trust was real

A creak takes you out of your thoughts, a smiling man dressed rather formally, greets you cheerfully.

“Sorry to interrupt when you are so absorb in your pretty mind My dear, but you know, a little push may help you”

He said as he extended his hand to you, well, you already made your way here hoping to get a yandere so you gather all your corague as you take the man's hand. He led inside the shop, you can hear the click of the door closing behind you as you follow him.

“Oh, I hope you weren’t thinking of backing up so quickly Dear, want something to drink?”

You gently shake your shake as you sit down in one of the couches, on the inside it looks pretty much like a coffee shop.

“Smart choice but you still seem rather nervous, want to say something before I go ahead and show you the catalog?”

“Well, I wanted to know, what can you do for the yandere you like to like you back? What if the one I choose doesn't like me back?”

Your worries were met with a not-so-subtly laugh from the man which make you kind of annoyed and embarrassed.

“Sorry Dear, I just never thought I ever meet somebody that feel insecure about the love of a yandere”

Now you wanted to punch him, is a normal question to ask! The yandere have their own way to fall in love!

“Let me give you a quick explanation, if they had a darling, both of us know they would be busy stalking them. The yanderes we have don’t have a darling, but are eager for the sense of love on their own way which may not suit everyone so to avoid problems, this shop was put in place as a matchmaker between differents kinds of yanderes and people who enjoy them"

You sight in relief as you nod.

“alright, who is more likely to go even more insane if they don't get a darling soon.."

"Sorry, what did you just say? I couldn't hear you well"

"Oh, nothing Dear, I was just searching for the ones that been waiting the most, is how the list work, I will show you a few options first so you have an idea, you can ask for another kind if you had something else in mind, I'm sure we got something that will suit your taste; Although, do remember that is just one yandere, we had problems with that before"

"How is it that someone got the permission to have more than one? I thought you guys will keep in track that since well, it's dangerous for anyone"

"She didn't have permission but she manage because she stubbornly wanted a yandere harem, the result are expected, averyone in that house died except for one yandere, he is again on the list, and as you can guess, he end up more being more... intense. He is totally your perfect option if you like a very possessive yandere, he's a more serious yandere for that experience"

“That will be dangerous for me too?”

"Dont worry Dear, he is truly desperate for love like the rest, his name is Dizie. But if you rather a more gentle treat, Gabriel is your guy, I don't know much about him since he said that only his darling will get to know everything about him. As far as I know, he's kind of yandere that will kiss the ground were his darling walk, a worshiper you can say, if you like someone looks at you like you are a deity, he's definitely your perfect match"

“Isn’t every yandere a worshiper in their own ways?”

"Well, I guess? Is true that others have another específic ways to worship, look, he's the baker, relishes in your enjoyment of their pastries, a very skilled baker that knows how to include the most unique of ingredients to make the sweetest of treats, dreams of putting his heart and soul in every treat he bakes for his darling, his name is Oliver”

"What kind of ingredients tho?"

“The next one you may like is actually a popular singer, he chooses to keep anonymous unless chosen, but if you want to be a celebrity or date one, he is someone you can guess that will love to spoil their darling, he’s on the talkative side, if you like art or stuff like that, you will enjoy his house. although he babbles a lot of how he wish to hear the voice of his darling obsessively for hours”

The seller seems to dodge your question.

“Ah, of course, we also have some special yanderes if humans are boring or less attractive for you, look, he’s Myotis, the classic vampire, he even has wings! Isn’t it perfect to see the sky closer while you enjoy the company of a yandere that looks like he just came out of a book? If you are also into short kings, you gonna love him without a doubt”

"He's not going to drain me out of blood, is he?"

“Dear, why would a yandere who waits so long for their darling, kill them? But if vampires aren't your type, you could go for a mothman! You will be the light of his life, literally. He’s a big softie and kind of clumsy; he just eagerly waits for the arrival of his daylight. A good choose if you like special clingy yanderes, he is not around humans too much, but he said he wanted to be called Lior if he got chosen. Oh, if you are on the stronger side, you may want to keep your eye on Tarak, he said something about his name meaning something like star and protector I think, I guess he chose the name by himself, he’s a prideful dragon and really loves to talk, honestly, I’m not that intelligent to understand some things that he say, but if you like to know new things by listening, asking or reading, he's your man, you can try trying to teach him something new, I don't think is impossible to archive”

“You know what ag…”

You stopped talking when you catch a security camera in a corner moving around frantically yet appear like not seeing anything?

“Don’t mind him, is just Grier, even though I don’t know if that's his real name, I do know he loves trying to spy here using the security cameras so we end up having to put tape on them when a darling is coming to the shop; as you can guess, he’s a hacker, if you choose him, you will be very well protected and taken cared of since you gonna be being watched even if you think you are alone, if that what you wish for, please do choose him.”

The seller looks at you, waiting for an answer, to choose what kind of yandere you want or ask for a specific type now.

“You don’t really go outside too much, so I don’t think you gonna have problems with any of them”

You act like you didn’t hear his murmur as you look at the papers in your hand of every yandere he just talked about.

If your favorite options lose or you want something specific, just send an ask! We love comments and interactions in general so don't be shy.

sorry for any misspellings or weird sentence structure ❣

images from pinterest

[mysecretlittlelibrary]

Maybe I Just Wanna Be Yours

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: oral (f receiving), handjob, sub Loki, edging & overstimulation, forced submission kinda, hair pulling, a lil choking, I hope that's everything lol

Genre: smut and I guess fluff

Summary: You make Loki realize something about himself that he was not expecting to learn.

***

You plop down on the couch with your bowl of chips, getting comfortable to watch TV.

"Are you out here by yourself?" Loki's voice surprises you. You hadn't heard him come down the hall.

"Yeah." You glance at him over your shoulder with a shrug.

"Why?" His eyes narrow.

"I'm watching TV. You are familiar with that particular activity aren't you?"

"Yes I am, but why out here alone?" Loki rolls his eyes before sticking his head into the fridge.

"I wanted to leave my room. You're welcome to join me." You shrug.

"Why would I do that?" He scoffs.

"Believe it or not, some people enjoy doing things with other people in different spaces, you awkward little hermit." You roll your eyes. You walk over to the kitchen for a drink, realizing you forgot one.

"I am not a hermit." Loki crosses his arms. You grab a soda and walk over to Loki, leaning in close enough that he leans back suspiciously.

"This is the first time you've been out your room in like a week." You tell him.

"That is not true!" He steps away from you indignantly.

"It is, and that's fine. If that's how you like to live, I'm not judging you for it. But for me anyway, a change of scenery is good for the mind." You shrug walking back over to the couch.

"That doesn't make an ounce of sense."

"To each their own." You hum.

"You are a strange woman."

"Because I'm watching TV?" You tilt your head curiously.

"You spend your time so differently from everyone else here." He says.

"Yeah believe it or not I am an individual."

"That's not what I meant."

"No?"

"I just meant that most of the tower is left unoccupied from day to day, except you, you seem to- be everywhere." He frowns.

"If you're content never leaving your room that's fine, like I said I prefer a change of scenery. Helps mark the passage of time when we're not off saving the world." You shrug.

"There is next to nothing worth doing on this miserable planet."

"You are ridiculously negative." You chuckle, pressing play on your movie of choice for tonight. Clearly, this conversation with Loki is over, you have no interest in going back and forth about his cynicism. You hear him take a sharp breath, if you had to guess it's like one of those breaths you take before speaking but he doesn't say anything and eventually you hear his shoes along the floor and you smirk as you check that he is indeed gone.

It's not necessarily that you enjoy getting under Loki's skin the way you so obviously do, but it is rather easy and no one else speaks to him, which is kind of sad. To be clear you don't pity him, in fact this back and forth he reluctantly engages in is you refusing to treat him any different than you would anyone else on the team. It just so happens that he's easy to rile up and you find it funny but really this is just you being inclusive.

"You know y/n I don't get how you do it." Tony drunkenly says. It's supposed to be game night but after an hour Tony's of course too drunk to play so now you're all just talking.

"How I do what, Stark?" You ask.

"Deal with reindeer games the way you do."

"Reindeer ga- do you mean Loki?" You blink at him. You're not even sure how the group ended up on the subject, he's not here. How long were you checked out of the conversation?

"Yes obviously." He scoffs.

"It would be obvious if you used his name. Why are we talking about him, anyway?"

"Tony decided the next topic of conversation would be the team and somehow we got to how Loki is pretty much a recluse." Natasha explains to you.

"Exceeeept he talks to you. How does that work?" Tony asks.

"I dunno man I just poke fun at him like I do the rest of you and wait til he gets red in the face." You shrug.

"You mess with him on purpose?" Thor frowns.

"No, no! Not- really? He just, okay I don't try to get under his skin exactly, it's just when he engages with me, it seems like he expects hostility. I just give him back what I get from him and I don't think he knows how to handle that. But he keeps talking to me so I guess something about it gets through to him."

"That's very weird." Tony says.

"You're really in no place to judge Tony, we all know your list of idiosyncrasies is practically never ending." You roll your eyes.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Is idiosyncrasies too big a word for our resident mad scientist?" You ask.

"I know what the word idiotsinkities means." He scoffs.

"Right." You hum. The others burst into laughter at Tony's slurred attempt at defending himself. It seems to be enough to change the subject and the rest of the night proceeds without another weird interrogation- especially once Tony passes out.

You lean against the wall as you listen to this guy, Jack, talk. He's close enough for you to smell his cologne, mostly to be heard over the music and the crowd of partygoers. You laugh at some silly joke of his, because he's cute and you'll probably end up making out with him in a quiet corner of the tower later if he doesn't say something stupid before you make that decision. The sound of someone clearing their throat pulls your attention from your conversation. Loki is standing there with his arms crossed and faced squeezed.

"Oh? Look who's come out to play." You muse.

"Do you know this guy?" Jack frowns.

"Jack, this is Loki, he's on the team. Loki this is my new friend Jack. Don't be rude, say hello." You nod your head towards Jack. Loki narrows his eyes as if sizing Jack up.

"Hey man. Nice to meet you." Jack puts his hand out to Loki.

"I don't shake hands." Loki says.

"Right- did you need something? We were, kind of talking."  Jack says.

"I don't care what you were doing." Loki rolls his eyes.

"Play nice Loki." You say, practically singing the warning.

"I'm not a dog." Loki glares at you.

"Well don't go around snarling like one." You snap.

"Is something- going on between you two?" Jack frowns.

"No." You say firmly.

"Alright well I'm going to get another drink, do you want anything?" He asks.

"Just you back here soon." You wink at him.

"I'll be as quick as I can." Jack kisses your cheek and walks off while Loki breathes incredibly noticeably agitated as he rolls his eyes ago.

"Alright Loki, what is your problem?" You scoff.

"He looks like a jungle cat."

"Really? I don't see jungle cat honestly, he kind of looks like a deer to me." You hum.

"Not in his appearance I mean the way he was closing in on you, like a lion waiting to attack a gazelle." He frowns.

"What? You don't think I can handle the big scary man Loki? Don't insult me, I've killed things that would eat him for an afternoon snack." You scoff.

"It's not that I think you can't handle him. Something about him was just- off. Didn't like his energy."

"Something was off? You didn't like his energy? Really that's what we're going with?" With a hand on his chest you press Loki against the wall.

"What else could I possibly be going with?" Loki tries to keep his voice steady, but with your hand now trailing down his abdomen you can feel muscles tensing under your touch.

"Truthfully I think somebody didn't quite enjoy seeing me pay so much attention to Jack. Don't worry Loki, he couldn't possibly replace you." You hum.

"Don't be ridiculous." He scoffs. You smirk as your hand dances lower and you watch him go stock still when your fingers trace along the waistband of his pants.

"You won't get anywhere by lying to me you know." You say. His mouth drops open slightly as you curl your fingers for your nails to gently caress his skin. "Do you want me to stop Loki?" You whisper in his ear teasingly. As if a bucket of ice water was dumped on him you watch Loki jump back out of your reach and clear his throat before walking off with a glare. You frown as you watch him go, perhaps you pushed too far this time. You think you need to apologize. You start to make your way through the crowd and somehow get caught by Jack.

"Hey, where are you off to?" He asks.

"Looking for you actually, I need a bathroom but I didn't want you to think I was leaving you hanging. If you go back to our little corner I will find you again shortly, alright?" You tap his chest and bat your eyelashes before spinning away from him to continue your task of tracking Loki down. You pop into the nearest empty room.

"Friday, where the hell did Loki go?" You ask her. The tower is huge and since you lost sight of him while talking to Jack it could take you forever to find him on your own.

"He's on the Balcony lounge at the end of the hall upstairs." Friday tells you.

"Thank you!" You tell her, heading for the stairs. Sure enough, there's Loki brooding on the balcony by himself. You slide open the door and Loki's head whips around. When his eyes settle on you, they narrow.

"I've had it with your games tonight." He says.

"No games. I actually wanted to apologize." You say.

"For what?" He regards you suspiciously.

"If I went too far just now. I'm never trying to make you uncomfortable with the teasing. If I crossed a line I want you to know I wasn't trying to and I respect your boundaries." You say gently.

"You think that made me uncomfortable?" He scoffs.

"Well you did quite literally run away."

"You do realize I'm a god, don't you?"

"So what?" You shrug.

"People worship me y/n."

"People worship me too Loki. Shall I start calling myself a goddess?" You cross your arms.

"Of course not." Loki looks at you incredulously.

"Well I'm just saying darling if you're quantifying your power here by being worshiped there are people who would tell you I am the path to heaven. Or, I suppose for you it would be Valhalla, right?" You tilt your head.

"That's rather presumptuous."

"Don't misunderstand here. I never asked them to deify me but who am I to deny those who believe I know the entrance heaven's gate?"

"And where is that?"

"Heaven's gate?" You chuckle, quirking an eyebrow up at him. "I don't think you can handle the answer to that question Loki, truthfully."

"You have no idea what I can handle." He frowns.

"I'm sure you're very capable honey but you've made it clear that you and I have... very different types." You say.

"What's that supposed to mean?" The frown deepens.

"Why did you run off? If you weren't uncomfortable, what made you run and hide?" You ask.

"How does this pertain to my question?" Loki shakes his head.

"My question is the answer to yours."

"I don't follow."

"Answer the question, and I'll offer an explanation." You say. Loki lets out a harsh breath through his nose.

"Your behavior, is disarming."

"And you don't like being disarmed?" You tilt your head.

"It's not something I'm used to."

"Right." You hum.

"So?"

"So?"

"You said if I answered you'd explain the connection." Loki says.

"I like disarming people. It's something I do quite well, and often. You don't seem too fond of that. Which- obviously wouldn't work."

"It's something you do well with mortals. I'll remind you I'm a god."

"So you've said but I did it pretty well to you like five minutes ago." You shrug.

"You caught me off guard." He frowns.

"It's not like I couldn't do it again."

"That's a rather bold assumption. One that I'm inclined to disagree with." His brow furrows.

"That's cute." You chuckle.

"I'm not so easily frazzled as your pathetic midgardian males." Loki insists.

"What just happened does not support that claim, but your insistence is exactly what I'm talking about when I say you're not my type. Putting you in your place would be so much trouble." You shrug.

"Putting me in my place?! On the contrary darling I would have you begging me. You'd call me king."

"What do I care for a king when there people who call me their god?" You scoff tugging at Loki's shirt to bring his face closer to yours. "Do you get it yet Loki? You want control and I'm unwilling to give it. You think too small to ever command me."

"You don't know that." His eyes narrow.

"Your breathing stuttered when I grabbed your shirt. Plus there's not a creature in all the nine realms thinking big enough to command me darling. Don't worry it's not just you." You wink at him pulling back and turning away from him to leave.

"Your attitude is insufferable." Loki growls grabbing your wrist and pinning you against the building with a hand around your throat.

"Is it?" You smile trailing your fingers from his wrist up his arm. You watch his jaw tense as his eyes snap between your face and your hand a couple of times before his gaze settles on you. His grip on your neck tightens as your fingers reach his shoulder. There, you shoot your hand quickly into his hair, fisting a handful of it and yanking, hard. Loki's head snaps back and his knees almost buckle as a strangled moan escapes from him. Your other hand grabs his wrist attached to the hand on your neck, his grip has loosened to practically nothing from your sudden hair pull but this is about power and control and if he's determined to convince you he's got some here you're determined to ensure he knows that's not true. "Let go Loki." You say in that sultry commanding tone you usually reserve for submissives. Slowly, his fingers unfurl until they no longer hold you and you finally release his hair, only to knock his ankle in such a way that he drops to his knees. He snaps his head up towards you with a glare in his eyes but all you do is smirk at him. "Shame you're such a brat, you look so good on your knees for me." You hum tilting his chin slightly. You lean forward, close enough to feel his heavy breaths against your face. "Goodnight Loki." You whisper. You drag your finger from his chin up his cheek and then turn away, leaving him on his knees on the balcony with more questions than he can answer as you return to the party.

The loud knock on your bedroom door pulls your attention from the show you're watching. You almost don't want to get up but whoever is looking for you seems rather incesent so you roll out of bed and swing open the door to find Loki in the hall.

"Loki? What are you doing here?" You cross your arms and lean against your doorframe.

"I need to talk to you about something."

"Look whatever Tony said to upset you, you can always get him back by calling out that he's a spoiled brat with daddy issues and a lack of self control so embarrassingly pathetic it's a miracle Pepper wants to be within 10 feet of him let alone spend the rest of her life with him." You sigh.

"That was- scathing and rather immediate, do you just spend your free time thinking of nasty things to say?" Loki blinks at you.

"No but I do have an arsenal of harsh comments if ever I need to hurt someone's feelings." You shrug.

"I'll- keep that in mind but this isn't about Anthony Stark." He shakes his head.

"Well, what is it then?"

"Could I- do you mind if come in?" He asks. You poke your head into your room checking for anything you don't want him to see.

"Fine." You say after confirming your room is clean. You open the door fully and let him through the doorway. "What's this about Loki?"

"The party the other night. Do you, remember what we talked about?" Loki asks.

"Well yes but you'll need to be more specific on where this is going."

"I just, I've been thinking about it and I think you're wrong and I'd like to prove it to you."

"Oh this should be good. Wrong about what exactly? Because I think I made myself quite clear. You'll never get the control from me that you seem to think you want." You shrug.

"No that much is obvious. But you said I wasn't your type and I think that's- not true." Loki's brow furrows as he speaks.

"What a shocking turn of events." You hum.

"Do not mock me." He sighs.

"I'm not. You were so insistent you couldn't possibly fit the bill I'm surprised by the turn around."

"Believe me so am I but, I haven't been able to stop thinking about that night. Something about you forcing me to my knees I just- something happened."

"Something happened?" You quirk an eyebrow at him.

"You disarmed me again but- I liked it. I think. And I'd like to try and understand that."

"Say it Loki."

"You said your partners worship you, show me how to do the same." Loki says.

"And you're sure you want this? If you misbehave I can be very mean."

"I'm sure." He nods.

"Then we'll have to discuss some things first. I won't touch you until I've asked some questions." You shake your head.

"Ask me anything."

"How do you feel about restraints?"

"No handcuffs. Ropes are fine."

"How are you with pain?"

"I don't know my limits but I'm not- opposed." He says.

"I'm not going to paddle you or anything darling it's much too soon for any of that but we'll use a stoplight system anyway. I'll check in frequently but at any point you can say yellow if you realize you're reaching a limit or red if you need something to stop. You'll also need a safeword."

"I don't need a safewor-"

"I don't know your limits, you don't even know your limits. It's a nonnegotiable Loki, you need a safeword. Pick one." You say.

"If I must, I'll use another color. Gold."

"Gold?"

"It's easy to say, I wear it a lot, do you think it'll get confusing?"

"Nope. As long as it's something you can remember." You shrug.

"I can remember gold." He says.

"Then gold it is. And Loki?"

"Yes?"

"You must promise me you will use it if you need to." You say.

"I won't need to."

"Don't start with that nonsense." You roll your eyes. "I need to know you'll use it if it comes to that."

"Fine. If it comes to that, I'll use it." He nods.

"Good. Couple more components. Overstimulation and or edging. Where do you fall?"

"I think you underestimate my resilience." He frowns.

"These are things I ask all of my submissives Loki you are not exempt. Not everyone likes the same things. You're lucky I'm not making you fill out my entire questionaire right now. You'll have to do that later." You scoff.

"I have homework already?"

"If you want this to continue after today you will. For now, overstimulation and edging."

"That's fine with me."

"Toys?"

"Can we- hold off on those until we have a longer conversation about it?"

"Absolutely. How do you feel about names? Do you like being called mean things? Are there certain pet names you don't like?"

"When you say mean things-" Loki trails.

"Mean names like slut or whore, I might scold you for 'making a mess', or tease you for being responsive."

"If- you say something that strikes a nerve I'll say so. Otherwise proceed whatever way feels natural." He says.

"Do you have any questions?" You ask.

"No." He shakes his head.

"Well that's the end of the preliminaries."

"So we can start now?"

"You think you're ready?"

"Yes."

"Kneel."

Loki drops to his knees hesitently, looking at you with wide eyes.

"From here on you'll address me as mistress, is that understood?"

"Yes... mistress." Loki says. You can see the wheels turning in his head, trying to decide how he feels about it.

"I know I said this the other night but you really do look so perfect on your knees for me." You hum grabbing his chin. You wrap your fingers around his throat and bend over to kiss him. Loki reacts eagerly to your kiss, leaning up into you as much as you'll allow given your hand still holding his neck. When you pull away his mouth tries to follow yours but you hold him in place. Part of you just wants to look at Loki on his knees for a couple of hours, one day you'll tie him up real pretty and take pictures of him kneeling for you. "You want to learn how to worship me do you?"

"Please mistress." Loki breathes out. God that was hot. You're already thinking of ways to make him beg. You pull your shorts off and Loki's gaze falls to the apex of your thighs, still covered by your underwear, but his tongue darts out to lick his lips.

"Take my underwear off, with your teeth. Just your teeth." You tell him. Loki leans forward and latches onto a corner of your panties with his teeth. It takes him a moment to get the hang of it but you watch as Loki works them over your hips slowly. Once they're off, you thread your fingers through his hair, using the leverage to angle his gaze back up to yours. "Let's see if that silver tongue of yours is good for anything other than those silly retorts of yours hm?" You hum shoving Loki's face towards your pussy. He reacts quickly, tongue lapping at your center with fervor. You tug at his hair, arching towards his mouth, as he works you.

"That's it Loki, keep going." You moan. Loki looks up at you while he seemingly tries out a few patterns, trying to work out what you like best. You pull his hair when he does something you like, enjoying the way he groans when you do. "Wrap your lips around my clit and suck." You tell him. Loki is quick to follow your instructions and it doesn't take long for you to coat his mouth in evidence of your orgasm. You pull his head away from you, petting his head affectionately. "That was a good start. Up. Lay on the bed and take off your shirt." You instruct stepping back. Unsteadily, Loki stands up and walks over to your bed, stripping his shirt before he lays down. His body is stiff, probably since your instruction was vauge.

"Relax Loki. You look so- rigid." You chuckle sitting next to him on the bed. You allow yourself to simply admire his exposed chest, using your fingers to trace the plains and valleys of lean muscle that tense up at your touch. Eventually, you drag your hand down, dancing along the edge of his pants allowing the anticipation to build before you slip your hand beneath his jeans. Over his boxers, you stroke his dick, tracing veins and feeling it's size through his underwear.

"Uh... M-mistress?" He says breathily.

"What is it Loki?" You hum, with your free hand you work his jeans down his legs enough to see what you're doing to him. His grey boxers are already a bit darkened from pre-cum.

"If, if you keep doing that I'm- I'm afraid I'll make a mess of myself rather early." Loki frowns.

"So what?"

"W-well it's it's embarrassing mistress." He says, though little grunts interrupt his words.

"Embarrassing? So you don't want me to touch you?" You ask slowing your movements.

"N-no mistress that's not what, I do, want you to touch me. If that's what you want to do." He scrambles.

"See that's what I thought." You say speeding up again. Loki jerks against your hand low moans filling the room as you watch him react to your touch. You continue to stroke him over his boxers, watching the darkened spot of pre-cum grow ever so slightly bigger. You notice immediately when Loki's hands grip your sheets tightly. He must be getting close. It prompts you to increase your ministrations.

"M-mistress wa-wait stop I, I'm too close- I'll ruin my-" Loki doesn't finish his sentence. A shuddering moan accompanies the visual of his orgasm darkening most of the front of his boxers, wet streaks ruining much of the light grey fabric. There's something you quite enjoy about the sight even as Loki's cheeks tinge pink with shame. "I'm sorry." He mutters.

"Don't apologize. I wanted that to happen. As for the rest of your orgasms you'll have to earn them. You must ask for my permission to cum for the rest of the session. If you cum without my permission there will be consequences. Am I understood?" You grab his chin to make him look at you.

"Yes mistress." Loki says, eyes wide, searching your face, for what you're not sure.

"Good." You say pulling his dick out of his soiled boxers. You lick along the length once, reveling in the hiss Loki lets out no doubt from sensitivity. His previous orgasm makes for plenty of lubricant as you begin stroking him again, slowly. Loki's breaths come out in shudders and you lean over to place kisses and hickeys along his throat. Each bloom of red along his neck and chest pulls sweet moans from him until the sensitivity wears off. Soon, surprisingly soon, you see him grab the sheets again.

"Mistress I, I'm close-"

"So soon? Wow." You taunt.

"Can I cum mistress?"

"But before you didn't want to. Remember? You even asked me to stop." You slow down, almost stopping.

"No nonono that was- that was different I didn't mean it that way-" he seems to give up on his defense in favor of a groan at the sudden decrease in stimulation.

"Well, I was so kind in giving you the first one and you didn't even thank me. So you'll have to really convince me you want another." You shrug when his harsh breathing slows a bit you pick up the pace of your strokes again. When Loki grips the sheets you slow down again and when the tension dissipates you pick up. You do this three or four more times before Loki's moans start to transform in to pathetic sounding whines, his chest is red, his knuckles are white, and his dick is throbbing in your hand.

"Please- mistress." Loki pants.

"Please what baby boy?"

"I can't- I can't do it. I need to cum, I need to, please. Please mistress."

"You need to?"

"Please! Please mistress. Please let me cum. Oh god I need you to. Please." Loki's begging is boarderline hysteric, he's trembling and half of his words come out as moans.

"I do love to hear you beg."

"Please!" He whines out.

"Oo that was a good one. Very well, go ahead and let go for me sweetheart." You say sweetly, stroking faster to help him along. A few pumps later and he's spilling onto himself and your hand with a cry that makes your walls clench around nothing. You continue stroking him through it and even after he's coming down. You wonder if you can't pull one more from him. Loki jolts against your touch, scrambling as if to escape it but unable to go anywhere really.

"G-g-gold! Gold. I can't. Please." Loki pants out.

"Hands up." You say as you do exactly that. "Sorry Lo I- guess I got carried away. I'll get a towel for you." You get off the bed and grab a towel, wetting one side to clean him off and using the other to dry him after. You hand him an extra blanket after. "Give yourself some time to recoup okay?"

"You're cruel."

"I wasn't trying to be. You just- fell into your role so well. I told you I'm not easy. But I'll remember you're still new to this and be sure to treat you gently in the future. Mr. you underestimate my resillience."

"I can handle it."

"With time I'm sure. No rush now." You shrug.

"Wait- don't go anywhere please." Loki grabs your wrist.

"You need water honey."

"Later." Loki tugs hard enough to pull you into the bed next to him. You sigh and wrap your arms around him, playing with his hair gently. Loki will make for one interesting submissive if he decides this is something he wants long term. You'll have your work cut out for you, but maybe he's better suited for this than you think. Only time will tell I suppose.

***

[matan4il]

Sometimes I think about the fact that I had 5 friends who were murdered by Palestinian terrorists before the Hamas massacre, I had two colleagues who were kidnapped on Oct 7 and only one has been released (the other has a heart condition, there's no indication that he's getting his meds, and we have no idea whether we'll ever see him again), I have seen, heard and read too much not to understand that the terrorists are using not just death, but also torture, mutilation, rape, physical and psychological abuse to plague the lives of every single person in my country and in my Jewish community with horror, and I STILL have never felt the urge to tell anyone, including the terrorist sympathizers who've harassed me here on Tumblr, I have NEVER said to any of them that they should go kill themselves.

It's almost as if basic decency is not that hard to hold onto, no matter what you'd been put through emotionally, or how horrible you think the opinions of the people you're talking to are.

So what's their excuse, when most of them have never been this personally affected by this conflict?

What's their excuse, when they claim they care about this war so much because of the value of human life?

What's their excuse, when I'm sure they've never went into the comment section or ask box of anyone belonging to a country involved in ANY other conflict, and spoke in such a blood lustful way?

It's almost like this has never been about being humane, just about the ability to excuse being vile and verbally abusive to Jews...

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[txttletale]

what are some things you like about fnv?

so much! i like the character writing, i think every companion is well-written and compelling--i like the extremely tight and overarching but (mostly) unforced focus on theme. 'let go, begin again' gets said verbatim maybe a bit too much in dead money but it's also the theme of all the other DLC and every individual companion quest and the most popular of the four main story paths and i think that kind of broad coherence really shines. i love the quest and world design, i love how many different skills will pop up in conversation because it lets you genuinely roleplay, getting the option to e.g. tell dog the cage must be locked from the inside or bypass difficult combat encounters because you have a high lockpicking skill makes you feel like your character is an expert lockpicker in a way that just being able to get optional loot sometimes just doesn't--i love how you will be directed to important or interesting locations from multiple quests, how all these places interconnect.

and i also deeply love how fnv's world is a world of history and people, not of facts and lore. you can kill caesar and kimball and their factions don't just explode without them--and you will hear multiple, contradictory takes from people in the world about how those deaths will impact those factions. if you kill caesar, house says it won't matter at all, boone says he has successors, ulysses and some NCR guys say it'll collapse the legion, and you never really get to know for sure. and so much about the world is like this, stuff you can get endless perspectives on and no single authoritative 'neutral' information. and in that line i love how the world is more than those people! how the world is much more than you., as impactful as the courier can be, the world reacting and moving and changing is prioritized over absolute player freedom to Experience Content--i love that, for instance, if you're vilified by the NCR before House gives you the quest to protect kimball, he just says "they're not going to let you get close to them, we'll just have to let him die" and then you can't do that quest and kimball dies! little shit like that makes new vegas' world feel real instead of warping around wikis and lore bibles and the protagonist.

so yeah i like a lot about fnv! i am a bit more vocal about my criticisms just bc quite frankly i think all of the things i like are things most people like and i see people saying basically all of this every time the game is brought up while i don't see people talk about the stuff i think is weird/bad as much. and i'm naturally inclinced to like, say whatever i think my more original trhoughts are so i'm not just adding to a chorus. but i do love fnv a lot

[ask-the-pioneer]

"I sure do! Watch this..."

"I can make explosive spears and throwables, just like my mom did. I can also propel myself in the air by whipping my tail very fast, which sets off the same flammable compound in my tail surface for an explosive boost. Very handy for movement, but also very loud… not great if you're trying to be stealthy. And yeah, my sibling could do that too, but he was always more interested in doing other things. An energetic but very scatterbrained kid that he was."

[She takes aim and throws the spear somewhere far away. It ignites and explodes with a loud dull bang that shakes the ground slightly]

"I can't do that too often, though. Maybe a handful of times in quick succession before my muscles tense up and burn as if scorched by flames. One time it got so bad that I lost consciousness and couldn't move for a couple of minutes after waking up. That was scary, and hurt like hell... since then I've been more careful. That said, I wonder if there are more slugcats with similar abilities to mine out there? I have not met that many scugs in my life to begin with, if I'm honest..."

"Of course I remember my family, how could I not! My sibling's name is… hmmm, right, let me explain this first. Slugcats have very good sense of smell. Usually, we know one another by our unique scents. They are incredibly complex, but can be written down as series of letters, if you map those symbols to the corresponding scent proteins and other chemical compounds. For example, my scent name would be:"

"Addmitely, this notation method is very over-engineered – a slugcat just knows you are you if they smell you. From what I learned, scugs don't really use a coherent writing system.. of any kind. I think the colonies may use pictograms? I uh, I've never been a part of a colony, so I'm missing a lot of info here. Still, what I wrote on the wall – I have used an Ancient script, which I roughly mapped to key compounds that make a scent. As you can see, it's incredibly long, it can also change over time, parts of it can be masked with non-organic aromas to hide your identity, so on and so forth. To simplify even further, these long strings of letters can be shortened to just the last three or two characters, and this is what scugs may choose to use to refer to one another. Here, my scent name is MGV."

"Then, there are names that resemble the form that the Ancients would use. It's considered more refined, and more common in big colonies where people adopt their preferable roles. Those names are viewed as a kind of «gift», because you receive it from your community. It's a symbol of how they see you, what you mean to them. Of course, my closest family was never a part of a colony… but my mom would still give me and my sibling those special names. I was named «Blue», which is the color of the sky above when it's not raining, and the color of clear water. My brother's name is «Bryn» after a very fragrant medicinal plant that relaxes your muscles when consumed. I always found it funny, as my brother was often the one getting in trouble and giving our mom heartaches."

[She pauses for a moment, thinking intensively]

"Hmm, I never thought of asking my mother about her name. I wonder if she had one? To me and it was always just «mom»…"

"My other parent? I never knew him. Must have left just before or right after my mom had me, because there is literally nothing I remember of him… or them… whoever they were."

[She takes some pearls out from her bag, and inspects them one by one just to keep her hands busy]

"Mom would never talk about him, as if he never existed. And I never questioned her, I was too young to understand and simply accepted everything at face value. It was just the way things were. Would I want to meet my other parent? Maybe, but I doubt it'd make a difference. What would I even say to them? «Thanks for abandoning mom and leaving her to fend for herself»? "

"I don't know. Maybe I'm too harsh. Maybe he was a hero who sacrificed themself to save my mother. That could explain why he was never seen or heard of again. But… I have no way of knowing for sure. It's the life I won't be getting back anyway."

// In the second drawing, I've used logographs from @ikayblythe's Standard Hegemonic Dialect

[ckret2]

Chapter 55 of human Bill Cipher finally having a little fun for the first time in over a month of captivity in the Mystery Shack:

Bill does his level best to teach Mabel everything he knows about everything as fast as possible (while Ford eavesdrops). In the process, he finally reveals something about his home dimension!

But not everything about his dimension.

"Did you have rainbows in Flatworld?" Mabel had started drawing her shapesona again at the bottom of a fresh piece of paper. The heart was holding out one hand with several strips of glue shooting in a beam out from the palm; Mabel started shaking glitter onto the glue strips to make them rainbow.

"Not natural ones."

"Awww!"

"We could make them with flashlights and prisms, though."

"That's something." Still, it wasn't as cool as a real rainbow. She started carefully drawing Bill floating above her shapesona. (She probably should have drawn him before she put down glitter. She had to push up her sleeve and lift her wrist to avoid smearing the glue.) "When's the first time you saw a real rainbow?"

Bill didn't answer.

Mabel glanced at him. He had a hard look in his eyes. "Bill?"

####

For the first time in his life, the triangle was up—up but not north—in space, in the third dimension, looking down but not south at the plane where he'd spent his entire existence. It shuddered and rippled and cracked, contracting, as the entire universe crunched together around him.

Great walls of pale blue flame half a googol light years wide erupted into third dimensional space, where stars were caught and crushed between the quickly collapsing cosmic tectonic plates. He hadn't known his flat universe had stars of its own.

His home world shattered and crumbled, shrapnel and rubble spraying out, stone instantly pulverized into dust. Distant oceans rode the waves of the convulsing universe, flinging billions of gallons of water into space in a fine thin spray, glittering in the sunlight.

As the triangle watched, a great flickering rainbow ring formed in front of the ejected ocean, like the hollow eye of a hostile god staring at him in judgment.

He stared back.

And he felt himself fill with more and more and more power.

####

"Bill?"

"Sorry, I was trying to remember!" Bill sat back, laced his hands behind his head, and shrugged, "It's not coming to me. But I'm sure it was after I took charge of Dimension Zero. From time to time planets with weather systems would fall in through a wormhole, I must've seen a rainbow on one of them!"

"Oh." The answer disappointed her, but she couldn't quite put her finger on why. She puzzled over it as she drew a fireball shape around Bill's hands in glue and shook on pale blue glitter.

Bill nodded at the page, "So what are we up to?"

"Fighting evil! With rainbow lasers and... whatever that magic fire thing you do is!"

"Hey, superheroes! Sounds fun. Who are we killing?"

"Superheroes don't kill people!"

"Fine. Who are we sending to the hospital with third degree burns?"

"I don't know, I haven't made up a villain yet." She almost asked Bill what kind of monsters existed in his world; but the question died in her throat. That might be too depressing a question. She added a heart-shaped glue outline around her shapesona and shook on a glitter rainbow, and set the picture aside to dry. She grabbed a fresh paper and tried to imagine what a two-dimensional butterfly would look like. Would it just have flat little stick wings since that was more aerodynamic? That sounded boring. She started drawing a two-dimensional squid instead.

Bill studied Mabel's latest finished work—the glitter-outlined heart, the glitter rainbow laser, the glitter fire, and the plain him. After a moment, he casually mentioned, "I used to wear body glitter."

She blinked at him. "What?"

"Earlier you asked me about glitter in my dimension," Bill said. "Body paint was makeup to us. I wore it when I went dancing."

"WHAT!"

"And I'd cut open glow sticks to paint my arms and legs!"

"What color glitter did you wear?!"

"Usually gold."

"What?! Bill!" Mabel laughed. "You're already yellow!"

"But I didn't glitter. That's important!"

"You're boring."

"Shut up! I was gorgeous and I knew it! Why mess with perfection?!" He gestured down at himself, perfection, as though he'd momentarily forgotten what body he was in. "Listen, club fashion gets repetitive. If you've seen one equilateral in cutesy primary color gradients, you've see 'em all. There's beauty in simplicity—not a lot of shapes can pull off a solid color with a little light highlighting and still look flashy!" He'd sat up straighter, chest puffed out proudly, as he talked about how pretty he thought he'd been. "Buuut sure, sometimes I highlighted my points for fun. And to keep from stabbing people—it's hard for other people to judge distances with strobe lights on."

"What colors."

"Usually red, blue, or purple. You know—nice contrasts with gold."

Mabel grabbed another paper and started drawing Bill dancing. He leaned closer, elbows on the table, watching with more interest now. Mabel asked, "You had clubs with strobe lights?"

"Of course we did, we aren't barbarians." Bill picked up yellow and black markers out of Mabel's supplies, leaned over to her drawing in progress, and started adding a decorative border around the nearest edge of the paper in dots and dashes.

"What kind of music did you listen to?"

"It was... It's closest to the music in— You've never been to that dimension. Well, it kind of sounds like... I'll never hit those notes with human vocal cords." He drummed his fingers on the table. "Hold on. Let me get Questiony's piano."

####

It turned out that Flatworld club music sounded kind of like a broken tornado siren.

"It doesn't sound very good on a human piano," Bill said, giving the electric piano balanced on his knees a disapproving look. "The intervals between notes are tuned wrong, it's about four octaves short, and it's missing that tympanic membrane shredding tremolo when the treble jumps."

Mabel regarded the piano with some dismay. "Do you know how to play anything else?"

Bill sighed.

He played "Don't Start Un-Believing" for her. He even did that cool thing where you drag a finger up half the keyboard at once.

####

By now, Bill seemed a lot happier to answer Mabel's questions about his world; but she quickly worked out which ones he'd actually give a direct answer. He was the most free with science-y questions, hit or miss on the fun cultural questions, and instantly evasive when asked about his own life or uncomfortable political issues.

When she asked if shapes and their houses just kinda floated unattached to anything because they didn't have a home planet, Bill said they did have a home planet—hundreds of miles below, marking south by its gravitational pull—and they lived in the sky in between their planet and its rings. When she asked what kind of clothing they wore, Bill said they usually didn't wear anything, unless it was for practical purposes (gloves for gardening; goggles for chemistry; elbow-, knee-, and corner-pads for spelunking), and when she asked about his top hat he said slyly, "You mean my telescope?" and gleefully refused to explain further.

But when she asked if it was true that equilateral triangles were the lowest rung you could stand on before getting knocked off the social ladder altogether, Bill said that was a pretty rude question to ask a triangle. And then he said his world didn't have ladders.

When he casually let slip that he'd been able to see the third dimension when nobody else could, she asked how that was possible. He'd paused, looked up from his seventh completely incomprehensible drawing of an animal (she'd asked him whether Flatworlders had pets), and, with an eager gleam in his eye, he asked, "How much time do you have?"

####

Ford heard Bill's voice the moment he opened the door—"All right, star girl, pop quiz, let's see how much of that you kept in your noggin."

"Oh, I'm so ready!"

Baffled, Ford leaned in the living room doorway. The room was absolutely plastered in crayon-covered papers—illustrations, lists, mathematical and scientific diagrams—stars, cells, planets, vehicles. At the moment Bill was pointing at six papers taped together with a diagram on them that Ford thought was a Punnett square that had been expanded into a four-dimensional tessaract. "A polygon's sides are determined by...?"

"Genetic inheritance!" Mabel announced, the proud student who knew all the answers. "You have however many sides your parents have genes for!"

"And the idea that polygons increase by one side each generation...?"

"Is propaganda! Because if everybody hides their kids without enough sides, and they only talk about the kids that did go up a side, it makes everyone think that's what always happens and their family is the only one that's failing!"

"Perfect! And the highest natural amount of sides a shape can have?"

"Twelve! Decadoggins!"

"Close enough, dodecagons! But this isn't Greek class, I'll give you full points. So, any shapes with more sides than that got them through—?"

"Random mutation!"

"Correctamundo! Meaning the only way to get shapes with hundreds of sides is..."

"Crazy bonkers inbreeding! Because the same rich families just keep marrying each other!"

"With consequences including—?"

"Um..." Mabel puffed out her cheeks as she thought. "Skeletons getting all crackly, having a hard time making babies, and high—uh—infant morality!"

"Mortality."

"Lots of dead babies."

"Yes! And remember: when a mutation makes a body produce so much more of something than it needs that it starts harming the body, that's called...?"

"Cancer!"

"Meaning circles are...?"

"Tumors!"

"And what do we do with tumors?"

"EXECUTE THEM!"

"YES!" Bill ripped the Punnett tesseract off the wall. Behind it was a piece of paper that read, in blood red crayon, ANTI-MONARCHIST ANARCISM. "You're ready to man the guillotines! A+, star girl! Give yourself another sticker!"

"Yes!" Mabel peeled a sparkly purple star off a sticker sheet and stuck it on her cheek. Her face had over twenty star stickers.

Ford leaned against the living room doorframe, watching the scene inside with wonder. He was more than a little iffy about the political lesson—he, personally, was incredibly opposed to the idea that it was morally imperative to execute anybody with extra body parts, nobility or not—but the presentation of it was certainly captivating. It had been a long time since Ford had seen Bill like this. (It had been a long time since Ford would have trusted any lesson out of Bill's mouth.)

"Now let's get back to biangles." Bill picked up a fake crystal ball that he'd drawn various lines and shapes on with a marker.

"Awww, again?!"

"Hey. Listen," he said firmly. "I believe in you. You'll get it this time, I know it."

Ford looked around the room, taking in the scene more fully. The floor was scattered with drawings of aliens. A few of them were various polygons—regular and irregular, with the irregularities further broken down by whether they otherwise showed radial or lateral symmetry—each with thin limbs and an eye on a corner. Most were fantastical alien animals, a few that Ford had seen or been warned about on other worlds. Some had been scribbled out and redrawn when Bill's limited artistic capabilities didn't live up to his unknown standards; a few were in Mabel's art style, meaning Bill must have described them to her while she drew.

Twenty pieces of paper had been taped together on the wall behind the TV, with a drawing of a planet surrounded by a circular ring of small blobs—a planetary ring?—and a moon further out. The empty atmosphere between the planet and the ring was filled with squares and rectangles, which were grouped together in red blobby circles that were each labeled by letter: "Country △," "Country B," "Country C," "Country D (communists)," etc. A badly-drawn sea serpent slithered along the outside of the ring with the words "Here There Be Monsters" written over it.

A tall column of taped together papers was covered in examples of alien writing systems—some of them Ford recognized from his travels through other dimensions. From the ones he understood, it looked like the words were demonstrations of Mabel's name in dozens of alien writing systems. Sometimes Bill spelled her name Maybell or Mabelle.

And there were so many papers scattered around the room with little graphs and symbols and arrows Ford couldn't make sense of. And in the center of it all, Bill, alive, energetic, his full attention enthusiastically focused on his student.

Bill had to be up to something; but Ford couldn't imagine what, based on the bizarre assemblage of information in front of him. What nefarious purpose could be behind showing Mabel how to spell her name in alien languages? Unless his goal was to so enchant her with tales of other worlds that he could persuade her to help him open a new portal...? No, even for Bill that felt like a stretch. 

He looked at the wall again. Surely, that wasn't Bill's homeworld. Ford had spent years of his life trying to find the world Bill was from; surely Bill hadn't just drawn it in the middle of Ford's living room. Had he?

"Okay, let's start with spherical geometry from the top," Bill said, polishing the crystal ball on his leggings to rub off the marker lines. "Don't tell anyone I can do this." He held up the ball, tapped it twice on the bottom, and it hovered in place when he let it go, freeing up both his hands to hold a ruler and marker. (How long had he been able to do that? Had he even noticed Ford was standing right outside?) He drew a line across the surface of the ball, "Pretend it's a planet. If you draw a line on a sphere, it's obviously curved, right?"

"Right," Mabel said.

"But now pretend you're on the planet. The surface of the world is a flat plane to you. From your perspective, you can walk in a straight line from point A to point B."

"But it's actually a curve. From space."

"Now you're catching on. That's what makes spherical geometry a little weird: when you're on the sphere you treat everything around you like it's 2D even though when you're off the sphere you can see it's 3D." Why in the world was Bill teaching Mabel about spherical geometry?

Bill drew two more lines to connect to the first. "So! You can draw a triangle on a sphere, no problem, right?"

"Right."

"And something you can only do in spherical geometry... is... pretend this is the North Pole and the South Pole..." Bill carefully rotated the ball under his marker as he drew a straight line from one "pole" to the other, and then drew a second straight line from pole to pole next to it. "Ta-da! If a tri-angle has three angles, a bi-angle has two angles. You've got yourself a two-sided polygon. Right?"

Mabel hesitated. "Right."

"You with me so far, Shooting Star?"

"So far," she said, with a tone that suggested she expected that to change very soon.

"But if you try to transfer that shape from spherical geometry to Euclidean geometry—" Bill turned to an expanse of still partially-uncovered white papers taped to the wall like a makeshift whiteboard, drew two points, and drew two straight lines, red and blue, between the points, "—it just doesn't work. You can't see a biangle in a flat world."

And now Mabel was squinting suspiciously at him.

Bill said, "I lost you."

"But where does it go!"

Bill shrugged. "You lost it when you lost the third dimension."

"But you said when you're on the sphere it's two dimensional!"

"From your perspective it's two dimensional, but there's still a third dimension enabling the sphere to exist."

"Then from my perspective when I'm on the planet shouldn't a biangle look like that?" Mabel pointed at the two straight lines on the piece of paper. "Since everything looks all 2D to me? But it doesn't! It's like flying from the North Pole to the South Pole through America and then flying back through China! China and America don't just squish together into the same place just because you're going in a straight line on a sphere!"

"I'd kill to hear you give a geography lesson to a Flat Earther convention."

Mabel gave him her best angry scowl.

"It was a compliment! I think you'd inspire some hilarious arguments, that's all!" Bill put two dots on the paper and offered Mabel the marker. "Look, try it for yourself! Draw a biangle."

Mabel took the marker and, after a moment of thought, drew two curved lines between the points, making a football shape.

"Those aren't straight lines, kid."

"Argh!" Mabel pulled the paper off the wallpaper, bent it into a curve, and shakily drew a straight line between the two points; but no matter how else she twisted or bent the paper, she couldn't find a path that would let her draw a second straight line between the points without overlapping the first line she'd drawn. She crumpled the paper, tossed it on the floor, and whispered, "It's witchcraft, Bill."

He burst out laughing. "I could name a few horror writers that felt the same way about non-Euclidean geometry."

"But whyyy does the biangle disappear when it goes from a sphere to normal flat paper."

"Because..." Bill groped for an explanation he hadn't already tried. He crossed an arm across his chest and tapped a knuckle just under the bow tied in his hoodie's draw strings the way some humans might tap a hand to their chin, his eyes narrowed in thought. How many times had Ford seen him make that exact same face in his true triangular form, whenever Ford was struggling to understand a lesson on portal physics and Bill was struggling to find a way to translate it into concepts Ford had encountered in his human education? "Let's try this another way."

The scene made Ford ache.

Look past the paper and the crayons, and the graph- and figure- and writing-covered walls looked so much like the advanced physics lessons and blueprints that Bill had coated Ford's starry blue dreamscape in during his sleep. Look past the flesh and bone, and Bill moved and gestured and spoke the way he had when he was teaching Ford how to build a bridge between worlds.

It was the first time since Bill's death that Ford had seen 100% of his personality shining—unhindered by grief, secrets, or a disdainful human audience. It was the first time in decades that Ford had seen Bill at his best.

In that moment, for a split second, Ford forgot how to hate Bill. He couldn't see Bill the traitor, Bill the invader, Bill the homicidal party animal. The only person in that room with Mabel was Bill Cipher the Teacher, Mentor, and Muse that Ford used to know so long ago. Like an ancient god who'd chosen to spend a day roleplaying as a giddy professor—Bill was holding back a tsunami's worth of vast, ancient, unintelligible alien knowledge so that he could drip out revelations at a faucet's pace, slow enough for his student to catch each drop in her hands.

Over thirty years ago, there had been moments when this Bill peeked out behind the above-it-all façade—and that had been the Bill that Ford was happiest to see, the Bill that Ford had thought of as a friend rather than a mere teacher... but each time, it hadn't been long before Bill seemly caught himself and turned off the faucet for the night.

Because he couldn't let Ford learn too much, or he would have seen through Bill's ruse.

Hatred tiredly crept back in.

"I've got it!" Mabel triumphantly flung her hands in the air. "It's like orange slices!"

"Orange slices?" Bill repeated.

"Be right back!" Mabel zoomed to the kitchen, shouting, "Hi Grunkle Ford!" as she passed.

Ford watched her go, then looked back at Bill; Bill had glanced at him for the first time. But all he did was frown and mutter, "I don't remember inviting you to audit this course."

Before Ford could decide whether to retort, Mabel charged back into the living room with an orange and a sharp knife. "Okay! If you draw a triangle on the orange," Mabel said, doing so with a marker, before cutting into it with the knife, "and then you—you cut it out all the way to the center..."

"Be careful with that," Ford said. Mabel was holding the orange in one palm and stabbing into it from the opposite side.

Bill said, "Lay off, Six Fingers. I'm keeping my eye on her, she's not gonna hurt herself."

"I'm being careful!" Mabel was struggling to get an even wedge cut all the way to the center of the orange; she eventually gave up and  dug into the orange with her fingertips to tug out a messy mangled handful of fruit, attached to a roughly equilateral patch of orange peel about two inches to each side. She shook orange juice off her fingers. "Pretend I cut that out better."

"I dunno what you're talking about," Bill said. "It looks flawless."

She pointed at each corner of the peel triangle. "Okay so, these are the three corners of the spherical triangle, right?"

"Right."

"And if you want to make a regular flat triangle, you can... try to cut a straight line between the corners, like..." She squeezed the rest of the orange between her knees, held the edges of the triangular peel with her fingertips, and sawed off the orange pulp underneath, trying to cut a flat level plane as near to the triangle's corners as she could. Ford almost warned Mabel about the knife again, but glanced at Bill's face and his expression of unworried, keen curiosity, and kept quiet. Bill reached out and caught the sawed-off chunk of orange pulp before it hit the ground.

Mabel held out the peel slice. "There! Right? Spherical triangle on top and flat triangle on the bottom!"

Bill considered that, one hand on his hip. He popped the orange chunk in his mouth. "All right. So far so good."

"But if you make a biangle..." Mabel drew two lines between the top and bottom of the remaining orange, and cut a wedge free. "There isn't anything extra to cut off to let you make a flat shape. There's just a straight line between the two points!"

"Ha! Okay, all right, that works! Brilliant! What do you need me for? You just taught yourself the whole lesson!" Bill ruffled her hair so enthusiastically that he knocked her headband askew.

She shoved him away, laughing, and straightened out her headband. "Bill!"

"What did I say! Didn't I tell you you'd get it?" Bill was beaming at her, impressed, delighted, proud. "Congratulations, you've just mastered college-level geometry."

"Wh—What? Are you serious? This is college stuff?" She shook her head. "No way, you're lying."

Bill pointed at Ford without looking at him. "Tell her."

He felt a little like a dog being commanded to bark; but he said, "He's right. I didn't start studying spherical geometry until my second semester in college." He was sure he could have studied it sooner, if his high school had offered it; and he doubted Mabel had absorbed an entire semester's worth of spherical geometry; but he didn't see any reason to point any of that out when Mabel's face lit up in excitement.

Bill said, "There you have it! Way to go, star girl! Two big stickers."

"YES!" Mabel peeled off two jumbo-sized star stickers with smiley faces and stuck them onto her earrings. "So does that make a biangle a girl or a boy?"

And Ford was immediately lost again.

"No," Bill said.

Mabel sighed loudly and tried again. "Does that make a biangle a line or a polygon?"

"Still no, but for a different reason. Externally, they look like lines to anyone who isn't psychic. Internally, their anatomy usually functions like a polygon's. But socially, you've gotta ask. Some of 'em consider themselves lines, some polygons, some claim biangularity is neither linear nor polygonal. Personally, I say they're whatever they say they are. Because," he said grandly, "I'm just that open-minded and accepting."

Ford stifled a derisive snort. But Bill's self-aggrandizing aside, Ford's mind was reeling trying to keep up—spherical geometry, the (gendered?) socialization of shapes, Flatworlder anatomy—what did psychics have to do with anything? Ford's fingers itched for a pen. He wished he had his journal with him.

Bill grabbed several papers off the floor and the floating crystal ball and climbed on top of the wooden TV cabinet. He left the ball hovering behind him seven feet up in the air, tossed aside several papers he'd already used both sides of to let them flutter back to the floor, and taped the rest to the wall with their blank backsides turned out. "Now back to remote viewing." He drew a grid in blue lines on the papers, said, "Toss me that triangle wedge," used a marker to draw an eye on the triangular orange peel, tapped it twice like he had the crystal ball, and stuck it against the grid, where it sat unmoving.

And the entire time, Ford watched with his arms crossed tightly.

Almost a month ago, Bill had given Ford his manipulative trap of a birthday gift, a miniature grimoire, five pieces of paper, margins filled, two rows of text per line, packed with as diverse an array of magical spells and occult knowledge as Bill could fit. It wasn't a gift, it was a boast and a taunt: look at everything I know that you don't; look at what I could teach you if you let me live. 

It was something Bill could have given him all along—effortlessly, with no cost to himself—but didn't, until Bill wanted something from him. 

On his birthday, Ford had wondered, furiously: when this was what Bill could have been—gift-giver, wish-granter, teacher, guide, friend—why did he choose not to be?! It was an internal scream of rage, the howl of a wounded victim at the condemned criminal as he was marched to the gallows: you monster, you monster, you monster, when it would have been so easy for you to be something better, why instead are you a liar, manipulator, torturer, murderer, life-ruiner, world-ender? Answer for yourself: why are you this instead of someone better? How dare you?

It had made Ford want him dead even more.

This was the exact opposite of the grimoire.

The question in Ford's head wasn't a scream of rage anymore. It was grief. It was a plea. It was one last desperate attempt to understand:

Instead of being who he was, why couldn't Bill have been this person? This charismatic, energetic, ecstatic muse who ruled like a king over a classroom he'd constructed himself, eager to share a trillion years of collected wisdom with a fragile mortal mind, lighting up with joy whenever she grasped something that was trivially simple to him? This guide to the vast wonders beyond Earth, competent and encouraging and funny, delighting in the weirdness of the wide wide universe? The Bill that Ford had once liked so much—the Bill that he'd called his friend?

"Okay," Bill said, all sunshine and excitement, "Back to how to view the third dimension from the second dimension—"

Mabel said, "Can you view the fourth dimension from the third?"

Bill hesitated a split second, but said, "Sure! You can view any dimension from any dimension! You've just gotta bend your eye the right way to see higher ones!"

"What does the fourth dimension look like?"

"Well—hm. Imagine the way that the third dimension looks different from the second, and that's the way the fourth dimension looks different from the third."

Mabel stared at Bill.

"Eddie wrote an entire book about a square meeting a sphere because that was the closest he could get to telling other humans what seeing the fourth dimension is like! If I could still visit dreams, I could just show you, but..."

"Isn't the fourth dimension time? Blendo showed us the time stream! Is that what it looks like?"

"Nnn—close! You're close. The fourth dimension isn't time, but time is in the fourth dimension."

"How's that different."

Bill pointed at the floor. "If the carpet's the second dimension and the lamp's shining on it, the third dimension isn't light, but light is in the third dimension."

"Ohhh." Mabel gasped. "That's why you called some weird thing flying around in a higher dimension an eclipse! Because eclipses were in a higher dimension in Flatworld!"

Bill's face lit up in surprised delight. "All right, skip three lessons ahead, why don't you! In a week's time you'll be teaching people how my dimension works." He turned back to his papers and started drawing a branching river. "So! That time stream you saw isn't time itself! It's a visual metaphor being generated so humans can see time too—sort of a hologram projecting from the fourth dimension into the third—have I explained that the universe is a hologram yet—"

Why weren't you this person, Ford wondered. Why did you choose not to be this person? When it was so easy for you to be this? When this made you happy, too?

Why couldn't you have been this person?

Why are you only like this now, when you're about to die?

####

(Hope y'all enjoyed Infodump: The Chapter. This is one of those chapters with something hidden in it that'll unravel the whole fic if you happen to find it, so have fun searching for that. Let me know what you thought of this week's chapter! And get excited—we've got Big Things coming up... soon.)

[kimingyuslover]

Coup de foudre

synopsis: same old case, he never believes in love at first sight, until he met you

word count: 1,199

pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x fem!reader

genre: love at first sight!au, strangers to lovers, fluff, suggestive.

warnings: simp!wonwoo, mention of alcohol, Jeonghan made appearance, Dokyeom mentioned, make out session (not detailed), slightly suggestive at the end.

a.n: finally! a full fluff fic, but i can't think anything, so maybe the plot is kinda rushed.

Wonwoo never believes when people tell him that they're falling in love at first sight. To him, love needs time and patience. You can't just say you're in love with someone when you first see them.

That's until he met you.

You both met at a college party, you wanting to relieve your stress after the final exam, Dokyeom– your friend since high school, invited you to his frat party.

Whereas Wonwoo just wants to spend his weekend night with his frat brothers.

You went to the kitchen to take another bottle of vodka because Minghao said that it needs to be refilled.

There you met the most attractive man you've ever met in your life. Wonwoo just stood between the kitchen island and kitchen shelves with a phone on his left hand while the other filled with a cup of gin.

“Uhm, excuse me, can you please take that bottle? I can't reach it. It's on the top shelves” you said sheepishly to Wonwoo.

He froze for a second, admiring you like you're a piece of art that God made special for his eyes. He realised that it's been a few seconds since you asked him, and he hasn't given his answer yet, nor did he make a move to grab the bottle you ask for.

“Sorry, here” he said after snapping out of his thoughts and grabbing the vodka bottle from one of the top shelves.

“Thanks! care to join us? we're having a beer pong” Your offer was reciprocated with a small smile attached to Wonwoo's face and followed with a ‘sure’ from him.

[ఇ ◝‿◜ ఇ]

The second time he met you was when he bought coffee from the cafe that's close to your campus, not expecting to see you there working.

“Welcome! How can I help you?” you said automatically before lifting your head only to realise that you saw this man a few days prior at a party.

“Can I get one medium americano and one cheesecake to go? i'll pay with my credit card” He replied with a smile while handing his card, which makes you mirror his smile with yours and take his card in your hand.

“Okay then, that'll be 10,000₩” Before you continue your sentence, Wonwoo already tells his name, maybe a little bit too loud because everyone can hear it.

“Here's your card, wait for a few minutes and your order will be ready to go, Wonwoo” you said with a wide smile still plastered on your face.

Wonwoo smiled shyly at you after he realised he had embarrassed himself a few seconds ago.

Then not long after that, you call his name when his order is ready, and Wonwoo doesn't want to miss his chance, so after he takes his order he asks you to go somewhere with him.

“Are you free this weekend?” he asks you carefully, makes you halt your movement, before smiling apologetically.

“I'm packed this week, maybe next time” but before you can go to your original station, he stops you by grabbing your wrist.

“Give me your phone number so i can text you next time” he says, making you smile. The next thing he knows, you take tissue from the counter and write your number with your pen.

He said his thanks when he got out of the café, he was surprised when someone loudly spoke to him.

“huh? pretty smooth flirt skill you got there, care to share?” That person was Jeonghan, his childhood friend, and the question makes Wonwoo slap Jeonghan’s shoulder lightly.

“Shut your mouth” Wonwoo walked away with a grin on his face. The fact that he got your number only on your second meeting was superior. He can't wait to text you tonight.

[ఇ ◝‿◜ ఇ]

Okay, maybe not tonight. He's too anxious to send a message to you. He's an overthinker and an ambiguous man.

Hi, this is Wonwoo|

Hi, this is|

Hi|

He thinks it over and over again to send a message to you, doubtful of himself, but at the end of the night, he still sends a message to you, a simple one.

Hi, it's Wonwoo

He turns off his phone and charges it on the nightstand beside his bed, opting to close his eyes and open the message from you tomorrow so his heart will calm a little.

And tomorrow rolling faster than he could imagine, it feels like he just slept thirty seconds ago, but he's eager to see your reply.

hi Wonwoo, i checked my schedule, and i think i can go with you on tuesday next week, i don't have any class.

He nearly jumps out of his bed, but that action comes to an image after he sees Jeonghan on his door, looking confused at his behaviour.

“That cafe girl replies? lucky you, she seems sweet, pretty, and kind of cute” and with that, Jeonghan walks to his room, which is the opposite room from Wonwoo's.

After Jeonghan left, Wonwoo couldn't hide his smile, feeling like the happiest man on earth.

And days go by like a wind always blows on each day, it goes fast.

Before he knew it, it's H-2 before his meeting with you, and he was still stuck on picking his attire for this unofficial date (in his mind, it's official).

He has no other choice than calling Jeonghan, who seems so excited for his bestfriend unofficial date.

After a while, Wonwoo finally found his outfit that he would be using on this date.

White high-waisted trousers with a cream half-zip sweatshirt will be his attire for the rest of the day, which goes with black framed specs attached on his face.

He's been waiting for you alone at the restaurant downtown that you two talked about the night before.

After tapping his shoes for almost 5 minutes, he sees a glimpse of you, your pretty smile, and the outfit you wear adorning your body.

Wonwoo, still remember that day, you were wearing a white midi dress with a cream blazer on your hand and a white ysl bag walking towards him with a big smile on your face.

“So, that day is the day you love me?” you said, looking up to Wonwoo, who was playing his ps5 while you're laying on his lap.

you're curious about how he fell in love with you, so you asked him.

“No, sweetheart, I fell in love with you at first sight when we met at my frat party” Wonwoo said while stroking your hair with a gentle smile on your face.

“And you're my first love too” Wonwoo continued after you sat down beside him.

“I'm your first love?”

You asked him with that pretty eyes of you, gaze full of questioning his statement.

Wonwoo can’t help but give your lips a peck and a peck and another peck that turns into…

A heated makeout session, so he takes you to your shared bedroom.

He plopped down beside you after hours of hot making love, “you're my last love, and i'm hoping i'm your last” he says, then gives you lips a long chaste kiss.

“I love you”

“I love you too, sweetheart”

[jadewritesficshere]

Slow and Steady

Steve Harrington x female!reader

Summary: You're ready for your first time with your boyfriend but are nervous based on past experiences. Steve is determined to make you feel good (3-5k words my computer broke around 1500 so I finished this on Tumblr dont know exact word count)

Contains: pure smut, reader has vaginismus (not explicitly named in the fic), talks of anxiety/nerves/doubt, fingering, cumplay, p in v, no condoms please wrap it up, creampie, pet names (Steve calls you Baby)

please note I am not a doctor. This is based on how sex is for me, not every two experiences are the same

18+ only

You sigh in pleasure. Steve is kissing your jaw, sucking lightly at your pulse that's beating wildly for him. You can feel a rush of tingling warmth spread from your spine to your lower stomach. Your hands roaming up and down his shoulders, trying to memorize the contours of his muscles. The way his hand squeezes your hip as if you would drift away if he let go.

Steve sighs, pressing his forehead into your cheek before giving you a final kiss and starting to pull back. You whine, gripping his biceps. "Steve don't! Plea- keep going!" You aren't sure you're fully making sense as your thoughts are only Steve Steve Steve. "Baby, I don't want to get carried away without talking first," Steve cups the side of your face with his hand, thumb lightly moving back and forth over your cheekbone.

"I want to make sure you're ready," Steve says looking deep into your eyes. You look away, feeling ashamed. You shouldn't be, you know this. But that doesn't stop that feeling from welling up.

You remember the first time you had sex, how much it hurt. But people told you that was normal, that it's better the next time because you weren't a virgin anymore. But that time hurt like hell too. And the next. And the next. Like you were being ripped apart, like there was something wrong.

And then your doctor told you the name of it and how some women had it. Said there were ways to work around it and work through it, but it was like cotton in your ears. All you heard was there was something wrong with you. You know there isn't, but your deceitful mind tells you there is. And now you tense up as things start to progress, making things worse unintentionally. All you could think was, 'well no one would want to work through it since no one else has before.'

But then Steve came in and tore all your defenses down. Weasled his way in with stupid pickup lines and free car rides. Rolled his eyes and gave you a 'are you seeing this?' look as he bickered with the kids before sighing dramatically and giving them what they wanted. Would wear a stupid apron when he cooked and would sneak food off his plate onto yours to make sure you had enough. You didn't stand a chance.

When Steve made out with you for the first time you wanted to cry. Thought "well this is it. He's going to leave like the rest after this." But when you stopped him, he didn't pout. He didn't roll his eyes or gripe at you, claim you led him on. Didn't try to force the issue. Steve took your no as a no and asked no questions, just pulled back smiled at you with a bulge in his pants and asked if you wanted to choose the movie now.

You broke down in tears as he tried to comfort you. And you told him everything. About how it hurt and had never been enjoyable for you. How you were scared it would hurt again. How you really liked Steve and wanted to do it with him but didn't want to disappoint him like the others. How you didn't want him to leave like the others.

And Steve let you cry into his shirt. And Steve calmed you and told you, "I'm sorry they never took care of you the way you deserve to be taken care of. If you never want to have sex, we don't have to. I love you regardless of sex, I mean yeah it would be fun and I'd like to, but like- if you aren't having a good time I don't want to do it. If you do want to try, Baby, we can take it really slow. Slow and steady. But I don't want you to feel pressured to have sex, we don't need it. If you want it we can and if you never want it we don't have to."

It was like a balm to your soul. Aloe vera on a burn you didn't realize still stung. Just knowing Steve cared enough to not call it quits made you feel desired. But that little lying voice in your head said he'd get upset and move on.

But months passed and Steve stayed. Lovely, caring Steve. Steve who held your hand and proclaimed it was a perfect fit. Steve who kissed you so sweetly, following your lead. Steve who never protested or became frustrated when you stopped things from furthering on. Steve who would help you slip your shirt back on and hold you close after making out. Steve who never once complained about "leading him on" like others have.

Steve who was the first to say," I love you," and never pushed you to say it back. Steve who bought your favorite books and tried to read them so he could have another bond with you. Steve who always knew what to say to brighten your day. The Steve who showed he loved you in every little way he cared for you.

A hand on your face snaps you back to the moment. Steve frowns slightly," You okay? You went somewhere for a minute." You shrug," Got lost in my thoughts." Steve's eyes bore into your own, as if trying to see into your mind. "If you want to stop here, we can-" "No!" You interrupt, running a hand from his shoulder to the back of his neck.

Steve pauses, waiting on you. "I want to continue. I'm just...nervous? They say relax, but then how do they expect me to relax when I know how its been in the past? And then I get tense because I'm nervous and then I'm nervous because I'm tense and then-" Steve cuts you off with a kiss. Your eyes flutter shut as he gently kisses you. It's so tender and sweet, you can practically feel the cavities forming from how sweet it is.

Steve pulls back enough to say," If anything is uncomfortable or hurts you tell me okay? If you want to stop then you say it." You nod but Steve clicks his tongue," I need your words Baby." "Yeah, okay."

Steve kisses your forehead, murmuring an "I love you". He leans back enough to help you pull your dress off and over your head. "Fuck me," he whispers, mouth falling open. Any thoughts of cowering or hiding yourself melt away as his eyes further light up with lust. "Planning to," You grin.

Steve snorts as he laughs, shaking his head slightly before ripping his shirt off. You bite your lip as you look at Steve unabashedly. Usually you try to sneak peeks, like when he lifts his shirt to wipe sweat off his forehead after a run. But now you can just look. You tentatively run a hand through his chest hair, causing him to shiver.

"Now here's what we're gonna do," Steve lightly palms himself over his jeans, groaning before speaking with a raspier tone," I'm going to take such good care of you. You're gonna take your underwear off and-"

You push your underwear down, kicking them off. Steve's jaw goes slack as he stares at your glistening cunt. "That all for me?" Steve asks. "All for you. I want you," You reach a hand out and press against his bulge, causing him to let out a whine before he grips your wrist. "Get comfortable Baby."

You lay back against the bed, relaxing into the pillows. "Now, you're gonna finger yourself." Steve instructs. You scoff," Didn't you just say you were gonna take care of me?" Steve smirks as he grabs your hand," Oh I will, but look," He holds his palm against yours," My fingers are so much bigger then yours."

It's shocking how big his hands are compared to yours. His fingers are longer and thicker then yours. You can feel yourself get wetter at the thought, but also a hint of nerves come back.

As if Steve has a glimpse into your mind, he slowly runs a hand up your shoulder to cup your face," There's no rush. I can do this all night. Slow and steady, remember?" Steve leans in and kisses you softly. You sigh into the kiss, slowly melding your mouth against his. The tip of his tongue traces your lip, leaving you begging for more.

Steve pulls back enough to whisper," Touch yourself," before trailing kisses to your jaw and neck. You can't suppress the shiver that runs through you as he hits that one spot. Steve lightly sucks on your neck as you slowly trail a hand down.

Your trembling (from nerves, excitement, or pleasure you can't tell) fingers slowly part your lips. You can feel how wet you are, starting to drip onto your thighs and under you. You slowly circle your clit, relaxing at the feeling of pleasure taking over. You moan softly as Steve continues to pepper your neck with kisses.

You lower your hand further, fingers tracing your entrance. You coat your fingers with your slick before slowly pushing your middle finger in. It doesn't hurt at the moment, but feels uncomfortable. Your brow furrows slightly, concern starting to come back. Steve is there though, kissing your forehead until you relax and using one of his large fingers to deftly circle your clit.

You pump your finger in and out, discomfort dissipating each time until you're reveling in the feeling. "There ya go," Steve murmurs reverently as your mouth falls open at how good it feels. Steve wraps his hand around your wrist, causing you to whine as he pulls your hand away.

Steve maneuvers your hand so only two fingers remain up before guiding them back to your pussy. "There you go Baby. Doing so well," Steve praises as you slowly insert the two fingers. It takes a second to adjust, to get used to the feeling.

But Steve distracts you by kissing down your chest. He reaches behind you and unsnaps your bra with one hand, the other grabbing your wrist and guiding you into a faster pace.

You let the bra straps fall down your arms, laying loosely. Steve peels your bra down and groans as your breasts sway slightly. "So fucking gorgeous," Steve groans," Doing so good." You don't even have a chance to warn him as you tumble over the edge of pleasure. You moan and gasp as you writhe against your hand. His tongue feels electrifying as he circles it around your nipple, finger circling your clit again.

You can barely hear Steve saying," That's my girl. Doing so well Baby." Your mouth is hanging open as you take in deep breaths. Warmth, euphoria, and ecstasy flow through your body freely. You come back to your body slowly, aware of Steve holding you hand, his thumb moving back and forth caressing your hand.

"My turn to touch you Baby," Steve growls out. You blink up at him a few times, still coming back down to earth. You nod as you remove your fingers. They glisten in the light from your wetness. Steve inhales sharply before darting forward, licking your fingers. You aren't sure if it was you or him who gasps, but Steve's mouth is suddenly surrounding your fingers.

Steve sucks and licks the wetness off your fingers. His eyes flutter shut as he moans. You can feel yourself getting more turned on as you watch Steve. Steve blearily opens his eyes, still sucking on your fingers. His eyes heavy with lust.

You gasp as Steve trails a finger through your folds, coating them in your release. Steve pulls off your fingers with a sudden pop, lips glistening from spit and cum. "You taste so fucking good Baby. Can't wait until I can bury my face in your pussy," Steve slowly inserts a finger as he speaks," But we'll save that for next time okay?"

His finger is definitely bigger then yours. It is slightly uncomfortable, but not painful. Steve redirects your attention by circling your nipple with his tongue again. With his free hand, he caresses and pulls the nipple he is currently not kissing and sucking on.

Steve adds a second finger once he's felt you fully relax against him. Once he's seen the unconscious tension in your shoulders go away. When he sees the clench of your jaw and your furrowed brow relax. Steve knows you have no clue you are doing this, but he is attentive and sees the signs.

When Steve adds a third finger is when you sharply inhale. Steve immediately pauses," Too much? What do you need?" "Just give me a minute," You try to steady your breathing. It doesn't hurt but it doesn't not hurt. It's a pressure and a pinch and pain but not the worst pain you've ever felt.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, looking away. "For what?" Steve frowns and grasps your chin, forcing you to look at him," Baby, it's okay! I can spend all day here with you- i want to spend all day with you. It doesn't bother me that this takes time. I love you. You're worth it. You're like everything to me. You should enjoy this too, not just me."

You can feel the tears start to form but you blink them away. You lean forward and kiss Steve again. He hums slightly against you before deepening the kiss. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, pulling moans and gasps from you. You barely notice Steve moving his hand again, pumping his fingers in and out of you.

When Steve pulls back, his lips are swollen and his face flushed," Do you think you are ready or do you want me to add another finger?" You pause for a moment to think before whispering," I'm ready, just...go slow?" Steve smiles and kisses your forehead," I can do that. That's my middle name." You giggle as Steve blinks at you," That was dumb forget i said that."

He removes his fingers and you can feel yourself clench at the loss. But your heart beat picks up in anticipation as Steve finally sheds his boxers.

Steve can't help but smirk as your jaw drops. Steve is big. Bigger then you expected him to be. There's a prominent vein you want to lick, follow all the way up to the flushed tip. There is pre-cum leaking from the top. You can see at least one freckle near the base, and another on one of his balls.

Steve crawls over you, hovering above. "You ready?" He asks, eyes staring into yours. You nod. "Want to hear your pretty voice Baby," Steve threads his hand in yours. "Ready as I'll ever be," You grin shakily.

Steve positions himself at your entrance. "Hold onto me, okay?" Steve inhales and slowly exhales. You run your hands up his shoulders to the column of his neck before threading a hand through his hair.

You squeeze his hand tight as the tip of his penis enters you. "I got you, I'm sorry," Steve murmurs as he squeezes his eyes closed. "Don't be," you gasp. It isn't painful like it has been in the past. It's a stretch, slightly uncomfortable, but not painful.

Steve murmurs praises once he's seated fully in you. You exhale slowly as you get used to the feeling. Any further nerves and tension slowly goes away. You feel so good. Full. You lean forward barely touching Steve's lips with yours. Steve chases you, enveloping your mouth with his.

"Please move Steve," you whisper in between kisses. He nods. Steve slowly moves out, it makes you want to weep at the loss, but he's suddenly filling you again.

You gasp in pleasure. It's never been like this. Felt so good. "Fuck," you gasp out, nails scratching against Steve's shoulder. He grabs your leg and positions it around his hip, driving deeper into you," Yeah, we are."

You would chuckle, but you can barely think straight. Warmth spreads throughout your limbs. Pleasure. Ecstasy. You moan wantonly as you writhe against Steve as your orgasm overtakes you. Steve squeezes your hand in his, grounding you into this moment, as he presses his forehead to yours.

Every breath you exhale, Steve inhales, and vice versa. His weight pressed against you, holding you close. His hips stutter against yours, you feel his warm wet seed paint the inside of your walls. You are wholly consumed by Steve.

You slowly come back to your senses, to Steve kissing your neck. You hum slightly, pulling back to look at him. "That was...amazing," you smile at him. Steve grins back before kissing you once more," Let me get something to clean you up, I'll be right back."

You feel empty as Steve pulls out, a slight sting at the loss that dissipates quickly. Your combined release spills out of you as Steve stands up. Steve's jaw drops slightly at the sight, stomach muscles twitching as his cock kicks back up in interest.

Steve shakes his head and returns to the task at hand. He heads into the attached bathroom, grabbing a washcloth and running it through warm water. When he returns, he carefully cleans you. You shift uncomfortably from the unexpected texture against your sensitive skin.

As soon as Steve is done, he tosses the washcloth towards the hamper. He scowls as he misses, causing you to laugh. He crawls into bed next to you," Foul play, I was distracted." "Oh?" "Mmhmm" Steve covers you with a blanket and pulls you into his side.

You curl into Steve, hand resting against his chest. You can hear his steady heart beat. You absent-mindedly trace letters on his skin. "I love you," you murmur. You pause, waiting for a response.

Your brow furrows and you lift your head to look at Steve, who remains silent. You snort out a laugh. Steve's eyes are closed and his jaw slack as he breathes through his mouth. Dead asleep as you confess your love for him. You grin as you kiss his pec, laying your head back down.

You'll tell him again when he wakes. And again that evening. And again. And again. And-

[babyangelsky]

I know we're all still sweating over the first half of this episode (or I am at least) but since I'm feeling chatty today, I really wanna talk about Mut and Tongrak's conversation at the restaurant and how much I loved it. There are so many little moments that deserve appreciation and recognition.

This is the first one. When the auntie comes over to sing Mut's praises, he doesn't look at her or at Tongrak, he just ducks his head. From what she says, we can gather that this isn't the first time he's brushed off compliments so it isn't that he's not used to praise. I think there's a little more to it.

And look at Tongrak's expression after the auntie leaves.

And the way he looks at Mut afterward. There's fondness there. There's respect and admiration. We've had small moments before this where the way Tongrak looks at Mut changes but this feels like the first time he really sees him. He's getting a clearer picture of who Mut is and what he means to the people in the village.

And it's because of that that he looks genuinely surprised and a little shocked when Mut reveals that his father kicked him out at 15. You can almost hear him asking himself, "how could anyone ever do that to this man?"

Mut talks about how he went to live with his aunt and started supporting himself relatively casually but there's a faraway look in his eyes when Tongrak asks why he doesn't go home.

And he looks down because despite his tone, it hurts to remember why he can't go home. It makes him sad to remember why he considers the fishing boat only his father's instead of theirs, as a family.

There's a defiance in his expression when he says that his father never takes back what he says and neither does he, and there was something about this specific wording and look that made me think that the reason his father kicked him out has to do with him being queer.

I have not read the novel (nor am I asking for spoilers) so I could be very wrong but this moment just read so queer to me. It unfortunately wouldn't be unheard of for a parent to kick out their queer child and for that child to cut ties with them because of it.

The shift in expression when Mut asks Tongrak if he thinks he's pitiful is so tiny but it's so significant. It's like he's daring Tongrak to pity him and resigned to it simultaneously, like pity is a foregone conclusion. It tells me that Mut is used to being pitied. He says himself moments before this that Tongrak could ask anyone on the island for his story so I'm sure there's no shortage of people who do pity him.

Maybe that's why he reacts the way he does when the auntie praises him. Maybe for him it's rare to be praised for his successes without having it be qualified or run through the filter of his personal history.

Even before Tongrak said a word in response, I knew what his answer was going to be. There's sympathy (and maybe even some empathy) in his expression. There's a sort of...I don't know how to describe it. Defiant kinship? that says, "why would I pity you?"

He shakes his head and gives a firm, decisive no. He doesn't pity Mut. He may not say it, but his face says that he's very quickly growing to admire and respect the person Mut has made of himself.

Of course he doesn't pity Mut. And hearing it makes Mut smile. A true, genuine smile that reaches his sparkly eyes and softens just a little bit when he says thank you.

This conversation felt like such a big shift for them. I have no doubt they're going to continue to bicker and annoy each other and piss each other off but from here on I think and hope there's going to be an undercurrent of understanding to it.

Tongrak is open to learning more about Mut and although Tongrak isn't willing to reveal too much of himself yet, the desire to learn more is there on Mut's part, too. He's not gonna push though. He accepts Tongrak's answer of why he became a writer being only for the fun of it.

And he does what no one else has before and praises Tongrak for it.

Which Tongrak was not expecting at all because why would he when no one has ever complimented him before? For Mut to be the first means a lot, and so does the fact that Tongrak compliments him right back.

Because I really do think that his compliment is coming from a place not only of respect, but from solidarity as well. We know that Tongrak doesn't want the people in the village to think badly of Mut for being affectionate with a man in public, and that moment also read very queer to me.

Queer people are like magnets and, in my experience at least, not only are we drawn to each other, we look out for each other. Tongrak doesn't give a damn what people think or say about him both because he's secure in who he is and because he's only a tourist, but Mut lives there. Despite his snark and snippiness, I don't think he wants Mut to have a hard time existing in his home.

Anyway! Those are just my few cents for this episode. This scene really stuck out to me and I wanted to talk about it because the whole time I was just:

Fort and Peat did some beautifully subtle acting and I didn't want it to get lost in the horny shuffle.

[aurumacadicus]

Listen, Steve is grateful he gets to work at a Stark-funded hospital. He is. Not only is the prestige of working there even for a year going to carry him through his entire career, but if he stays for five years, the Maria Stark Foundation will pay off all of his student loans. Their clientele are people typically in poverty and he loves that he can help the less fortunate. It's all he ever wanted to do after watching his single mother scrimp and save as a nurse just to make sure they had a roof over their heads. He would never do anything to jeopardize his position or the reputation of the hospital.

"That custodian is going to be the reason you're fired," Natasha declares, and both Clint and Bucky spin from their nursing charts just in time to watch Steve almost fall over as he attempts to get one more glimpse of Tony's ass as he pushes his cart, whistling, toward the elevator. "Is this your way of getting out of the gala? Getting shit-canned the day before?"

"Are you going to tattle on me to Dr. Potts?" Steve asks her bluntly.

Natasha says nothing for several minutes, mulling the idea over in her head. Finally, though, she mutters, "I guess you're better than Hammer. He actually put his hands on Tony."

Steve doesn't know how to respond, because he'd only gotten his position after Dr. Hammer had groped Tony one too many times (apparently Tony had never reported it? It had actually been one of the nurses) and got fired for it. Again, he's grateful for the position, but he knows other doctors would shank him for the opportunity. He's just looking, but maybe he shouldn't look? Tony isn't a piece of meat. He's a respected member of the hospital staff.

Tony stops and bends over to pick up a piece of garbage on the floor, and even Natasha whimpers as his pants lovingly cup each of his cheeks.

Luckily, they're saved by one of the PR interns coming out of a hospital room and chirping, "Are you going to the gala tomorrow, Mr. Tony?"

"Peter how many times do I have to tell you," Tony begins, sighing, then shakes his head. "Yes, my mother is finally forcing me to show up for the gala."

Steve does a minute fist pump, and Bucky immediately drags him into a noogie that makes him squawk about his hair in probably the most unattractive manner possible.

--

"Gala" is probably too fancy a term for it. Unlike the Foundation galas, where the Stark family squeezes donations from the other wealthy elite for all they muster, this is more of a get-together between other hospitals to compare notes. Women are in cocktail dresses and the men are a healthy mix of suits and slacks-and-polos. The only people really decked out in formal wear are those with the foundation.

Steve is trying to be very casual as he keeps an eye out for Tony. He hasn't seen him yet, but he's hoping to ask Tony for at least one dance. Dr. Potts had said Tony liked to dance when he'd been talking with her and Natasha at the start of the gala. (She'd made really deliberate eye contact with him when she'd said so, too, so Steve figures she at least approves of him??? Even if she also kind of scares him.)

"Oh my God," Bruce whispers, wine dripping down his chin. He's gone ashen.

Steve and Thor turn to see what he's looking at, and Steve immediately understands. He feels as if he's just been simultaneously punched in the gut and head.

Because Mrs. Stark has finally arrived at her gala, dressed to the nines and yet somehow making everyone feel at ease in their own clothes. She's being escorted by a handsome man in a tuxedo.

The man looks a lot like Tony from the custodial department. But Mrs. Stark keeps loudly and proudly announcing that he's her son.

"I'm so fired," Steve whispers, voice cracking, as Bucky finally steps up beside him and claps him on the shoulder.

[bluesfreakingart]

second thoughts

---

"If I didn't know any better, I would think you like him," Jervis said with a soft laugh as he poured the hot water. There was a silence before a sweet sigh from Alice. "I think I just might…"

Those words hitting his ears made him stop momentarily. Glancing over his shoulder ever so slightly, he asked, "Really?"

"Really… I've been thinking about it for some time now. I swear there's a real connection— he's rough around the edges, sure, but he's so sweet past it."

Jervis placed the sachet of tea into the hot water as he took his eyes off her, a tightness sudden in his chest. "…don't you think it's a little too early to say that? I mean, how long have you known him again?"

A hum was audible. "It's been a few months. I think we're coming up to a year, and I've already had a date or two. I've already told you about those, though. Gosh— I still can't believe I spilled that wine on the second date. Embarrassing…"

"It wasn't that bad," Jervis replied, trying so hard to ignore that feeling that clawed at his heart.

"Wasn't that bad? Oh, come on, Jervy, I'm sure if you did that in front of the person you like, you'd be losing your mind too."

The neuroscientist gave a moment of silence in thought, taking the sachet out of his tea and throwing it in the waste bin. He still didn't look at her. "You caught me. I'd probably be a mess… physically and mentally."

"Right!" she said with a giggle. The secretary then hummed again. "…I'm serious though, Jervis."

"Serious about what..?"

"About Billy. I think… I think I might confess to him today, after work."

"Are you sure?" were the words that slipped from his mouth.

"What do you mean, am I sure? I'm sure as sure can be! What, you don't think it's a good idea, me and Billy?"

"No, no, no— No, I'm not saying that, Alice," he quickly fervently denied. "I'm sure you two have… something. I was just asking if, you know, have you meditated on it more? Being in a relationship is a commitment after all—"

Suddenly, the woman had snuck right next to him and leaned on the lounge counter. "I haaaaave meditated on it. It's been a feeling for a while now. Sure, if it was the first few months, that'd be pretty fast, and I get it, but—"

Jervis's gaze met with hers and locked. She looked at him with that pleasant smile, that twinkle in her eyes. "I'm sure you've felt it before, that warm feeling in your chest that feels like it's going to burst right out and spill out, that excitement that can't be quite put down."

The neuroscientist absentmindedly put a hand over his chest, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips. "Oh— Yes! Yes, of course… I have. Course, I have," he nodded for emphasis.

Alice cocked her head to the side for a moment, expecting him to go on. Jervis, noticing how silent he'd become, suddenly spouted, "P-plenty of times! Plenty of times I've had it, hard not to when there's… so many… wonderful people… in this wonderful world."

Alice playfully nudged his shoulder. "I knew you'd get me! You always seem to…" She gave a small giggle and smile. "Seriously though, thank you for looking out for me the way you do, Jervy. A girl's grateful to have a friend like you…"

Jervis forced a bright smile. "And I'd say the same—"

The secretary's gaze was focused on Jervis before it focused past him to the clock. "Oh, oh damn it— break time's over. Thanks again, you'll know where to find me if you want to chat again—"

Jervis watched as she hurriedly got herself together to leave the break lounge. The neuroscientist then managed to muster the courage to say, "Alice—"

"Huh? Need something?" Alice asked as she looked at him with those pretty eyes again. The words stuck in his throat. "I— I hope… the confession… goes well," Jervis finally said.

"Ah, thanks! I hope it does too! See ya, Jervy~" she said before vanishing past the door frame into the fray of Wayne Tech hallways yet again.

Jervis stood there in silence as he finally took a sip of his tea… seems he oversteeped it.

It was cold and bitter by now.

[faetima]

Hello ! (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

I'm the previous anon who requested that Blade-hanahaki fic and once again, it was so good !! (I'm super excited for part two)

Now, can I please request shy reader with Scaramouche ?

Also, no need to rush and remember to take your time!

I hope you have a great day ! (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧

𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞. .

. .it tasted like something so sweet, on the tip of your tongue.

// tws ; none :3 ; gn reader ; modern au

a/n: hi anon !! 💞 im sorry this took so long, the last few weeks have been really busy for me. this was kinda just written on a whim so if you don't like it just lmk if you want me to rewrite it or write it w a different concept or smth!! <3

maybe he wasn’t that sweet.

sure, maybe every action from him had you melting like a chocolate left outside on a hot day too long. sure, maybe every action of his was sweet enough to make you nauseous. sure, maybe he was sweet like dark chocolate.

but was dark chocolate really that sweet?

some people loved dark chocolate, but you hated the bitterness of it. you had always preferred sweet things.

so why did you like him so much, when his personality was as bitter as the taste of dark chocolate?

why did you like him so much when he was practically the opposite of you?

you were like white chocolate—sweet and delicate. he was tart, just like dark chocolate.

love was supposed to be sweet, melting softly. so why was he bitter and hard?

—

you swallowed hard, heart beating faster than it ever had.

the teacher had assigned everyone specific places to sit.

scaramouche was assigned to sit next to you.

assigned to sit next to you.

assigned to sit next to you.

you kept your gaze glued to your desk as scaramouche pulled the chair next to you back, scoffing a little.

he didn’t even glance at you.

you couldn’t stop glancing at him.

just another difference between dark and white chocolate.

—

sitting next to him didn’t make it any easier to talk to him.

you were still as scared as before.

what would you say? what if he didn’t want to talk to you? what if he hated you? what would he think of you? what if he didn’t like you? what if he judged you? what if you embarrassed yourself? what if you said a joke and he didn’t laugh? what if you said something stupid? what if you tripped over your words and he laughed at you? what if-

you felt as if someone was staring at you.

you took a shaky inhale, and glanced up to your right.

scaramouche was staring at you.

he was staring at you.

he was staring at you?

immediately, he looked away, muttering something under his breath.

oh. maybe he wasn’t looking at you. maybe he was looking outside (you sat next to a wall). maybe he was looking at someone who sat next to you (again, you sat next to a wall).

he probably wasn’t looking at you. why would he anyways? he didn’t like you. he probably didn’t even know you existed even though you sat next to him.

—

he was so pretty.

scaramouche’s skin was so clear it looked like it were made out of porcelain. the color was eerily similar to that of white chocolate. a light pink—just like the color of strawberry kitkat—dusted his face, adding a soft hint of color. scaramouche swept a hand through his purple hair, eyes narrowed as he stared at the board.

god, even looking at him would give you cavities.

—

you were just sitting, when he tapped you on the shoulder.

he tapped you on the shoulder!

you glanced at him, swallowing.

“uhm, could you help me with this?” he muttered, looking away and thrusting a paper towards you. his face was bright pink.

“oh, uh, sure,” you said nervously, your voice practically shaking.

love tasted like something sweet on the tip of your tongue.

maybe he was more like milk chocolate than you had initially thought.

[writingquestionsanswered]

Worried About Traction/Why Write?

Anonymous asked: Okay answer me this, so I've read how trad publishing is going to shit, but self-publishing I doubt I could gain any traction with. Then why fucking write, ya know? People say, "write for yourself," which sounds like a lot of goody bullshit. I want people to love my writing, I need some type of validation. So, how the hell do I get anyone to care about my stories?

Just a quick note that this ask came in off Anon, and I wasn't sure if it was meant to, so I put I'm posting it Anon to be on the safe side.

So, I don't want to get too much into the "is traditional publishing dying" debacle, because it's a conversation that's complex and nuanced and outside of my energy reserves at the moment. What I will say is that the traditional publishers--the Big Five in particular--still dominate the market, especially where print books are concerned. And although self-publishing can respond more quickly to trends and shifting tastes, traditional publishing continues to evolve.

Having said that, even if traditional publishing was stronger than ever before, that wouldn't guarantee you a book deal. Even in the best of times, the odds of being traditionally published are between 1 and 2%. Even if you get a book deal, that doesn't guarantee your book will be a best-seller. Hundreds of thousands of books are traditionally published every year, and far fewer than 1% of those books will become best sellers. Being traditionally published doesn't even guarantee your book will be sold in brick and mortar bookstores. I can point you toward traditionally published books that have been out almost a year and still have fewer than 10 reviews on Amazon. I can point you toward many more with fewer than 30.

And, while we're on the subject, I can show you self-published books with thousands of reviews (positive ones, btw...)

The point is, it doesn't really matter how you publish. What you write, how you write, and how you market is far, far more important. But the reality is, most of us aren't writing the kinds of books that are going to be best-sellers, BookTok sensations, Oprah's Book Club selections, or get optioned for film rights before the ink on the book deal is even dry. So, when you say you need validation, what does that look like for you? Does it mean seeing your name at the top of the NYT best seller list for five weeks straight? Seeing your book on eye-level shelves at an international airport? Hundreds of fans showing up to your book signing? A-hundred thousand followers on Twitter eagerly awaiting news of your next release? Or, does it look like someone... anyone... enjoying your book enough to leave a 5-star review... someone calling you their favorite writer, several fans re-posting your cover reveal because they're so excited for your upcoming book, or someone writing to say your book got them through a difficult time in their lives? Because, while I would never tell you not to dare to dream of achieving the former list of expectations, I will absolutely tell you the latter list of expectations is well within your grasp. So, if that's validation enough for you, write for those people. If it isn't, and it's not enough to write for yourself, then I think all you can do is try. Write the best stories you can write. Get them out there. Promote the hell out of them and see what happens. Maybe you will be one of those lucky few who see their book at the top of the NYT best seller list for five weeks in a row. Or, maybe you won't, but you get a two-page e-mail from a fan who says your story changed their life. And maybe, after all, that's enough. Here are some posts that can help you start building a following ahead of publishing, whatever route you end up choosing. Building a buzz on social media ahead of publishing and consistent promotion afterward can make a big difference. Even if you publish traditionally. Guide: Getting Your Writing Noticed on Tumblr Guide: Author Platforms-What, Why, and How? Guide: How to Promote Yourself as a Writer/Author via Social Media 12 Sites for Sharing Original Fiction

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here