#pulling meaning from literature/written word

[romugh]

INTIMATE STUDIES - nerd!NR

pairing- nerd!natasha romanoff x reader

cw- 18+!!; top!reader, gp!bottom!natasha, handjob (n rcv), blowie (n rcv), cockwarming, praise kink, breeding kink, unprotected sex

wc- 2.3k of pure smut

a/n- quick drabble as i'm working my way through BIOLOGY stuff as an ASTROPHISICS and ARCHITECTURE STUDENT. make it make sense?? I CANNOT DO THIS ANYMORE. not proofread, wrote this in like ten minutes as i was eating an apple :D

synopsis- you're studying biology, natasha comes in, you're doing biology (with her).

The past four hours had been a never-ending slog of human reproduction notes, diagrams of genitals, and biological functions that seemed completely irrelevant to your degree. You were an astrophysics major — the mysteries of black holes and quantum fields were your calling, not the intricacies of testes and ovaries. Yet here you were, neck-deep in textbooks, scribbling notes on a subject you didn’t care for in the slightest. Your biology exam was in two days, and every second spent on it felt like time wasted.

Your hand ached from writing, and your eyes burned from staring at diagrams. The irritation crept up further, gnawing at you, until the sound of the door creaking open drew your attention. You didn’t even need to look up to know who it was.

“Hey,” Natasha’s soft voice greeted you. There was a tentative innocence to her tone, one that always tugged at your heart in a way you could never quite explain. Natasha, your shy and awkward girlfriend, a literature major who found comfort in the written word more than social situations. Your Natty — so soft, blushing, and oh-so-easy to tease.

You glanced up, the sight of her instantly pulling you from your academic misery. Natasha stood in the doorway, blonde hair slightly tousled from the nap she’d taken, round glasses sitting low on her nose, and your oversized shirt hanging loosely on her small frame. The shirt swallowed her whole, the sleeves falling past her hands, and you couldn’t help but smirk at how effortlessly adorable she looked. The fact that her boxers were barely visible under the hem of the shirt only made it worse.

She stood there for a moment, awkwardly shifting on her feet, and something about the way she looked at you made a surge of desire shoot through your veins. Natasha was always so shy, always so unsure about these moments. But that only made your pulse quicken, knowing just how easy it was to make her come undone.

“Natty,” you called, your voice low and teasing. “Want to help me study?”

She blinked, eyes wide behind her glasses, but she stepped closer, that innocent curiosity mixed with a soft blush spreading across her cheeks. Her bare legs peeked out from under the shirt, the fabric brushing against her thighs as she padded towards you. She always had this way about her—this quiet, almost timid energy that made you want to take care of her, tease her, ruin her. “Sure,” she agreed, pushing her glasses up. “What are we studying?”

You smirked, eyes narrowing as you slid your textbook to the side. “Human reproduction.”

Her blush deepened, but she tried to play it off, oblivious to the trap you were setting. “I’m not sure I can help with that. I mean, I’m more into poetry than—”

You smirked, your eyes tracing the length of her body, admiring the way the fabric of your shirt hugged her frame. “Oh, I think you can. In fact, you might be the perfect study partner.”

Her eyes widened slightly, her lips parting as she fumbled for words. “W-what do you mean?”

You caught her by the hips, guiding her until she stood between your legs, her lithe form pressed against your knees. Her blush deepened, her lips parting as she looked down at you, curiosity and nervousness swirling in her eyes.

“I can show you,” you whispered, running your hands up the sides of her thighs, pushing the hem of the oversized shirt higher and higher, revealing the fabric of her boxers. Your fingertips traced the outline of her bulge, feeling the warmth of her body beneath the thin fabric. Natasha gasped softly, her breath hitching as you palmed her gently.

“See,” you murmured, your hand cupping her clothed bulge. “This is all part of the reproductive process.”

Natasha’s eyes widened, her breath coming out shaky as she looked down at you. “I-I know that,” she stammered, but the way her legs trembled betrayed her completely.

“You didn’t expect to be part of the lesson, though, did you?” you teased, your fingers moving expertly as you tugged her boxers down, letting them pool around her ankles. Natasha whimpered softly, her hand clutching the back of your chair for support as you wrapped your hand around her fully. “So sensitive,” you cooed, stroking her with deliberate slowness, your thumb teasing the tip just enough to make her gasp.

Her entire body tensed, hips instinctively bucking into your hand as you increased the pace slightly, watching her lose composure. "Y-you're—," she tried to speak, but her voice faltered, her body betraying her with every twitch and pulse of her length in your grip.

Natasha's breathing grew more ragged, her chest heaving as she clutched the back of your chair, her knuckles turning white from the grip. Her hips twitched involuntarily into your hand, every stroke sending ripples of pleasure through her body. You could feel her getting closer, the way her length pulsed in your palm, the faint whimpers that escaped her lips.

“Y-you’re gonna make me—" Natasha’s voice was barely a whisper, her words tumbling out in a breathless stammer as she squirmed in your grasp. Her face was flushed, cheeks burning with embarrassment as she tried to hold back, but you had no intention of letting her.

"Let go," you murmured softly, your voice thick with dominance. Your hand worked her faster, the slick slide of your palm coaxing her to the edge. "Come for me, Natty."

It was all she needed. With a strangled moan, her body tensed, hips jerking forward as she came, her release spilling over your hand. Her eyes squeezed shut, her lips parting in a silent cry as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through her. You watched her, captivated by the sight of her completely undone, trembling in your hand as she rode out her orgasm.

But you weren’t done yet.

Without missing a beat, you leaned forward, your lips brushing against the tip of her sensitive length, tasting the remnants of her release. Natasha shuddered, still trying to catch her breath, but when your tongue flicked out to lick her clean, her whole body jerked, a soft gasp escaping her as you took her into your mouth.

“You taste so good,” you murmured against her, the words muffled by the weight of her in your mouth. Natasha's hips bucked again, her hands gripping the chair for dear life once again as you began to work her with your tongue, teasing her back to hardness.

Natasha's body was still trembling from her first orgasm, her breath coming out in shaky gasps as you continued your slow, teasing licks. She tried to steady herself, gripping the back of your chair harder, but the sensations were too much. Every flick of your tongue made her hips jerk forward involuntarily, and before she even knew it, she was starting to harden again.

You smirked against her length, feeling her twitch as she became fully hard in your mouth. "That's it," you murmured, lips brushing against her sensitive skin. "You're already ready for more, huh?"

Natasha whimpered, her face flushed as she bit her lip, too embarrassed to answer. But you didn’t need her to. You wanted to drive her over the edge again, and this time, you were going to take your time. Wrapping your hand around the base of her cock, you began to stroke her in tandem with the slow, deliberate bob of your head.

The warmth of your mouth surrounded her, your tongue pressing against the underside of her length as you took her deeper, inch by inch. Natasha's knees buckled slightly, and her hands flew to your hair for support, fingers tangling in the strands as she struggled to stay standing. Every moan she tried to stifle only grew louder as you picked up the pace, the wet, obscene sounds of your lips moving over her driving her wild.

"S-so good," she whimpered, her voice barely a whisper, shaking with each breath. "P-please, don’t stop."

You had no intention of stopping. Your hand continued to pump the base of her cock while your mouth worked the rest, hollowing your cheeks as you took her deeper. Natasha's hips bucked forward again, her body betraying her as she chased the pleasure. Her breaths were ragged, and you could feel her getting close again, her thighs trembling as you sucked harder, faster.

She didn’t last long. With a strangled cry, Natasha came, her entire body trembling as her release shot into your mouth. You didn’t falter, swallowing around her, not giving her a chance to recover. Her grip on your hair tightened, her whole body buckling as she tried to remain upright, but the sensation of your tongue still working her through her second orgasm made her lose control completely.

But you weren’t finished.

As soon as you felt her begin to soften slightly, you pulled back just enough to take a deep breath before plunging your mouth down again, taking her all the way to the base in one fluid motion. Natasha let out a strangled moan, her hips jerking as your throat constricted around her. She was completely helpless now, every thought leaving her mind as she lost herself in the feeling of your mouth wrapped so tightly around her. The wet, gagging sounds you made as you deepthroated her pushed her over the edge once again, her body trembling violently as she came a third time, filling your throat with her release.

"Fuck," Natasha gasped, barely able to stand as her legs gave out beneath her, her knees buckling. "I-I can't…"

But the way her hands tightened in your hair told you that she didn’t want you to stop.

As Natasha trembled before you, utterly spent and flushed from her release, you pulled away, wiping your lips with a satisfied smirk. “I think we’re done here,” you said, standing up from your chair, feigning a tone of finality.

The look of disappointment that flickered across her face was instant, and though she tried to hide it, it was exactly what you wanted. A small, embarrassed frown tugged at her lips, her hands fidgeting at her sides, but she avoided meeting your gaze.

"Something wrong?" you teased, letting your words hang in the air. Natasha’s face flushed a deeper shade of red, her mouth opening and closing as if she wanted to respond but couldn't find the words. You grinned, taking a step closer, deliberately invading her space.

"Aw, poor baby," you cooed, running a finger along her cheek, your touch feather-light. "Were you hoping for more? Did you think I was really going to leave you like this?"

Natasha’s breath hitched, her eyes darting up to meet yours, wide and vulnerable. Before she could react, you pushed her down onto your chair, her body falling back against the seat as you straddled her in one swift motion. Her cock, still hard despite her exhaustion, slid inside you with ease, stretching you as you sank down on her with a satisfied sigh.

"Fuck," Natasha gasped, her head falling back against the chair as her hands instinctively grabbed at your hips, trying to ground herself in the moment. Her eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed by the sensation of being buried inside of you, your warmth enveloping her completely.

Without missing a beat, you turned the chair to face your desk once more, your movements deliberate and controlled as you positioned yourself. Natasha’s grip on your hips tightened, but she didn’t dare move. Not yet.

You settled yourself, leaning forward slightly to grab a pen, pretending to return to your notes. Natasha’s eyes, however, were drawn to your cleavage, the way your breasts were just inches from her face. Her restraint shattered as her hands moved up from your hips, one hand slipping beneath your shirt to cup your breast while the other wrapped around your back to pull you closer.

She began to worship your breasts, her lips eagerly pressing against your skin, kissing and sucking, leaving wet marks along the curve of your chest. The soft weight of your breasts in her hands made her lose all sense of control. Her hips bucked slightly beneath you, the friction sending shocks of pleasure through both of you. You couldn't help but smirk, knowing full well what was coming next.

Natasha’s breathing grew more erratic, her kisses becoming more desperate, and before she even realized what was happening, she was coming inside of you. Her hands stilled, her body tensed beneath yours, her hips jerking up as she filled you with her release, barely fifteen seconds after you’d settled onto her lap.

“F-fuck!” Natasha gasped, her face flushed with shame as the realization hit her. “I—oh god, I didn’t mean to—I’m so sorry, I didn’t know—”

Her words were cut off as her eyes widened in panic, suddenly aware that you hadn’t put a condom on her. Her hands gripped your waist, frozen in place as she stammered out apologies.

"Shh," you murmured, cupping her cheek with a soft smile, brushing her lips with your thumb. "It's okay, Nat. Don't worry." You leaned down, kissing her forehead softly. “I wanted this.”

Natasha looked up at you with wide, bewildered eyes, her blush intensifying as she tried to comprehend your words. “But I—”

You cut her off with another kiss, silencing her before she could spiral further into embarrassment. “I said, it’s okay,” you repeated, your voice firm but gentle. "You did nothing wrong."

Despite her lingering guilt, Natasha nodded, her breathing still unsteady. Her body relaxed beneath you as she wrapped her arms around your waist, resting her head against your chest, her blush deepening as she continued to mumble soft apologies.

For the rest of the day, you stayed that way, continuing to study while cockwarming her, her cock still snug inside you. Every half hour, like clockwork, Natasha’s body betrayed her once more. She’d shudder beneath you, gripping your hips as another orgasm washed over her, filling you again and again.

And each time, her face would flush with embarrassment, her whispered apologies slipping from her lips, but you simply smiled, squeezing her tighter, grounding her in your warmth as you reassured her again and again: this was exactly what you wanted.

a/n again- oops? i'm going back to studying again, see y'all! (no taglist for drabbles, unless y'all want one i suppose)

[milswrites]

The Trials of Aphrodite Part Two

~ Azriel X Fem!Reader

Series Masterlist

Series summary: Hopelessly in love with Elain, Azriel enlists your help in order to win her over. The only problem? You have been in love with Azriel for as long as you have known him.

Chapter summary: You find out exactly how difficult playing wingwoman for Azriel is going to be.

Warnings: Lil angsty (pining and unrequited love)

Your mother had once told you that to love was to hurt. That once you gave your heart to another, their burdens were yours to share. That true love was to share in each other's loads no matter how heavy the weight may be.

It was that true love, that all-consuming desire to see Azriel smile, free from the weight of his burdens, that had led you to say yes to his proposal. It had been your unrequited love for your best friend that had cursed you with the misfortune of sacrificing your heart if only to allow his to beat for another.

Love could be cruel and unforgiving. Your aching heart and troubled thoughts were evidence enough of that.

Yet love could also be beautiful. This can be seen in the way it can persist in even the darkest of times. At how even when you are alone, the feeling never fails to fade. To love is to never forget someone, to never allow them to suffer in silence.

To love was to live. It was just unfortunate that for you, it felt as though you had only started living after you had met Azriel.

Love was a feeling to be reciprocated and despite the fact Azriel didn't feel the heart-stopping way you did about him, there was no denying that the male loved you in other ways.

In the way he had sought comfort from you last night, choosing to share his troubles with you as he valued your company and opinions. Even now, as you greeted the male the next morning, Azriel showed his love for you by wrapping you in a bone-crushing embrace. His tense wings, easing at your familiar touch.

Yet while Azriel's love for you gifted him comfort and security, it was your love for him which only brought you pain. Your tender heart aching at the recognizable scent of night-chilled mist and cedar as it flooded your senses, pained that the scent you find so comforting belongs to a male you couldn’t have.

And whilst your dearest friend excitedly rambled on about the object of his affections as the two of you walked through the bustling streets of Velaris, his words of adoration begging to be heard.

It was only when you began to close your eyes and dream that Azriel's heartfelt words were directed towards you, that you had to shake yourself from your lovesick stupor. Reminding yourself of the reason you had joined him on this stroll, of the person the two of you had met to talk about. Grateful of the cooling breeze which aided in focusing your thoughts and quelling your rising distress.

Azriel had often said that he needn't resort to poetry in order to win over women, yet the way he spoke about Elain was lyrical. Every word of praise and compliments was recited as though it had been a piece of sacred literature written by the gods.

The worst part about it? It only pulled you deeper still into the tempestuous ocean that was loving Azriel. If you were a helpless victim to his thoughtful prose, drowning in the words of his affections, you had no doubt that Elain would be just as hopelessly trapped in his gravitational field as you were.

Azriel was magnetic, you had always known that the male's love for his friends was enough to topple mountains. But the way he described his longing for Elain was earth-shattering. It was the type of love that every little girl dreamed of one day having, the same love you still chased after.

You hung onto every word he said, allowing the force of his emotions to consume you in your entirety. Only being drawn from your hypnotic state upon registering his final worrying sentence which caused you to stop in your tracks due to your shock.

"Wait. . .wait. What do you mean Rhysand said no?" you panicked, hoping you had misheard your friend.

"Well, he kind of said that I weren't to see Elain anymore" Azriel said casually as though not to scare you anymore than he already had. His worried eyes meeting your own, the male afraid that you were about to back out of your promise to help him out of fear of upsetting your High Lord.

"And you were going to tell me this when?" you hissed at Azriel who’s face now wore a mask of guilt, his shadows skittering at the intensity of your words, "You were just going to let me go behind his back, against his will and help you get together with someone he's said you're not even allowed to be around?"

"He's just worried about how Lucien will react that's all" Azriel reasoned, begging eyes telling you to let this go. Asking you not to give back the heavy burden you had opted to share with him.

"Oh cauldron boil me!" you exclaimed, obviously having accepted this task knowing Lucien would be a factor, yet your love for Azriel had blinded you from seeing the consequences that would come with this pairing, "Az, this could mean a blood duel. I won't - I can't see you get hurt, get killed."

"You truly think that is a fight I could not win?" he asked in hurt, voice cracking at the assumption that you may not believe in his capabilities.

You sigh as you tried to ignore the pestering voice inside of you which told you to trust in your friend, in the man you loved. A spark of hope igniting in Azriel's eyes as he noted your swaying opinions.

"I love her" he announced, saying the words aloud for the first time, speaking them into reality, "I love her so much it hurts. From when I first wake in the morning to when I go to sleep at night my thoughts are only of Elain. I have never been more certain that she was made for me, that she is intended to be mine. Lucien wouldn't call for a blood duel if he saw she felt the same, he’d let it go. But please I need your help, I need you. Surely you can understand that every day without Elain by my side is agony, that my heart will know no peace until she is mine."

Tears stung in your eyes at his confession, a painful lump beginning to form in your throat as you swallowed the words you so longed to scream at him. Because you did understand, more than anyone. Because just as much as Azriel believed Elain was his person, you believed he was yours.

"No blood duels" you ordered, once more falling victim to the love you held for Azriel, "And no upsetting Rhysand, if he tells you to stop perusing her once more that's it. You have to let her go."

"I can't let her go" Azriel solemnly stated as you swallowed down the lump in your throat harshly, heart pounding at the realization that you knew that feeling all too well, "Which is why your help would mean everything to me. I may always find a way to mess things up but you never do. You always know exactly what to say and do. You never fail to make me feel seen, feel wanted. I trust you. I need my friend for this, I need you."

You weren't sure how he did it, how he managed to lace each and every word with the same poetic beauty of which he spoke about Elain. Yet he did, each syllable working to thaw the icy shield you had risen in retaliation to Azriel's confession.

Your walls melting, you release one last hopeless sigh as you begin to walk again, moving away from Azriel to continue on your stroll, "Come on we better get started, there's a lot of work to be done if we're going to pull this off."

And if only you knew how true those words would turn out to be.

Part three

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Taglist:

@a-cup-of-nightshade @yearninglustfully @illyrianbitch @ninaduchess @sarawritestories @annaaaaa08 @antiquecultist @madelyncullen @erencvlt @chaytea06 @dxjaaaa @saltedcoffeescotch @spark1epuffba11s @thestartitaness @amysangel @historygeekqueen @thelov3lybookworm @aaronwarnerobsessedmylove @willowpains @thebeautifulmysteriesoflife @dreamlandreader @sidthedollface2 @leeknows-wife @riorgail @eve175 @evergreenlark @anuttellaa @daily-dose-of-sass @jesus-is-me @tothestarsandwhateverend

[moonstruckme]

Glad your back love! I have a request if that’s alright. Remus and reader going on a bookstore date and lunch or something!! That would be so cute. Imagine how excited both of them would be picking out books and being affectionate. Just a lot of fluff and cuteness. Thanks sweetness hope you enjoyed your break!

Thanks for requesting sweetness!

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

You’re feeling a bit guilty about the teas you’ve snuck in, but if there are two people who can be trusted around books, it’s you and Remus. He takes a careful sip as he leans in to skim the titles, sticking one hand in the pocket of his pants. 

“Island of Love,” he reads, amusement lilting his tone. “Original.” 

“I think I’ve actually read some of that author’s stuff,” you say. 

Remus quirks a brow at you interestedly, hand coming out of his pocket to pull the novel from the shelf. “Let’s see, a summer wedding, the groom’s brother and bride’s maid of honor hate each other, but—oh, he’s frustratingly attractive…and something about passionate summer heat.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “Wonder what that could be alluding to.” 

“Alright.” You steal the book from him, slotting back into its space. “I never said this stuff was, like, literature to be studied at Oxford. If you’re going to disrespect my section, run along to yours.” 

“Fairly sure it’s considered rude to abandon your date,” he muses. “What’s my section, by the way?”

“Depressing stuff.” 

“Oh?” 

“Mhm.” You take a sip of your own tea, trying not to fluster under his attention. You scan the shelves idly for a distraction. “It’s all rather doom and gloom. Very well-written doom and gloom, to be fair, but I’m not always looking to have my life changed. This stuff is fun, at least.” 

“I see,” he hums. “Oh, this looks familiar.” 

You turn to see him holding up the shiny new version of the worn and waterstained paperback that rests perpetually on your nightstand at home. 

“How do you know about that?” you ask him. 

Remus smiles. Your heart flutters. “It was on the coffee table when I was over last week. Are you rereading it?” 

“Yeah.” You shrug, turning your eyes away from him. “I reread it a lot, it’s my favorite.” 

“Mm, I noticed it looked fairly battered.” 

“Well-loved,” you correct him. 

He chuckles quietly, and you grin because you can’t help it. “Right, so sorry. My mistake.” 

You brush a piece of hair out of your face, slotting it behind your ear. Watch Remus’ eyes track the movement. “So what’s your battered book?” 

“Hm?” 

“Your favorite,” you clarify. “The book that’s all war torn and full of nonsensical annotations.”

He thinks for a minute. “I’m not sure,” he admits. “I have a few I go back and forth between, but lately it’s been The Secret History.” 

You have to cover your mouth with a hand to hide the full breadth of your smile, and Remus narrows his eyes at you. 

“What?” he asks.

“That book is so depressing.” You shake your head, delighted at being so right. “I mean, it’s beautifully written,” you amend. “Really gorgeous. I’m just not sure I found the plot as compelling as the prose.” 

His mouth actually drops open. You can’t tell how much of the shock is teasing and how much is real. “You thought that book had no plot?” 

“No, I mean, plenty happened.” You turn to face him, forgetting about the books around you for a moment to focus on this one. “But I felt like it happened so slowly, and there was so much in between that was just tons of description. It was like they almost skimmed over the murder part! There were so many plotlines that were brought in and then just disappeared, though I guess I can respect the ways in which it reflected real life.”

You think for a second that Remus might argue with you (he should, really—it’s his favorite book and you’re slandering it), but he keeps his mouth shut, watching you interestedly. 

“And don’t you think Richard was a bit passive? Henry and Bunny had so much going on, but the narrator could have literally been a fly on the wall the whole time. He kind of reminds me of Nick Carroway, you know?” 

“From the Great Gastby?” He tilts his head, eyes squinting a bit (it’s devastatingly cute). “How’s that?” 

“Just, they’re both such flat characters.” You frown. “I don’t really think either of them needed to be in the story at all. I mean, having a narrator that’s a character with no personality is effectively the same as having a non-omniscient third-person narrator, right?” 

Remus is biting the inside corner of his lips like he’s trying not to smile. “Right.” 

“What?”

“I’m just thinking that I need to get you talking about books more often,” he says. And that’s real affection in his eyes, mixed in with the humor. 

You look down, grinning at the front of your shirt, but his little smile doesn’t waver. 

“Shouldn’t be hard,” you say. An awkward, obvious sidestep of the compliment, but he lets you get away with it. “Your turn. Let’s go to your section.” 

He shrugs. “If you think you can stand it,” he says, but starts moving in that direction. You notice he’s still holding the copy of your favorite book. 

“Aren’t you going to put that back?” 

“No.” He doesn’t need to look down to know what you’re talking about. “You’ve already torn one of my choice novels to shreds, now it’s my turn to read yours.” 

A little bite of nervousness snips behind your belly button even as his sidelong look lets you know he’s only joking. “You could always borrow mine.” 

Remus blinks. “I’m flattered that you’d trust me with it,” he says, and it almost has you blushing again, that he knows the significance of you offering him your copy, “but I think I’ll read the un-annotated version first. But if the offer still stands after I’m finished, I’d love to read your thoughts on it.” 

He says it like it’s nothing. Like taking the time to read your favorite book twice, just so he can get to know you more thoroughly, isn’t the sweetest thing anyone’s ever so much as thought of doing for you. You worry that if you look down, your heart will be glowing right through your shirt.

“Alright.” You muster your courage, taking him by the hand. “But now we also have to find one to read together.” 

Remus has looked down at your joined hands, something like shyness coloring his expression, but he looks up to quirk an eyebrow at you. “Are you so sure we’ll be able to find something we can agree upon?” “So long as it involves a main character that actually does something, I think we can manage.”

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Hallowed

Pairing: Michael Gavey (Saltburn) x f!reader Warnings: Toxic relationship dynamics, face sitting, smut. Word count: ~1.3k

Summary: Her Early Medieval Literature essay is due, and Michael has his own cruel way of ensuring she stays focused.

Author's note: Can be read as part two of this fic, but also works as a standalone. Day six of the Smuffmas prompts - "future and face sitting". No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

She lounges on Michael’s bed, clad in only knickers and one of his t-shirts, a copy of the Canterbury Tales grasped lightly between her fingers. Her eyes move over the words of Chaucer, but take none of them in, how could they? His long fingers draw lazy circles on her ankle, her legs stretched out up to the pillows where he reclines, the duvet wrapped around his bare midriff while he reads from a textbook called the Book of Proof.

Life feels simpler since Michael has entered it, despite the turbulent beginnings. She has given up her friends, under his advice, and there is now far less pressure to conform. Her only focuses are her studies and pleasing him, the latter of the two she takes great pleasure in.

It is always on his terms; when they see each other, what they do, how they do it, and despite his obvious initial inexperience he is a fast learner. His ability to make her fall apart, to make her relinquish all control is something he does expertly. The slight fear she feels towards him only adds to the excitement; he could destroy her if he wanted to, but if she plays nicely then he won’t, and she is more than happy to play nicely when the rewards for doing so are as satisfying as they are.

She sighs, his fingers upon her flesh making her core throb with want, even from the simple gesture of absentmindedly touching her leg. She lets her book slip from her fingers, raising up on her elbow to look at him.

“Michael…” she whines.

He looks at her impassively, adjusting his glasses. “The first of your three essays is due soon, isn’t it?”

“Mmm,” she responds with a roll of her eyes, flopping back down and stretching her arms above her head. “Early Medieval Literature.”

His hand moves from her ankle, fingertips ghosting over the exposed skin between the hem of his t-shirt and the waistband of her underwear. “And what have you written?”

She shivers beneath his touch, squirming slightly. “Am I really here to study?”

“I’ve no interest in sleeping with a failing literature student,” he pulls his hand away and she immediately misses his warmth. “So tell me.”

She groans in frustration. “Oh, I don’t know. Probably something about irony in the Merchant’s Tale.”

His textbook thuds closed and she hears the heavy sound of him dropping it onto the bedside table. When she chances to glance up at him she sees he is sitting straighter in the bed, his gaze hardened as he looks at her. “Probably?! You mean you haven’t started it? Have you even thought about your thesis statement, your in-depth analysis or how you’re going to conclude your ideas, if you’ve even had any?”

“Oh, come on,” she says softly, sitting up and reaching for him. “There’s still time. Can’t we just–”

“No,” he cuts her off. “I’ve been spoiling you, and it’s made you stupid.”

“I’m not stupid!” She protests. “If I remember correctly, it was you who called my degree a ‘glorified book club’.”

“You still need to try,” he tells her, frowning.

“You don’t try,” she argues with a shrug,” and marks in your first year don’t count towards the final degree.”

“I don’t have to try, but I still get firsts in everything. Marks this year may not count towards the final degree you get, but they count towards you keeping your scholarship. Think about your future instead of being a fucking brat for once in your life.”

His words are a sharp sting to her already fragile ego, and she lowers her gaze, fighting the sudden urge to cry.

“I’m not touching you again until your essay’s handed in and I’ve seen what your mark is.”

Her head snaps up, eyes wide with disbelief as she looks at him, searching his features for any indication that he’s being unserious. She finds none; he really means it.

“And you’re not to touch yourself. I’ll know.”

The next two weeks are torturous for her. On the occasions that Michael does invite her to his room, there is no more casual half dressed lounging on his bed. Instead, he has a study space set up for her at his desk, and won’t allow her to speak or leave until she has at least a thousand words written. 

They meet up in the library during free periods so that he can read through what she’s written, and her skin burns hot with humiliation each time he screws up a page and throws it into the waste paper bin, calling her arguments “lazy” and “uninspired”.

It lights a fire of determination beneath her, but bubbling under the surface is also a heightened state of arousal, driven by the lack of intimacy, and the fact that she finds that she likes it when he is so authoritative over her.

By the time she has finished, she has produced an essay that both her and Michael are satisfied with; it discusses the use of irony in Chaucer’s poem, the Merchant's Tale. She has used a number of excerpts and lines from the poem for analysis, revealing the instances of irony in each, and from this has determined that the irony Chaucer used in the Merchant's Tale is controlled.

Her eyes light up when Professor Ware hands it back, and she sees the 85% that’s circled at the top of it.

A first.

She feels giddy with excitement as she knocks on Michael’s door that evening, brandishing the now dog-eared pages at him as he opens the door.

“A first, I got a first!” She squeals, watching as he takes the essay from her, his eyes moving slowly over the top page.

“Hmmm,” he settles it down on the desk, removing his glasses and placing them on top. “Take off your jeans and underwear.”

“Wha–what?” She stammers, her grin fading.

“You want your reward, don’t you?” He asks, moving to lay back on the bed.

She swallows thickly, excitement fluttering in her lower belly, as she quickly complies, ridding herself of the clothing that covers her lower half.

“Come here,” he commands softly.

She joins him on the bed, a gasp leaving her as he manhandles her until her knees are positioned either side of his head.

“My clever girl,” he whispers. His words could be mistaken for softness, were they not directly juxtaposed by the rapid darkening of his blue eyes, and the way his thumbs drag across the indentations between her thighs and pelvis. “I knew you could do it, you just needed a little…push.”

He drags his tongue from her opening all the way to her pearl, and her jaw goes slack, the wet sensation making her clench as she falls forward, hands clawing at the wall in front of her.

His grip on her thighs tightens and he tugs her flush against his face, the sloppy sounds of him devouring her are lewd combined with the wanton cries of pleasure that tumble from her lips.

She feels her mind go blank as he inserts his tongue inside of her, keeping it rigid as she begins to grind herself in a circular motion, keeping his nose pressed against where she needs it most, desperately chasing the release she’s needed the last couple of weeks.

His hum of appreciation reverberates through her core, and as he withdraws from her, plush lips wrapping around her sensitive bundle of nerves she feels herself fall apart as the growing ache intensifies, completely at his mercy as he laps at her, while white hot waves of pleasure wash over her.

She raises up when it becomes too much, jerking at how oversensitive she feels and gazes down at him through heavy lidded eyes, breathless.

He looks like an utterly different person without his glasses, almost kind, though she knows better. His chin is shiny with her slick as he smirks up at her.

“You’ve worked so hard,” he says quietly, though the edge of malevolence to his voice is unmistakable. “But don’t worry, you can give that pretty little mind of yours a rest while I fuck you stupid again.”

She is powerless to resist as he tugs her back to his face once more, beginning the exquisite torture all over again.

[mygnolia]

CALCU-CRUSH! ♡ 04. holding hands in rugby stands

୨୧ SMAU! SYNOPSIS -›  Yeah, Park Sunghoon might be just a little annoying- but hey! at least he can help you get an A in AP CALC, and he will never a crush on you to make things super weird and complicated, right? [1.3k WORDS]

If there’s two things your tutor is good at, it’s bring punctual, and teaching you trigonometry.

Sunghoon texts you after your last class, keeping his word. He meets you in the library, and thankfully, despite how busy it gets, Sunghoon finds a small and secluded table for the two of you. You find him scrolling on his phone, with his notebook out, before you clear your throat and pull the chair in front of him. When he puts his phone away and gathers a few materials from his bag, you take it as a sign to mirror his actions, pulling the dreaded red paper from your backpack with a look of shame.

“If you would’ve told be this paper came from ___ ___, I wouldn’t believe you.” He chuckles, scanning over the pages. So much red. What were you even doing during class? Our APUSH report??” He gawks, and it sets off a defensive flare as well as your embarrassment.

“We all make mistakes.” You try to reason in defense.

“I’m just messing with you, ____.” Sunghoon sighs, adjusting his chair to lean over and assessing the questions with you.

Sunghoon’s hair falls into his eyes when he works, and he has the habit of shaking it out or combing it back every few minutes as he begins to review the chapter you two were on, and you smile as you watch him try to tuck it behind his ears. He points out your mistakes carefully, and as much as you are paying attention to the hour he spends trying to show you how to do the first page, you catch the light scent of his fresh and floral fragrance the more you nod and scoot your chair closer. And when Sunghoon turns to you, you notice his lips, rosy and full as he licks them out of nervous.

“Here,” he taps with his pencil, and your eyes follow to the paper where he’s written a problem out, which looks primarily composed of letters rather than numbers. But if anything, Sunghoon’s explanations are well thought out and full of reasoning and detail. You were only distracted by the proximity once. When you present him the answer, going over the steps, Sunghoon thoughtfully points out a section you made a minor mistake with, and smiles.

“I’m glad you’re catching on. Means I won’t have to do this for long.” He begins to close his books while you pout.

“I think after today, we’re great friends.” You say half sarcastically. “How’s your little project with Wonyoung going?” He shrugs, grabbing his bag to put on the table.

“I switched. Didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable or anything, and the teacher said I could.”

“You really aren’t going to try and woo her? Like- at all?” He shakes his head, a grin pulling at his lips.

“Haven’t you heard of bro-code?”

Humming in agreement, you still press on. “Why did you even like her if you knew Jake did?”

“I was never expecting anything from it. I just wanted to get close because she’s also pretty smart- but also because Jake kept denying that anything was going on between them too, so I half wanted to be friends, and half wanted to see how much Jake really liked her since he’s dumb and doesn’t realize his feelings.” You snicker at his slight dig, but you get where Sunghoon is coming from. It’s good to know at least that he didn’t want anything serious, and knew when to back off.

“So you felt more adoration for her?” And he nods. “Do you think they’ll get together anytime soon?”

Sunghoon scoffs, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat. “The most they’d do is hold hands in those rugby stands after his games. He seems like he likes being around her, and whether that means they’re friends or more is up to them. Plus they both need each other. Jake is way too afraid to get a B in AP Language and Wonyoung is great at Literature.”

“You know those two are different right?” And he scowls at you, furrowing his eyebrows as he tightens the way he crosses his arms.

“Of course I know they’re different!” And you smile at his whining, putting your hands up in surrender.

“Okay, whatever. Can we can ice cream now like you said?”

“Only if you tell me everything.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “What else to I have to tell you?”

“The whole plan. The whole situation. If not, I won’t help you out on today’s worksheet.”

“I don’t need help on it,” You huff, standing up to grab your bag. It’s Sunghoon’s turn to question your confidence, considering how you two were texting during that period.

“Fine. But don’t come to me on Saturday with questions.”

You two both leave the library, taking the short walk to the convenience store to finally get some well deserved treats. When you both pick out your flavors, Sunghoon leads you both to a bench nearby as you sit with your backpacks and talk.

“So you’re okay with Jake talking to Wonyoung?”

Sunghoon rolls his eyes. “I’ve said this a million times.”

You move on. “The plan was to get you to try and have feelings for someone else, and then convinve Wonyoung she liked Jake.”

“So she knew I kind of liked her?”

You make a sound in half agreement and half denial, trying to figure out how to explain this part without sounding like a horrible person. “Well, we asked if she would ever be interested in you. Like, when you notice a girl and think, wow, my friend would like her.”

He scoffs, taking a bite of his ice cream. “We do not do that!”

You frown. “That’s beside the point. Let’s just say you did, okay?” And Sunghoon offers you an unconvincing nod. “Well, that’s how we got Wonyoung to confess she liked Jake. But at the time, we didn’t exactly know that Jake liked her too. We thought you liked her and your friends were just cheering you on. So we were super worried that because Wonyoung didn’t return your feelings, me and Karina would be the assholes for not telling you, and I’d be an even bigger asshole for trying to help you get closer. So operation ‘Look Lost in the Math Classrooms’ was made.”

Sunghoon laughs, shaking his head as he looks at you incredulously. “Who was I supposed to catch feelings for instead? Karina?”

You bit your lip, opting to bite a large chunk of the ice cream to buy time to think. “Not quite. That part I can’t exactly tell you.”

He whines, leaning back against the bench and throwing his stick into the trash can. “What?? Was it you, then?”

Yeah- there was no denying it at this point. You nod. “But it wasn’t like I wanted to! That’s emotional manipulation!”

“I’m glad you are a decent human being then.” He jokes, still not sure how to process everything. He feels a bit confused as to how adamantly you refused the idea of catching feelings for him, but drops it, not close enough to you to really think it over too much. But his leave is abrupt, and you don’t want him to think of you as a bad person at all.

“That’s why I told you, Sunghoon. Because I didn’t want you to have to stop liking Wonyoung without knowing the reason why.”

Sunghoon’s not really good at feelings, but he knows your explanation is honest, and he can appreciate it. And he tries to think about it again, seeing the holes in your plan and how it wouldn’t have worked.

“So operation ‘Look Lost in the Math Classrooms’ isn’t a thing, right?” And with the shakes of your head, Sunghoon trusts you this time. “Yeah, your plan was dumb anyways.”

You throw the wooden stick from your ice cream in his direction, and he shouts before avoiding your germs. “That’s gross!” He whines, and you can’t stop laughing at Park Sunghoon.

prev ♡ ml ♡ next

୨୧ REN SAYS... yippee written chapter yayy

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[bingwriterxo]

the shakespeare exhibit - part 3

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: in which you and tara have a study date

warnings: none

word count: 1700+

author's note: pure fluff, some fluff, and a little more fluff

previous part | next part

“Can you name three of Shakespeare’s histories, tragedies, and comedies?”

I wonder how planes fly. Like, where’s the physics in that? Tara thought as she stared blankly at the notebook in front of her, the page filled with half-assed notes about literature. And why can’t we fly? That’s bullshit.

“Tara? Are you with me?”

This mattress is really comfy. I should ask her where she got it.

“Tar?”

Tara glanced up at the sound of your voice, blushing as she realized that you had been asking her a question, which had promptly flown over her head because of how boring the topic was.

“Sorry, what was the question?” she asked sheepishly, smiling at the way you giggled.

“Three histories, three tragedies, three comedies,” you said.

She’ll be lucky if I can even name three plays in general. Tara huffed, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth as she thought. “Okay, comedies: Twelfth Night, The Merchant of Venice, and…uh, The Winter’s Tale?”

You tilted your head, eyes narrowed as you thought about her answer. “Twelfth Night and The Merchant of Venice, yes, but The Winter’s Tale is technically labeled as a tragicomedy nowadays.” What the fuck is a tragicomedy? Tara thought. She blinked at you, and you clicked your tongue. “I think your professor would accept that, though. Next?”

“Othello, Antony and Cleopatra, and Titus Andronicus--tragedies.” You nodded, not even sparing a glance at your own note sheet that you had pulled out to help Tara study. How does she just know this shit off the top of her head? “And histories? All of the Henry plays.”

You chuckled. “Can you be more specific?”

“No.”

“Tar, come on.” You crossed the room and sat on your bed, leaving your desk abandoned. She held her breath at your sudden closeness, your shoulder nudging against hers as you pointed at her notebook. “You have them written down.” You squinted. “I think? Tara, I can’t even read this.”

She looked down at her notes. What she had thought was legible writing was, in fact, just chicken-scratch. “Oh,” she said. “I think I was falling asleep during this lecture.” She sighed and leaned back against your pillows. “This is stupid. I’m a film major! I don’t need to know about Shakespeare or Hawthorne or the Pope!”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Do you mean Pope, as in Alexander Pope?”

Tara frowned. “Same difference.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works.” You shook your head, giggling. “Look, I know you find literature boring--”

“Literature is the bane of my existence,” she stated, crossing her arms over her chest.

You leaned back, and Tara tensed as you placed your head on her shoulder. Must. Stay. Perfectly. Still.

“You didn’t have to take Intro to Lit., you know. There’s a lot of other courses that could’ve fulfilled this credit.”

She grumbled. “Mindy told me to take it. She said it would be easy.” She clenched her jaw. “It’s not easy.”

A laugh erupted from your throat, shaking Tara’s frame, and a grin pulled at her lips at the sound. “Of course she would think it’s easy, Tar,” you said. “She likes literature.”

“Whatever,” she huffed.

You sat up and twisted yourself so that you could look at her, your eyes soft and smile softer. “Come on.” You pulled lamely at her arm. “We’ve gotta get back to studying.”

“Fine.” She sat up and rested her chin on your shoulder. “But I’m not happy about it.” She felt as you shivered when she spoke, her breath painting over the skin of your cheek.

Your eyes flitted down to her lips, and just when she thought you were about to lean in, you asked, “Can you explain the idea of the Blazon to me?”

She clamped her eyes shut. This girl will be the death of me. She opened her eyes, looked at the small smile that was always on your lips whenever you were around her, and sighed out, “Okay.” And I’ll gladly accept that death.

* * *

“There’s only, like, three more authors we have to go over, Tar.”

It had been nearly four hours since you had moved away from Shakespeare and onto the other works that Tara had been reading for her literature class, and it was safe to say that Tara was burned out.

“Can’t we just take a nap or something instead?” she asked. She tugged at the sleeve of your sweatshirt to pull you to lay back with her. “Or make out?”

The tips of your ears turned bright pink, and she was sure that if you were facing her, the rest of your face would be the same hue. “Shut up,” you mumbled. You looked at her, and her guess was proven correct--you were blushing all over. “We have to do Emily Dickinson.”

“Oh! Like that TV series with Hailee Steinfeld.”

Your eyes widened. “You watched that?”

She shrugged. “Some of it, but I was only paying attention to--”

“Hailee Steinfeld, of course.” You chuckled. “You didn’t listen to any of the poems, did you?”

She waved you off. “Of course I didn’t.”

You shook your head and looked down at her notes, eyebrows furrowing and a scoff pushing past your lips. “You guys didn’t even read any of her best poems,” you said. You stood suddenly, and Tara watched as you crossed the room to your backpack, pulling out a small, battered, leather-bound journal. You cracked it open. “Like, how did your professor never assign ‘I Cannot Live With You’?”

Tara shrugged. “Never heard of it.”

You cleared your throat. “‘I cannot live with you,’” you began, taking small steps toward the bed as you read. “‘It would be life--, and life is over there--, behind the shelf.’” You sat on the edge of the bed, eyes still trained on your notebook. “‘The Sexton keeps the key to--, putting up, our life--his porcelain--, like a cup.’”

Tara listened as you continued to read her the poem, her heartbeat speeding up at each word that rolled off your tongue. You looked so peaceful reading poetry, like you had just made your way home after a long trip, and she gulped. Jesus Christ, she thought. Could she be any more perfect?

“‘So we must meet apart--, you there--I--here--, with just the door ajar, that oceans are--and prayer--, and that white sustenance--, despair,’” you finished, glancing up at her when you were done. She was staring back at you with half-lidded eyes and her mouth slightly agape. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

“You’re beautiful,” she breathed out, and you smiled, blushing again. “Can we makeout now? Because that was, like, the hottest thing ever.”

You shut your journal and threw it near Tara’s notebook. “You’re horrible,” you joked. She shrugged, like she couldn’t be blamed for wanting to pounce on you. “Since your mind is so set on kissing me, let’s turn your studying into a little game.”

Tara eyebrow’s furrowed. Why won’t she just make out with me? “A game?”

“I’ll ask you questions, and if you get them right, you’ll get a kiss,” you said. She nodded fervently and sat up, hovering over her notebook.

“Okay! I’m ready!” She glanced at you, watching as you giggled to yourself. “Also, before we start, is this entire thing”--she pointed at your journal--“filled with poems?”

You shook your head. “The back half is poems, the front half is plays and novels.”

She picked up the little book and opened it, eyes widening at your delicate handwriting detailing different plays that you wanted to read or novels that your professors suggested. She flipped to the back half, where she found pages upon pages of poems written out, some from Emily Dickinson, some from authors she had never heard of in her life.

“You’re such a nerd, you know,” she teased, putting the journal back down.

“Yeah, a nerd that’s gonna get you a passing grade on this damn midterm.” You grabbed her notebook from her, leafing through the pages before settling on a topic. “Okay, what literary period was Alexander Pope in?” you asked.

“Uh, an old one,” Tara said lamely.

You glared at her lightly. “Tar, I’m not kissing you until you get one right, so you might as well try.”

She huffed. “Fine.” Literary period? Stupid. It’s all stupid. “The Restoration?”

“Close,” you said. “Wanna try again?”

“No.”

You rolled your eyes teasingly. I’d like to see her eyes rolling in a different way-- “It’s the Augustan Age. What about Jonathan Swift?”

“Oh! I know this! It’s also the Augustan Age, ‘cause he and Pope were friends.”

You tilted your head. “They weren’t really friends, but--”

“But that’s right, isn’t it? Don’t I get my kiss now?”

You chuckled at her eagerness. “You sure do.” Tara leaned forward, and she frowned when you put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. “If you can name one piece that Swift wrote.”

She gasped, placing a hand on her chest. “You said you’d kiss me if I got a question right!” she whined.

“I also said I’d get you to pass this test.” You raised an eyebrow at her. “So, what did Swift write? Give me literally anything.”

Cruel Summer, Cardigan, Back to December. She shook her head. That’s Taylor Swift, stupid. Jonathan Swift, on the other hand…

“Uh, ‘A Modest Proposal’?”

You leaned forward, pressed your lips to hers, and she grinned into the kiss. Win!

“Good job, baby,” you said when you pulled away, your eyes widening when you realized the pet name that had slipped out. “I mean, uh--”

“‘Baby’, huh?” She bit her bottom lip and smiled. “I could get used to hearing you say that.”

bonus: “i got an A on my midterm!” tara exclaimed from where she sat at her desk, eyes on her laptop, which displayed the grade that had just been released.

mindy, who was scrolling through her phone on tara’s bed, jumped at the sound. “you got an A? On Intro to Lit.?”

tara grinned. “it pays having an english major for a girlfriend.”

“girlfriend?!” mindy immediately started scrambling on her phone, and tara heard her own phone buzz on her desk a minute later. she picked it up, glancing at the screen.

you :D (9:43pm): girlfriend, huh?

you :D (9:43pm): i wasn’t aware we were girlfriends yet

tara (9:44pm): hold that thought

tara twisted in her seat, eyes narrowed at mindy. “i swear to god, i am going to strangle you.”

[bruciemilf]

I AM SO FUCKING WEAK. FOR THE JASON AND STARFIRE FRIENDSHIP. YOU GUYS DON'T GET IT, GOSH-

Tall sunshine/Tall angry murder kitten

" someone will die'' " of FUN :DDDDD"

Girls who say brah/girls who say HIIIIII energy

Jason trying to give Kori the shovel talk for Dick (Not because he cares; But someone needs to be there to annoy, and unless the world's ending, he won't willingly interact with Tim) but. Godamn it.

Her eyes are so big. Like an overly grown puppy. He can't do it. "... Just. Y'know. Try not to set his heart on fire and eat it. " " I would NEVER :(((" " WELL DONT CRY-"

Jason pulls Dick aside when Kori visits the Wayne manor for the first time, corners him, whispers very lowly, " We're out of mustard. Go. Get. Some."

Literally Jason being protective of his 6'4 sister in law/bestie he'd marry if he knew Dick wouldn't throw a fit. He specifically says " Damian, I PROMISE YOU, if you do anything to scare her intentionally, milk will NEVER taste the same when I'm done with you"

it's an elephant being scared of a mouse situation, - Kory is the most nervous to meet Damian out of anyone and Jason's like, so who wants to share embarassing Damian stories

Jay and Kory calling eachother cutesy nicknames " hey babe" " greetings, sugar pie cherub starlight pumpkin seeds little lovebug, starshine! The universe says HELLO!"

Braiding Kory's hair is an Olympic sport and Jason has the gold medal for it

Kory talking everyone about Jason being her best friend; She's like, " sweetest, most caring human I've come across. He is friendly and we bump foreheads a lot" then shows off pictures

And boom, the scariest bastard you've ever seen . "He enjoys cuddling kittens, and watching animated movies with me :D"

Jason ranting about books and literature and Kory INTENTLY listening to every word while sipping sweet mustard; She loves trashy romance novels written by 30 something women who hate their marriage, and Jason's like " your taste is fucking dreadful" but he secretly enjoys it

Kory also LOVES cartoons and Jason makes fun of her for it ruthlessly (or as ruthless as he can get with her) but guess who steals Bruce's credit card and buys her merch????

" here you go baby girl, buy some steven galaxy shirts from that gay ass rock show or something " " you intentionally pretend to not know my interests to reduce the meaning of your affection, but i know it's there >:D"

JASON MEETING BLACKFIRE. " And I thought I was a problem child."

Literally give me Jason and Blackfire interactions but they're just this

[nhlclover]

first day sparks fly au!

✭ — summary: on the first day of classes, sofia and rutger meet.

✭ — warnings: none!

✭ — a/n: first chapter! i've decided i’m gonna write some chapters that will be longer but also little blurbs. the chapters will follow a timeline.

✭ — word count: 0.91k

The lecture hall is much smaller than Sofia pictured. She didn’t really have a good concept of how big a room would need to be to fit 50 people, but apparently, it wasn’t that big.

Sofia did a quick scan of the room, finding a good place to sit. She decided on a spot in the middle of the audience, a bit to the left. Once she sat down, she pulled out her laptop and water bottle, settling into her seat.

She occupied herself with the required reading of Of Mice and Men while the rest of the class slowly filed in, picking away at the empty seats, though both remained empty on either side of her. Sofia had read Of Mice and Men many times before, it being a classic in literature. She flips through the pages, rereading the familiar story until the professor begins the class.

Rutger rushes through the front doors of the building, searching for room 143. He walks down a few halls before finally finding it. Rutger pauses, checking his watch before bursting through the doors. He’s 17 minutes late.

He softly pulls open the door, stepping inside of the back of the class. He barely makes a sound, avoiding all eyes in the class turning to look at him. He does a quick scan of the room, looking for an empty seat. He eyes a blonde girl sitting on the left side of the room, an empty spot to her left. Rutger finds himself staring at her for a little too long, missing more and more of what the professor is saying.

He makes his way down the stairs, slipping past others to the empty seat to her left. Rutger slips into the seat, quietly pulling out his laptop and the required reading. He glances over at his neighbour's computer screen, trying to see how much he missed.

She has a page of notes written out, but her screen is at too much of an angle for Rutger to get a good look at what the professor had already said. He glances at the girl's face, her blonde hair cascading down, blocking most of his view.

He finds his eyes being drawn back to her face, wanting to get a good look at her features. She finally tucks the hair behind her ear, letting Rutger see her profile. Rutger barely registered anything that the professor had said since he sat down, instead being too occupied with the girl he had chosen to sit next to.

Eventually, the professor must’ve decided to give the class a short break because everyone is suddenly moving around and shuffling about.

Sofia was pretending to not notice the staring but it was now a couple of times he’d looked over at her. She didn’t know how to interpret the staring. It was possible that he was staring cause he thought she was pretty. But it was also very possible that he was a complete weirdo.

After a short internal conversation, Sofia decided to confront him.

“Hi.” Sofia says.

Rutger snaps out of the daze he was caught in looking at the girl, noticing she was talking to him. “Oh, hi.” Rutger says.

A blush forms on his cheeks, realizing she had in fact caught him staring at her.

“I’m Rutger.” He says.

“I’m Sofia.” She says, still hesitant as to whether or not this guy is weird.

“I uh, came in late. Can I borrow your notes?” Rutger asks.

“Oh, you didn’t miss much, she was just kind of going over the syllabus.” Sofia tells him.

Rutger furrows his brow, glancing at her page full of notes on her screen. “You seem to have some written there.” He chuckles.

“That’s just notes about the book. My thoughts and analysis basically.” Sofia explained, shutting her laptop.

“You’ve already started reading?” Rutger asks, suddenly questioning if he’s already fallen behind in the class on the first day.

“No. I mean yeah. Kind of.” Sofia rushes out. “I’ve already read Of Mice And Men. So these are notes from the past few times I’ve read it.”

“I’m going to take a wild guess and say that English is your major?” Rutger asks.

Sofia laughs. “Not quite. I’m majoring in elementary education and I want to be an English teacher.” She explains.

“Oh shit, cool.” He says, a smile on his lips.

He’s got a cute smile. Sofia thinks. Actually, scratch that, he’s got a cute face.

“I might be coming to you for help when I inevitably fall behind.”

Sofia furrows her eyebrows, Rutger making a reference she didn’t quite understand. “Oh I’m a student-athlete so I miss class kind of often.”

“Oh, what sport?” Sofia asks.

“I play on the hockey team.” Rutger says.

Sofia suddenly realizes why she recognizes the boy sitting next to her. “Oh my god.” She says.

Rutger has a sudden uncomfortable look on his face “What?” He asks.

“You know my brothers.” Sofia laughs.

Rutger furrows his brows, wondering how he would know this girl or her brothers.

“Adam and Luca?” Sofia prods. Rutgers eyes go wide, then his brows furrow again as he processes the information.

“Adam and Luca have a sister?” Rutger asks.

Sofia laughs, opening her phone. She finds a picture of her and her brothers from the draft, showing Rutger.

“Oh my god,” Rutger says as he sees the photo. “I genuinely had no clue they had a sister.”

“Yeah uh, they keep it a bit of a secret from teammates.” Sofia says, showing another one of them when they were kids.

“Why?” Rutger asks.

Sofia hesitates to tell Rutger the real reason. She’s saved when the professor resumes the lecture, Sofia and Rutger turning to the front.

[thesherrinfordfacility]

take me up / cast me away

so this is going to be a veritable word vomit but this is actually so exciting to me; we obviously affiliate aziraphale with the flaming sword and both its biblical and GO narrative implications, but the catch that @frog-person made on this particular shot has got every synapse firing.

(and therefore this is a meta for @frog-person and them only, mwah✨💕)

not only is the sword going through their hands, but it's one sword of many in a particularly fiendish magic trick (or at least an earlier version of one made popular by the morettis in the 70s), and the box itself with all of its swords is relatively prominent in most of the scene, as background props go (more on this later).

now, i don't know enough about magic tricks or illusions to understand the significance that this aspect may have, if any - possibly the element of trust, sure, but also the sheer ability to hoodwink the audience into accepting that there is no way that whatever is inside could possibly survive such a trick. however, i simply want to just talk about the sword in general.

let's start with connotations and symbolism behind the image of the sword. first of all, it's a phallic symbol and is largely used in the context of knighthood, chivalry, and sovereignty. it symbolises justice, and truth, and righteous and merciful power. to hold the meter of life and death in your hands, and to be trusted to use it in conscience and clemency.

in alchemy, the sword was shown as a symbol of purification, between life and death. similar connotations in other histories, literature, and customs read the sword as being the key to balance between truth and enlightenment. later into history, especially in the middle ages, swords of discernible quality were understandably resource-intensive to make and therefore came to symbolise wealth, but moreso in the context of strength and glory, and further then a symbol of protection and shelter. traditionally, oaths and pledges would be made to the sword (literally, sworn-sword), and in turn swords were - and continue to be - used to elevate you to a higher station (eg. use of a knighting sword).

the imagery of the sword in the box is evocative of the sword excalibur, probably one of the most famous swords in literature and legend. cliff notes: excalibur was the believed magical sword of king arthur, and was written in some accounts (specifically in this case in the poem Merlin by robert de boron) to have lodged in an anvil, sat atop a stone, and that whoever could pull it from the anvil would be proof of rightful lineage of uther pendragon - and therefore, by divine right, king of the britons. obviously, arthur was said to have pulled the sword from the stone.

excalibur's symbolism can be interpreted somewhat as being as i said above; tennyson wrote that the words inscribed on excalibur as being (paraphrased): "take me up" / "cast me away"; to indicate that the sword is a weapon that should be used sparingly, only when necessary, and never without mercy or fair judgement. it is a power that can destroy, and should be safeguarded from turning that power to insidiousness. a call-to-arms when taken up, and a grace and peace when cast away.

(im a whore for arthurian legend ok, im from southwest uk) (and have a tattoo on my arm of those words, im a basic cornish legend bitch)

now, i realise that excalibur is not literally a part of the GO story (that we know of, notwithstanding the flashback in s1), and the sword we know in GO has a rather different narrative importance (or does it?). so, we know that in genesis the flaming sword was given to the cherubim in eden to guard adam and eve, and this is pretty much transposed to GO right up until aziraphale does the Cool Thing and gives it away, meant as a means of protection.

however, given that it ends up in the hands of humanity's personification of war, it bears a rather vivid mirror to the intention of excalibur; that in casting it away, aziraphale inadvertently introduces the concept of destruction to humanity.

but im now going to move away from the symbolism of the sword itself (i promise im trying to organise this meta into some semblance of order), and instead look at it in terms of when aziraphale actually holds it. we start with him giving it to adam and eve:

and then when he takes it up at the airfield:

and in the time bubble with adam and crowley:

now this is really obvious, i realise, but it does have some bearing for me on the image we see in the 40s minisode. sword up: ready to fight. sword down: ready to rest. it's a reasonably common occurrence to see in heraldry (by extension in logos/emblems and even on gravestones) two crossed swords pointing up or pointing down. usually, for the former, that the prospective wielder is ready to battle, is prepared and willing, and is or always has been braced for the onslaught.

the latter however indicates that either the fighting is done, or that no threat is meant - and that this can be in death, in surrender or defeat, or out of conscientious choice. that the wielder may have chosen mercy, and to act with peace and without conflict. one step further - sheathed sword goes on to symbolise that a fight is not anticipated; not necessarily in the sense that the wielder is unprepared, but instead that they are not turning to violence as an option.

this is where i think the presence of the sword in the shots from the minisode, with all of the connotations of it from eden (and its similar, in my eyes, likeness to excalibur) come into play. as i said before, the sword/s are notable visually in the whole magic shop scene. its in primary focus along with the desk as they enter, its the first display aziraphale goes towards, and it oscillates in the background from to aziraphale's right, to between him and crowley, and latterly back again:

summarised thoughts on this, because it will otherwise be a truly garbled mess:

the sheer presence of it reminds the audience that a fight may be imminent, even if the scene/story is currently at peace

that whilst the narrative is not currently in full combat, it pays heed to not only the events of ep4 being somewhat of a fight, but the events that precipitate in ep5 and ep6, and leading into s3

that where it is currently cast in the figurative stone, it may be called upon to take up arms, and confer suggestions of sovereignty, divine power, and strength

that victory (however that may conclude) may only be possible with the right person in power; aziraphale as the new supreme archangel and prince of heaven

it also confers the necessity of protection, of justice, and of mercy, being elevated to a position where you have the power to make that judgement

all things which aziraphale intended by giving away his own sword, and is what he indicates in ep6 that he intends to deliver to heaven once he ascends

that this fight, whenever it may come, may literally divide him and crowley in the story that lies ahead

...you don't need me to explain this bit contextually, right?

the last thing that stumped me, however, is that there ought to have been something in ep6 that almost bookended all of this imagery (at least temporarily, until we have a s3), or at least indicated whether or not aziraphale chooses to take up the sword again like he does at the end of s1. that shows him prepared for a fight, to defend the weak, and uphold judgement in mercy... and then it hit me:

of course there bloody is.

[the-forbidden-pookie]

Little blunder

College AU

Tw: SFW, can be read as gender neutral tho written with a fem reader in mind, fluff.

Pairing: Dan Heng x Reader.

--------------------------------------------------

You pull up in front of the apartment complex and slowly get off your bike. You take out your phone, swipe past the 99+ notifications from every group chat you're in and go straight to Dan Heng's contact.

The last messages there were "Hey, I think I have a crush on someone and need advice" and his reply, "wanna talk about it after tutoring tomorrow?"

You type "Here", then quickly make your way up the stairs. With any luck, he's just woken up -today was his day off- and still hasn't seen any messages about this morning's... fiasco.

You reach his apartment door just as he unlocks it, probably after he heard you approach, and give him a quick greeting, closing the door behind you as you enter.

"So," he starts, "should we focus on History or Chinese literature today?" He asks, still under the impression you're here for your regular tuesday afternoon tutoring sessions. Then... He doesn't know yet. Ok, that's good.

"Actually..." You start slowly, gathering your courage to just be done with it. Come on, I can do this! You think, attempting to pump yourself up. "I'm here to borrow something" You lie instead... Hm. Maaaaybe I can't do this ...

"Of course you are," An eye roll. "what do you need this time? A dictionary? A calculator? Or am I a living dictionary, calculator, and thesaurus all in one?" Had things been normal you would've probably laughed.

"Well you see..." You glance around his apartment nervously, and say the first thing that comes to mind. "I kinda need your dish washer?" You try, and proceed to mentally facepalm. Really?! His dishwasher?!

He narrows his eyes in clear confusion. "You need... my dish washer?" He repeats. "What do you want a dish washer for? You don't even cook?" He sighs.

"If you're planning on borrowing stuff that's mine, then just ask. No need to make stupid excuses like needing my dish washer, of all things. I am your friend, you know that, right?"

"Ahahaha the school population might disagree at the moment." You reply nervously.

"..." He gives you another confused look. "What's that supposed to mean?"

You take a deep breath. "Soooo you know how I've been volunteering to help out the broadcasting club? With equipment maintenance and such?"

He nodded, though now he just looks more confused.

"Right um, about a month ago, I found a club member crying alone after a bad breakup... To comfort him I told him he was a great guy, that anybody would be lucky to-"

"Didn't you already tell me all that?" He interrupted quickly, probably sensing you were still stalling.

"Right, right, just making sure you remember." You answer smoothly enough.

"So anyways, that guy may or may not have asked me out for the school dance?" You pause, gauging his reaction, but he turned his usual pokerface back on, and it gives away nothing.

"Uh? Congratulations?" Realizing he won't say anything more, you move on for now. "No, no. I didn't agree or anything," you say quickly. "Instead I uh, may have rejected him by saying I have a boyfriend, and when he insisted I was lying, I maaaaayyyyyy havesaiditwasyou?" You rush through the last part as your nerves get the best of you.

"..." There's silence in the room as Dan Heng stares at you, processing what you'd just said. He swallows and takes a deep breath. "You. Did. What?" His words are measured.

"I panicked? I'm sorry!"

"Panic led you to name-drop me as your non-existent boyfriend?" He asks with a hint of irritation.

"Well that's because I was thinking about you-" You say before you could think better of it, and by the time your hand slaps your mouth shut it was already too late.

A small smile spreads across his face. The first unguarded reaction you'd seen him make since the beginning of this conversation. "Really?" He asks. "Did you... did I happen to cross your mind as you rejected that person?" He looks at you, his eyes narrowed in amusement.

You blush. HARD. "Well- I- I mean! Yes! of course because-" You think of a quick lie "-because I needed to return your..." You slide your hand into your pocket, pull out the first thing you find, a chewing gum packet he'd given you the day before and say "The- This...?" You end Lamely.

He shakes his head, smiling. "Nice try," he says, "but there's something else on your mind. You're bad at lying." He puts his hands on his waist and smirks.

"Now, tell me the truth. Why did you name me?"

You sigh, utterly defeated... As expected of Dan Heng "Well, I guess I wanted to ask you out to the school dance? I- I've been meaning to finally tell you today but then that guy came out of nowhere and asked me to go with him and I just- welp." You shrug.

He raises a brow "Wait... am I... your crush?" He asks, not believing the question. "It's me, isn't it? Huh." He tilts his head, a bit confused and amused.

"But... why? Why would you be into me? I'm literally the definition of a nerd," he says while glancing over to his desk, cluttered with books and his gaming build.

You jump at the opportunity to tease him "What's this Dan Heng? Are you fishing for compliments?" You ask slyly, hoping to make him blush so it wouldn't be just you.

His ears immediately turn red. "No, I'm serious," he says, "Why me?" He looks at you with a puzzled look, then says, "I mean, I'm flattered, but I don't get it. Out of all the boys in class, why me? Not that I'm complaining, mind you," he chuckles.

A small win for me! He went blushy blushy! You giggle to yourself. "Well what's there not to like? You're always there for me, be it calling me first thing in the morning to make sure I'm awake for classes or tutoring me so I understand the material, you even cook extra portions of food for me because I am not um... adept in the kitchen. Like how thoughtful is that? Honestly how could I possibly not fall for you?" By now you've completely run out of breath.

Dan Heng's cheeks are flushed pink. I can die happy now "Y-You... you're actually serious?" He asks, feeling a wave of relief and joy wash over him. "Because I... I feel the same about you. You're so... you're the sweetest, kindest, most considerate person I've ever met, (Y/N). You're always helping people, even in things completely unrelated to your own life... I mean, broadcasting equipment maintenance? You had to learn a completely new skill just to help them with that."

He took a deep breath, seemingly steadying himself, then continued.

"And... I just have this feeling whenever I'm with you, my heartbeat quickens and my stomach turns in a flutter. Do you... do you feel the same?" This was probably the most honest and vulnerable he's ever been with you.

You smile brightly. "Yes! And I'm ecstatic you do too!!!"

He smiles as well and nods. "When's the dance, again?" He asks. "And how should we tell our friends that we're dating, now that I've said yes to your... confession?"

"If it even is called a confession?" He mumbles in amusement.

"Ah yeah about that..." You smile sheepishly, debating how to break this one to him.

"What... what is it, (Y/N)?" He tilts his head in curiosity. "Tell me. I don't bite," he teases.

"Sooo, remember how this whole thing started in the broadcasting room? Remember how March uhhh... Sometimes forgets the mic open?"

Dan Heng's eyes widen. "No way."

"Hahah... Yeahhhh." You fish your phone out of your back pack, unlock it and pick a random group chat. Sure enough, the chosen conversation topic is still the "Broadcasted failure of a confession LMAO!!" You hand him your phone, let him scroll through the messages, knowing he probably doesn't bother to even join most of these group chats.

"Huh," he starts, "aren't they being a bit... Harsh on this gu- wait." His eyes narrowed. "What does Jing Yuan mean by 'he was being a total creep??'" he asks alarmed, now looking at you.

"Ehh that might be an exaggeration? He probably means how the guy wouldn't take no for an answer, it's kinda why I had to lie in the first place, I mean I was being considerate at first but he really wouldn't let up... Huh now that I think about it, maybe Jing Yuan's right. "

Dan Heng didn't seem to like that one bit.

"You know what? I'm actually fine with the broadcast thing," He replied coolly. "If more people knew about my feelings for you, then that's great. As long as they know you're dating me now."

"So. Are you going to be my date for the dance?" He asks.

You grin. "I'd be honored to!"

"Great." Dan Heng smiles and reaches out to hug you. "So then... that means we're officially a couple?" He grins slyly. "And does that mean you'll call me honey now?" Oh he's trying to make you blush.

You smile back, every bit as mischievous "I was actually thinking of calling you: Darling, love of my life, light of my days, and saviour of my grades! But sure whatever you like." You say innocently. He laughs.

"I think I like that last one," he says, reaching out to brush a stray hair away from your face. "But I want you to call me Dan Heng, alright? If I ever heard someone refer to me as "Darling" or "Love", I'd probably turn into a ripe strawberry." He seems to consider something for a moment then says: "And when we see each other at the dance, will I be able to give you a kiss?" He asks cheekily.

"...!" When they go bold I go BOLDER! " You can kiss me right now." You say, summoning every last bit of confidence within you.

He leans in and gently presses his lips onto yours, holding it for a moment before breaking apart. "Will that suffice?" he asks with a grin.

"Now, come on. We better hurry up. All our friends are probably waiting for us at the cafe," he says and offers to take your hand.

"They're gonna be thrilled. Imagine how happy March will be, learning her little blunder for once caused something great." he adds with a bright smile.

--------------------------------------------------

Author's note:

Alhaitham: I'm just a feeble scholar.

Dan Heng: I'm literally the definition of a nerd.

Kaveh & I : \(O-o)/

[sweetbbyshion]

Eros' song

-> Shinichiro Sano x Reader (no pronouns or descriptions)

characters: Shinichiro Sano

genre: fluff

summary: you write a poem as a way to confess to your best friend

warnings: childhood friends to lovers, i wrote the poem so please don't be too mean or i'll cry, also DON'T STEAL THE POEM FOR THE LOVE OF GOD it will be my last reason, the reader is into books, first quote is from Kafka's Letters to Milena and the second is Edgar Allan Poe's Annabel Lee

network: @eveningatthemoviesnetwork

Shinichiro has been your best friend since your first memory surfaced. From the moment you could process thoughts and emotions, the man has been close to you. Truly, it was a matter of time until one of you fell in love and you happened to be the (un)lucky one.

You were no older than thirteen when the infamous incident happened. Shinichiro (also thirteen and with a really, really ugly hairstyle) looked at you and gave you a big toothy smile, like he always does whenever a cool bike passes by you. Suddenly, flowers exploded behind him, angels sang, the sun shone brighter than it had all day and you found yourself almost squinting and on the verge of throwing up because of the butterflies in your stomach. Metaphorically, obviously.

It was a shame, really. You nearly yelled at the universe for not giving this evil curse to Shinichiro instead but, apparently, the entities above also doomed Shinichiro to a life of rejection. So, you suffered because your best friend didn’t look at you and the man suffered because no girl wanted him.

At thirteen you turned into poetry and all kinds of literature, finding pieces that you related to a bit too much and, eventually, writing things yourself. Shinichiro didn’t understand most of the stuff you read, always questioning what words meant and what was so special about those poems that had you tear up so often. You shared that part of your life with him as well, showing the poems, drabbles, verses you came up with that were messily written in your journal. Fortunately for you and your weak heart, Shinichiro didn’t really understand that most of the things you wrote were about him.

It stayed that way until you were twenty three. You were less naive, more in tune with the feelings that made you want to throw up years ago and definitely in love with your best friend (who kept getting rejected even after changing the horrible hairstyle; the Gods really hated you both). Shinichiro had his own bike shop, a gang that supported him through everything and you. He still happily reads whatever you wrote in your journal and he still doesn't understand half of the stuff you have there but the honest praise and support makes your heartbeat a little bit faster. Shinichiro is there when you publish your very own poetry book, his name deservedly on the first page. To Shinichiro, who was always there for me. As Franz Kafka said “In a way, you are poetry material; You are full of cloudy subtleties I am willing to spend a lifetime figuring out.”

So, maybe, you were a bit too obvious with the whole ‘I love you’ deal but Shinichiro didn't seem to understand all the hints you dropped. Everyone around you seemed to find out about your little secret and some of his friends even went out of their way to let you know he felt the same but you weren't so sure.

“What you writing over there?” the smooth voice of Shinichiro pulls you back to reality, the noise in the shop coming back in an instant. It was almost dinner time and you came into the shop hoping to have a meal with your best friend before going home. Deciding to entertain yourself, you pulled out your notebook and a pen from your bag and wrote some ideas that popped in your head as you stared with heart eyes to the object of your affection.

“Nothing important.” A lie. The words that stared back at you formed, yet again, another finished love poem that you dreamed of showing to Shinichiro in hopes that he would read it and return your feelings. Shinichiro knew you were lying. Somehow he always knew. You refuse to return eye contact when he grabs your pen and doodles mindlessly next to the verses, a routine he acquired when you whined about the pages of your journal being too boring with just words in it. You look at his hands gently drawing small hearts (Shinichiro couldn't draw a heart even if it was to save his family but you grew to love the blob shapes) and a random dog with stars surrounding it.

“Can I read it?” You meet his eyes, tender and sweet, which were already looking at you. Your heart flips, turns and does cartwheels when Shinichiro gives you that toothy smile that makes him close his eyes and you can only let out a small “Sure.” before closing your mouth so you don't accidentally confess.

My soul holds a secret that my pen

Now wishes to share.

In ink-stained lines, my feelings find a home:

Untold to anyone but the Gods from above,

As I convoke Eros to help me compose a piece

That will reach your heart.

But do I dare?

Do I dare trouble the deities with a greedy tone

When I can’t gather the courage

To whisper confessions when we’re alone;

The only witness to my love

Being the moon shining high up

And the paper getting stained with passion.

So sure of my affection yet,

I hesitate.

Do you dare reciprocate these heavy feelings

That only keep me awake at night or

Am I merely a friend that consoles your ego

When things fall apart?

But it’s okay,

For I have accepted the possibility

The harsh, unwanted probability

That I’m doomed to an existence of unrequited love

And a lifeless life

Without the muse who inspires me

To write the most loveful poems and

The most sorrowful verses.

You nervously glance at Shinichiro while he is reading, noticing how his eyes squint and his nose scrunches from time to time (he does it when he doesn't understand something that is written). You pay close attention to his face, the poet in you wishing to remember Shinichiro until your last day if the worst was to happen. A part of you hopes the man will finally understand all of the things you wished to say but weren’t strong enough to. You pray that your poem reaches his heart and soul, that he sees you not only as a longtime friend but a life partner. “Wow.” He sighs, lifting his eyes from the paper to settle on you again. “I’ll never get tired of saying you’re really good.” Shinichiro stands back at his full height, murmuring about back pain after leaning down for so long. You look up at the man who has your world spinning around him, waiting to see if he says something more. He doesn't.

“Is that all?” You ask, playing with the bracelet on your wrist (a gift from Shinichiro when you turned 18). He looks at you confused. His eyes scan the paper again, rereading the verses to figure out if he missed anything. He still looks lost so you grab the pen and, in a moment of courage, you write a few words at the bottom of the poem. For Shinichiro, who I “loved with a love that was more than love”. The handwriting is shaky, giving away the anxiety exuding out of you. Shinichiro reads the additional words, then stops, then looks at you. You get up, not being able to have his body towering you that way. He is standing next to you and, for the first time, you’re not sure about the emotions revealed by his eyes. You wonder if you made a mistake confessing out of nowhere, in his shop, while his siblings and friends are hanging out and the last customers exit. You should have eased your way into the subject but what’s done is done and all you have left is to wait.

“I know I’m not the smartest person…” Shinichiro’s eyes are on you, reading your every move. “But does this mean what I think it means?” You nod, not trusting your voice. His eyes widen and, in a sudden movement, Shinichiro is even closer to you. His hands are on each side of your face, forcing you to look at him. “You wrote a poem for me. A love poem.” You nod again, your movements a bit restricted by the big hands holding your face in place. “I’m going to kiss you.”

Shinichiro gives you five seconds to step back before his lips are crashing against yours. You don't think any poem, book, word could describe what you felt the moment your lips met. It’s fast and a bit clumsy but you couldn't be more happy this happened, unable to control the smile when Shinichiro stops the kiss to look at you. You want to giggle like a young teenager when Shinichiro gives you that smile you love more than anything. “Does this mean you feel the same?”

“Yeah. Have for a while. Couldn't stand the thought of getting rejected by you though.” His thumb caresses your cheek and you find yourself leaning to the touch.

“I would never reject you.” You murmur, embarrassed at such revelation. “You know there’s a quote from Emily Brontë-”

“Tell me about her in a bit.” Shinichiro interrupts you. “I want to kiss you again.”

The next time you write a poem isn't about Shinichiro, your best friend. Instead, you dumped all of the new (reciprocated) feelings about Shinichiro, your boyfriend, and the experiences you get from living with him by your side. Most of your poems were and will probably always be about Shinichiro Sano, no matter the status he holds in your life. You get to love your muse and your boyfriend gets a lifetime supply of romantic poetry dedicated to him (as well as quotes that fit each situation).

[mrfancyfoot]

Plots & Prosody: Prompts

Raphael x Female Tav/OC (Evie implied)

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- Caress - "She arrives at the House of Hope to find a grumpy, stressed devil in need of a nap.  AKA: Despite himself, Raphael succumbs to some of his more human needs."

This prompt was: ‘A simple caress’

.

Hey..hey, you!  Go drink some water/hydrate yourself. ❤️

Some soft Raphael, cutesy shmoop ahead!

This one, while written for my OC, Evie, uses only she/her pronouns while she remains unnamed, so can mostly be read as a generalized Tav/OC (only caveats being that there is brief mention of her fluffy (fox) tail and claws and a bit of backstory).

.

Rating: T / SFW Word Count: ~1.9k Timeline: Plots & Prosody, Part II - Canon Tags/Warnings: POV F!Tav/OC/Evie; Fluff; Comfort; Cozy; Slight Alcohol/Drug Use by Raphael; Raphael’s Only Soft for Her; Cuddly Devil; Devils Can Purr; Some Slight Charitable Reimaginings of HoH Architecture; Devil Courtship

Main Fic (Rated E/Varied): AO3 + Tumblr | Master List Related Prompts: A Blank Page , Good Morning

[Quick Context: After Evie spends most of Part I (Game Events) “befriending the devil,” yet denying him her soul, Raphael makes an alternative offer: the Orphic hammer in exchange for her time - specifically, a mandatory number of days every month for a span of two years.  He procures his Crown by other means.  Evie goes about her new life kick-starting her business and re-inventing modern-day things. Unbeknownst to her, Raphael is using what she obliviously believes is a “contractually mandated friendship” period to court her as his future Archduchess.]

❤️ Thanks for reading! :3 ❤️

The evening when she arrived, it was obvious from the deeply etched scowl straining and pinching his face paired with the agitated drumming of his fingers that something had happened - but Raphael was in an unusually untalkative mood.  His greeting was short, his responses clipped and distracted.  He appeared stuck between summoning her out of obligation to their contract while his attention was needed elsewhere and wanting to shove away everything that was preventing him from utilising their time together.

Seeing his stress and knowing well that he would share the details later if he wanted to, she suggested a quiet evening by the fire, simply enjoying the presence of one another.

She would have suggested that he could keep working if he needed to, but she had a feeling that it was work that got him into this mood and maybe a break was warranted no matter its importance - or perhaps even because of its importance.  Raphael was the sort to keep going at something until he hit the wall of exhaustion - either of his energy or of his options, and not infrequently, both.  Anything less was seen as wasteful.  And so, Raphael repeatedly pushed himself to his limits.

So before he could voice any disapproval, she wandered over to a bookshelf and plucked the partially read anthology of Gnomish short stories residing there from when she had time to fill during other visits.  Taking a seat on the chaise near the fire, she beckoned him to the armchair nearby.

He stood from his desk with a roll of his shoulders and massaged his neck.  Circling around to its front, he leaned on it and let his eyes scan over the many shelves of books around his office as he brought his hand to his chin thoughtfully in consideration of his own choice in literature.  But his shoulders slumped minutely from a sigh and she could see his eyes unfocusing as his mind drifted back towards whatever he’d been thinking on before.

Pursing her lips, she reckoned that she’d be fighting uphill on this one.  She asked him if whatever was on his mind was something that needed his attention at that very moment.  At the reluctant twist of his lips and partial shake of his head, she followed up by stating that it would do him some good to get out of his office.

Hooking her arm around his, she made an executive decision and brusquely pulled him from his office.  Despite how he sputtered and tsk’d and harrumph’d in protest, he still allowed himself to be led through the silent halls - if he didn’t want to be moved there was no way in the Hells she’d be able to budge him.  Unsurprisingly, the servants had already made themselves scarce.  She detoured to drop him off at the boudoir with a push, telling him to go relax in the bath for a bit before turning on her heel and continuing to her destination.

She bounded all the way up the spiral stairs of the tower and pulled open the heavy door to the bedroom Raphael had decreed as hers a scant few months ago that had seemingly passed in the blink of an eye.  Her ‘home away from home’ twice a tenday thanks to their contract.

Though they were friends, drawing presumptions from said contract and the prior ones that he had attempted to get her to sign, she could only further conclude that he wanted her presence around as the occasional distraction from his work in some kind of contract-enforced capacity, as evidenced by the amount of discretion that he allowed her.  And if that was what he wanted, she would thusly also be the force ensuring he was taking proper breaks and getting enough sleep when he got like this.

Plus, he could have rescheduled, as per a mutual clause in their contract…yet he didn't.

The room was bright from the open curtains allowing in the ever-shining sun of Avernus.  She admired the fresh cut flowers vased upon a table, then set about creating a soothing atmosphere.  After lighting a few candles and the fireplace, she drew them tightly closed and plunged the room into a cozy, dim ambiance.

She poured herself a glass of water from the fresh pitcher on her nightstand, changed into something comfy from her wardrobe, and got settled in with her book on the sofa.

An estimated thirty to forty minutes later, Raphael poofed into the room in a bright cloud of smoke and smelling strongly of his bath products - cherries and musk - and a hint of the smoke.  He had changed into only a pair of loose lounge pants, and, while he still looked tired, the agitation and irritation from earlier had significantly softened across his features.  In his hand was a glass and a bottle of something with a curious shimmer that she would bet was awfully strong.  Though ‘mortal’ alcohol didn’t affect devils, there were some substances in the Hells that could affect them similarly - she’d eat the book in her hand if that bottle didn’t contain at least one of them.

He was quick to spy her and sauntered over, pulling the top from the bottle.  He filled his glass and immediately downed the contents.  His eyes closed as he savored it.  The glass was then refilled and the bottle loudly plunked down on the nearby coffee table as he turned and sank into the sofa.  

Reaching over, his finger tipped her book up enough to glimpse the cover.  He allowed his head to fall against the back cushion and demanded that she read to him.

She asked if he would like her to start from the beginning.

Raphael replied that ‘from where’ didn’t matter; he simply wanted to hear her lovely voice.

And so - feeling a little awkward at first as this wasn’t something she had ever really done outside of school classes - she picked up where she left off in the middle of a silly lesson story filled with cooking mishaps.

After that story came to a close, she noticed that he was battling keeping his eyes from closing.  Most of his drink was gone, the glass balanced precariously on his thigh within his slackened hold.

He waved her off when she suggested that he could take a nap but either didn’t notice or didn’t care when she slipped the glass from his hand and placed it on the table before she began reading aloud the next story.

Yet it wasn’t long until he was twisting around to impishly rest his head on her thigh, under the guise of needing the rest of the sofa to stretch himself out.

It struck her that the way he fought against his need for sleep - for this wasn’t the first time she had seen him push himself to this point and refuse to allow himself actual rest - was likely another manifestation of his denial and detestation of the human, mortal part of himself.

Seeing him start to lull and yearning for a little bit of payback for the hands that always managed to find themselves threading through the fur of her tail that he’d pulled over his chest, she began running her fingers through his hair, her claws light against his scalp.

With a startled grunt, his hand reflexively shot up as though to stop her, but he caught himself, his fingers curling tensely inches away from her own that had halted, as he seemed to reconsider the objection that was quick to ignite his actions.  His narrowed eyes stared up at her beneath the pinched furrowing of his brow.  She kept steady, her own gaze calmly returning to her book, as though trying not to scare off a wild creature that may interpret eye contact as something predatory.

Slowly his arm lowered again to rest over his stomach and she saw the tension leave his neck and shoulders.  She resumed playing with his hair.

He said nothing of the exchange, as though the interruption never happened.

His hair was soft and smooth with the slightest curl at the ends.  It had obviously just been washed but he must have magically dried it.  It left the slightest residue of some product on her fingers and her movements once more scented the air tartly with cherries.

By the time she finished the second story, his eyes had closed again and his belly was rising and falling with the deeper breaths of sleep.

Truly, even a devil needed his moments of peace.

How many others did he allow to see him so vulnerably?  Knowing that couldn’t number many made her feel both pity and privileged.  That would only become exponentially unlikely as he chased his ambitions and brought the Hells under his power.  He couldn’t afford to allow himself to be vulnerable around others.  The amount of trust he placed in her - despite not even having control of her - brought a sense of awe.  Their friendship was something she had come to cherish so fast.

But she couldn’t fall asleep here on the couch like this herself or they’d both be waking up later with sore necks and complaining.

Closing the book, she contemplated how successful she’d be in coercing him into going back to sleep if he woke up even for the brief moment to relocate to her bed.

Her fingers gently caressed the planes of his face, so much softer in sleep when not pulled and twisted by the scowls and exaggerated masks he wore during the day.

A boop on the nose didn’t wake him as she thought it would.

So she poked his cheek and threw on her ‘no nonsense’ voice, telling him to get up.  His eyes fluttered slightly, but he resisted until she stood and his head dropped back to the sofa.

The jolt did the trick to wake him and she used his momentary confusion to try to pull him to his feet.  He jerked his arm away but sat up with a growl, all the while, looking like he was about to tip over.  With a roll of her eyes, she bent forward and grasped his hands, attempting to haul him up again while advising that they should go to bed.

Begrudgingly, he relented, finally standing and following her guidance the short distance to her bed, his hand still in hers.

She pulled the light cover back and slid to the other side.  He climbed in after her with a yawn but veritably fell to the mattress.  With hardly enough time to pull the cover over herself, he shifted to close the distance between them, slinging an arm over her waist as he pressed his face to her side with a content rumble that morphed into a deep purr.

Within a few breaths, Raphael was once more asleep. She let out a quiet laugh - forever giddy since discovering devils and tieflings purred - and covered her own yawn.  Getting as comfortable as she could with a deceptively heavy devil now using her as a teddy bear, she closed her eyes and felt the soft haze of sleep overtake her.

Part 2...?

[alovesongtheywrote]

holy fuckin shit girl nighmare academia 🤌🤌🤌

thank god for that person who asked for a pt.2, but I must ask for a pt.3 loll

♥ Summary:  here you go, 1000 words of reid scheming against the reader with the help of some familiar faces! [Prof!Spencer Reid x GN-Prof!Reader]

♥ Warnings: morgan and garcia being morgan and garcia, vague mentions of spencer wanting kids, threats of bodily harm at the very end

♥ A/N: yeah, ik the last one of these came out like. today. but im having a lot of fun, so until that stops. have fun with the enemies to lovers professor au

♥ Word Count: 1200

Series Masterlist

♥♥♥

“Alright, my sweet brain boy, I’ve got the dirt on the Doctor- not you, the other Doctor.  You know what I mean.”

Spencer nodded- then he, in all of his genius, remembered that Penelope could not see him.

“What did you find?” he asked, pulling his legs up on his office chair.  He hadn’t left the university grounds after his fight with you and his call with Garcia.  You had left.  He was sure of it.  His office window gave him a great view of the parking lot, and hence, a great view of you leaving.  Reid, on the other hand, had stayed inside his office waiting for this second call.

“Well, it looks like you may have some competition in the doctorate department.  Doctor (L/N),” she stressed your title, “Also has three PhDs- one in criminology, one in law, and one in- get this- English Literature.  They’ve written a few really good articles, mostly on crime stuff, but also on Pride and Prejudice.  And oh, their takes on Elizabeth and Darcy- it’s enough to make a girl swoon.”

“Okay,” Spencer sighed.  None of this would help him get back at you- most of it was knowledge he could attain with a casual google search, “What else do you have for me?”

“Well, our dear Doctor is active in the community.  They help ex-cons get GEDs in their spare time, they donate to various charities and nonprofits, they support the local arts. They've got a lot of hobbies, they enjoy Halloween a lot- oh, and their mom is super proud of them.”

“What else, Garcia?”

“They have two cats, a couple siblings, a few nieces and nephews- it looks like they’re good with kids.”

“This isn’t relevant,” Spencer groaned, trying to hide his frustration.  He was looking for ways to get under your skin the way you had gotten under his.  He didn’t need to know every nice thing about you.

“Hey, you want kids, don’t you pretty boy?”  A deep voice that was very much not Garcia’s came over the line.

“Morgan is here, by the way,” at the very least, Penelope had the decency to sound a little embarrassed.

“I can hear that.  How long has he been listening?”

“Long enough to hear that you and this Mystery Professor would make a good match.  I mean, where else are you gonna find someone with three PhDs and a face like that?”

Spencer could hear Garcia’s gasp, even though she had pulled away from the phone.  When she spoke again, her voice was playful, “We’re looking for him, not for you.  What would Savannah say?  What should I say?”

“Easy baby girl, I’m just letting our boy know that I approve.”

“Hold on,” Spencer’s voice broke through the bickering of his former co-workers, “I think there’s been a misunderstanding.  I am not interested in (Y/N) (L/N).”

“Oh?  Then whyfore the background check, boy genius?”

“Is something wrong, Reid?”

“No, no, it’s nothing- it’s not like they’re a threat to my safety or anyone’s safety.  They’re just…”

“Just what, kid?”

Spencer drew in a sharp breath, trying to keep his cool.  He had to be calm- collected.  He couldn’t let Derek and Penelope know that you were so deep under his skin, inside the tissue of his brain, that he couldn’t stop thinking about you.  He couldn’t keep his mind from running back to the image of your face, glaring at him as you took the typewriter from his hands.  They would get the wrong idea.  The entire wrong idea.  So, Spencer had to remain cool.

He immediately failed.

“They’re just really fucking annoying, okay!?”

“Damn, kid!  Okay!  What did they do, tell you that Doctor Who was just okay?”

“No, you don’t get it-” Spencer hissed, flopping further into his chair as he proceeded to rant about the entire typewriter thing.  He quoted you word for word, too- of course he did, eidetic memory.  Once he finished, Morgan and Garcia seemed to take on a new understanding of the situation.

“I see!  This wasn’t a love call, but one for information!!  A stockpile of knowledge for devious pranks- that is why you called, right?  You need info for getting back at the lovely Professor?”

“Yes-!  They aren’t lovely, but yes.”

“Kid, anyone who can make you write emails is lovely in Garcia’s book.”

“Listen to your local Morgan, Reid- now, do you have a revenge plot already?”

“Sort of?”  Spencer shared his plans with Garcia, smiling to himself at the sound of her laugh.  His brand of humor didn’t usually get that reaction. 

“Sounds perfect, Reid- I can help with that, but I’m gonna need a secure connection, Dr. (L/N)’s email address, and everything you know about the benefits of handwritten notes.”

Once the plan was fully fleshed out, Spencer hung up the phone and finally, finally made his way out of his office with a rare spring in his step.  His plan was set.  The trap was in place.  Your beloved technology would be your downfall.  As he stepped onto the Metro, he had to keep from cackling like an overdramatic villain.  He was at a high point, and he really didn’t want to be arrested for causing a disturbance.  

Meanwhile, back at Quantico, Morgan and Garica looked at each other, the now silent phone placed between them.

“So, those two are-”

“They are perfect for each other, yes.”

“We’ve gotta help him.”

“Absolutely.  Hey, once they get together, do you think he’ll introduce me?  I want to talk to Dr. (L/N) about their Pride and Prejudice hot takes.”

“Careful, Garcia.  We’re shopping for him, not for you.”

“Hey, I just appreciate a person who can see the true nuances in one Fitzwilliam Darcy!  And I wanna know which film adaptation is their favourite.”

“Hey, lovebirds,” Rossi’s voice came from the door of Garcia’s office, “The rest of us have been ready to go for fifteen minutes.  What’s the hold up?”

“Nothing, Rossi.”

“We just found a perfect match for one Spencer Reid.”

“Really?  Interesting.  Tell me more later.  Let’s go.”

-

Two days later, you opened your PowerPoint slides only to find a presentation about the benefits of handwritten notes.  Everything you had in place for that day was gone.  All that was in its place was a genuinely well-crafted presentation about how writing notes by hand was better for attention retention and memorization.  

Honestly, you couldn’t even get that mad.  It was a good presentation.  

Still, you had a reputation to maintain.

You bit your lip and crossed your arms, becoming the picture of barely contained rage.  You took a deep breath, turning to your students and slapping a strained smile across your lips.

“Forgive me, my lovely students, but given this sudden turn of events, I’m just going to cancel class for today.  The correct notes will be on the class website later.”

You made your way to the door, leaving all your belongings behind in your haste, “Enjoy your afternoons, I’m going to go stab Dr. Spencer Reid.  In the throat.  Have a good day!”

A few students gave quiet, confused farewells.  Others leaned over to each other and whispered, “Stabbing is a sex thing, right?”

Technically, they were correct.

[cvlutos]

“To You”

| Repost: 03.06.2022 | 0.5K | PG |

Riddle Rosehearts X GN!Reader

| Characters 18+ | Fluff | Poems | Confessions | Etc | Proceed with Caution, Dearest.

My Dearest Rose,

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:”

The beginning of a poem that we learned in my English studies class, by the poet Shakespeare. I am familiar with his genius, yet I do fully not understand the purpose of poems or any literature that forms from creativity. My mother believes that they’re useless, irrelevant, for those who have not the knowledge to form more important works. Who lacks the ability to write articles, journals, facts over feelings? And I, for the longest, agreed with her. What do fictional stories, poems, haikus, and what purpose do they serve? They’re not like math, nor science. They’re fake, turn those away from a better and more important career and future.

“Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:”

Yet, when you feel something so strong. Something that takes the air from your lungs, that leaves your mind jumbled and confused. That has you second guessing every thought and feeling. That feels you with something that rivals the sun. Something that articles, journals, and facts over feelings can’t explain. Until you read a poem--

“Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his golden complexion dimm’d;”

That explains everything. That understands the shaking of my limbs when I am around you. That explains the cause of my beating heart, that seems to squeeze and constrict upon seeing you. Every nerve feels a lit, as if I was within the burning fireplace, and not gazing upon it with a cup of tea. As if every book, every word, spells out every letter of your name, everything that I could possibly love.

“And every fair and fair sometime declines,

By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;”

They are life. They explain the human mind, the feelings, emotions, wants and desires, the haves and have-nots. They make this burning love understandable. As if I am losing my mind, going mad from wanting you and not having you. (As ill-intentioned as that sounds, I mean that in not a harmful nor forceful way.)

“But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;”

As if stand lost within an ever-changing rose maze, as if my world seems to be within constant rotation, you make the world still, your hands even if nonexistent pull me—guide me towards the exit. You plant my feet to the solid ground, yet my mind seems alive with daydreams.

“Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:”

With hope. Words that explain my longing, my frustrations, my desire to be perfect within your eyes, my everything—it forms poems. Elegantly written stories that no matter how long I deny it, it shall not leave me. It cannot leave me. For as long as you exist, you bring life to me.

“So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”

Sincerely,

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

ⓒ 2023 love-thanatopsis — all rights reserved. Any sort of plagiarizing, copying, modifying, translating, editing of my works are strictly prohibited

[krishakamal]

Raag - Anurag § Chapter 1

— Ram x Sneha Acharya [OC]

*⁠.⁠✧ SYNOPSIS : Sneha Acharya lost her parents at a young age. Her father's friend, Arjun decided to adopt and take her to Hyderabad. There she grew up to be a beautiful woman. Then came her doom. She arranged to marry Ram, the traitor. Where will this go now?

*⁠.⁠✧ WARNINGS & TAGS : cursing, arranged marriage, 1.6k words.

*⁠.⁠✧ — NAVIGATION // RRR MASTERLIST // SERIES MASTERLIST

"Ahh!" Sneha yelled in pain, "It hurts, Kakima."

"Shhh, sit still." Her Kaki, Malini, ordered her as she worked on the latter's hair. Pinning the gajra to the bun.

Sneha huffed, looking at herself in the mirror. Today was her wedding and that too, with a man she despised.

At the tender age of six, Sneha lost both her parents to a car accident on their way home. Even though Sneha survived the accident, losing her parents left a great trauma on her. Arjun Dev, a close friend of her father who lived in Hyderabad, decided to adopt her.

Here, in Hyderabad, she grew up under his and his wife, Malini's care. Growing up, Sneha was fond of literature. She took inspiration from the nature around her and inked them in a diary. Later she decided to turn that hobby to her profession.

Sneha was not blind to atrocious works of the british. She knew well how monstrous they were. How they fooled Indians and took over the whole country. How they tortured poor Indians and kept them like slaves.

Sneha could not see their pain and misfortune so she decided that she would help as much as possible to free her country from their vicious clutches. She had written many nationalist books under the pen name 'Nandini'.

Now considering how much she loves Bharat and hates the British basterds, the last person she expected to marry was one of their loyal dogs, Alluri Sitaram Raju. She was pissed off when her uncle told her about the marriage proposal.

She instantly rushed off in anger to confront him but when he requested her with nothing but utter sincerity, Sneha could not turn him down. Had he not adopted Sneha, she didn't know what would have happened to her and Sneha was great to them. So, here she was now a few minutes away from getting married to that traitor, Sitaram.

Malini held Sneha's shoulders, "I'm so happy for you, Sneha. Trust me, Ram is a really good man and he will always keep you happy."

Sure, a traitor like him will do anything but keep me happy.

Sneha plasted a fake smile on her face and looked at Malini through the mirror's reflection, "I hope so."

Just then the door opened and one of her sisters ran in, "Hurry! The groom is here."

Malini left Sneha alone in the room to gather her thoughts. Sneha looked down, in her lap was a pendant, engulfed in her palms. Her mind was crowded with thoughts. How was she going to spend her life with Ram? Just how?

But time didn't stop for her. It went on it's pace. Sneha was escorted to the mandap where they were tied into the sacred bond of marriage. The wedding ended and Sneha bid a tear-filled farewell to her family. Then she was taken to his house where his side of the family performed all the rituals and in no time it was their wedding night.

Sneha sat on the bed, heart racing like a train. Her knees were pulled to her chest. She wondered if Ram would try to force himself on her. She was, by no means, ready for this. This was supposed to happen between two loves, soulmates and they were neither.

If he tries something, I'll kill him.

Sneha thought to herself. The wooden door opened and Ram walked in, closing the door behind. Sneha gripped the saree harder, so much that her knuckles turned white.

Ram started walking towards the bed. Just as he came to the end of the bed, Sneha shot up, standing on it with a knife in her hand, "Don't you dare come any closer or else I swear to god, I'll kill you."

Ram flinched back, startled, "What on earth are you doing?"

Ram glared at her but she snapped back, "Listen mister, I have no intention of being your wife, let alone spent a night with you. Stay the fuck away from me."

Ram could not help but scoff at her atrocious words, "Like I want to sleep with you. I have way more important work than sleeping with someone foul-mouthed like you."

"Yeah yeah whatever. Now get out." Sneha swung the knife in the door's direction, "You are not staying in the same room as me."

"This is my room. You get out."

"Do you want to die in your sleep?"

Ram gulped in fear, the kind of person she seemed to be, she probably would not even hesitate before stabbing him to death. Sneha smirked, knowing very well that she had won.

"Whatever, hope you die in your sleep." Ram snatched the blanket off the bed and started walking out, muttering under his breath, "Who named her Sneha, they need to be put in a mental asylum."

"And your name should have been Ravan instead, even better Shishupal, you useless coward." Sneha yelled before the door slammed shut.

Sneha waited a few seconds before sighing in relief, saved for the day. She got down from the bed and carefully hid the knife in the nightstand's drawer. She quickly took of all the make up and jwelleries and changed into simple saree. Then turning off the lights Sneha snuggled into the soft sheets and let the slumber pull her into the dreamland.

Sneha woke up the next morning to the empty house. Ram was nowhere to be seen. That happened the next and then the next day. Ram would leave the house before Sneha could wake up and come back after she had gone to sleep. The sofa in the living room was now his bed.

Sunlight peeked through the sheer curtains, filling the room with golden light. You snuggled more into the sheets before blinking your eyes open. Glancing at the table clock, it showed the time was 7 o'clock. Sneha sat up on the bed, streaching her limbs to get rid of the sleepiness.

Throwing off the blanket, which she found in the closet (Ram was too much of a dick to give her one), she got up. Sneha made the bed and then did her morning routine. Sneha dressed up in a red silk saree with gold work done on it.

Today she was going to make a library card at the local library. Books were her addiction and not being able to read one the past days were killing her inside. Her hair was still a little damp so she decided to leave them open.

Sneha walked down the stairs and into the living room, only to stop at the bottom step. There was Ram, sitting on the sofa, reading newspapers. Dressed in a simple white shirt and dress pants.

He was handsome— scratch that, he was extremely good looking. If only his personality was like Sri Ram. Sneha mourned internally. She walked into the kitchen, adjourned to the living room.

"Wow, look who didn't sneak out early in the morning today." Sneha said loudly, too loud.Ram could feel his eyebrows twitch. Stay calm Ram, don't listen to her bullshit. He could not stay calm for long when started again, "What? Did your dear British government fire you already?"

His mouth moved even before he could comprehend, "Look who didn't sleep till afternoon like a pig. What direction did the sun raise from today?"

Sneha's jaw dropped on the floor, "I sleep like a pig? Me? Sneha Acharya? Then you sleep like a damn donkey."

Ram mumbled, loudly, while turning a page of the newspaper, "Truth hurts. What can we do?"

This damn donkey!

Sneha stomped her feet before rushing into the kitchen. She could feel herself fuming with anger. Only a good cup of chai could help her calm down. As slammed the saucepan on the stove, an idea hit her brain.

"Oii." Sneha called from the kitchen.

"What?"

"I'm making chai. Do you want some?"

".............Sure." Ram answered after a minute of silence.

Sneha threw him an 'ok' sign and got back to prepare tea. Ram could feel something was off. But what could she do? Poison his tea?

Calling me a pig. The audacity. Now taste the tea made by a pig.

Sneha quickly prepared two cups of tea and brought it out in the living room. Placing the tray on the low coffee table, she handed him a cup and she herself started sipping from one.

Ram inspected the cup and the liquor. Smelling it, seeing from all angels. Sneha suppressed the laugh, dying to come out. Finally Ram took a sip.

Hmm? Not bad.

Until a second later it hit. The inside of his mouth started burning like hell. Ram dropped the cup on the ground, yelling in pain. He felt like he had eaten a thousand chillies. Sneha could not stop it anymore. She threw back on the sofa, laughing like a mad woman.

Ram searched the containers and cabinets, searching for something, anything, to help with the burning feeling. He finally found a small container of rasogolla. He somehow opened it and gulped down all of them in a matter of a few minutes.

When he finally calmed down, his chest was heaving crazyly. Anger raised in his head when he fully grasped what had happened. He saw Sneha leaning on the kitchen door, giving him mocking looks. Ram glared at it like an angry bull. If looks could kill, you would have been six feet under the ground by now.

Ram marched up to you, jabbing his pointer finger on your forehead with each word, "You. Will. Pay. For. This."

He gritted out before walking past you, shoving your shoulder with his in the process. You turned your head to see him stomping up stairs.

We will see Mr. Ram.

© 𝐊𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐋 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑, 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 — all content rights belongs to KRISHAKAMAL. Do not plagiarize any works and do not repost or translate onto any other sites.

All the rights and credits of the characters, gifs, songs and pictures used here belongs to their rightful owners.

[pxgeturner]

ooh ooh ooh! can i request "can i hold your hand?" with a sunshine!reader and my angel robin buckley? thank you angel!

thank you bambi!! i loved writing this chaotic little piece. i haven’t written for robin in so long :/ i was so happy when you made a request for her!!

wc: 457

an: reader is kinda nd-coded. also the stim word scene is actually based on me and a friend

“uh, robin, you might want to check on your girlfriend. think she’s uh, not doing so good.” steve nudges the blonde girl. she looks over to the service counter, seeing her cute girl flipping through a magazine.

eobin keeps shelving titles. “she’s just relaxing, reading.”

“and plotting a murder.” he says as he sets down a case of tapes.

“what do you mean?” she spins around to face him.

“i think she’s planning to use the latest pair of stilettos as the murder weapon.”

“i’ll- go check on her.”

walking over to the counter, she can see you’ve almost finished with your magazine. robin enters earshot she stops, hearing you mutter “murder, murder,” she stays planted for a minute or two, listening to you whisper the word every few seconds. you close the magazine an take a look around the store, landing on robin.

“hi birdie!” you wave at her.

“hi bub,” she smiles.

“whatcha doooin’?”

“looking at you, my cute girlfriend.” you smile and blush, leaning half of your face into your hands. robin comes over to the counter.

uou opened your fingers a bit, “you’re cuter,” she kisses your forehead.

“how’s the literature?” she sits on the counter.

“incredibly stimulating,” you giggle.

“you sure?”

“what do you mean?” you tilt your head

“murder,”

you dramatically deflat, putting your head to the smooth surface and groaning, “i need to find a new one, huh?”

“steve thought you went to the dark side, bub, thought you were scheming.”

you gasp, “never!” you turn to look at steve, cupping around your mouth, “STEVE! I HAVE NO INTENTIONS OF KILLING ANYONE, EVER!” steve drops the tapes in his hands. You hop on the counter, “honestly, birdie, it could be worse.”

She’s still laughing, “h-how?”

“ne of my friend’s stim word is cunt.”

Your girlfriend has collapsed.

“i vote that one,”

robin gets up and has to get back to work, so she abandons you momentarily. you pull out a book and check the time, only twenty minutes until she clocks out.

right when the clock hits three, you yell, “birdie! time to leave!” coming back from clocking out, she pulls you into her.

“so impatient,” she kisses you.

“it is important to have a work-life balance.” you nod. The two of you exit the store, “can we get burgers?”

“can i hold your hand?”

“absolutely!” you kiss robin’s cheek, she grabs your hand.

“let's grab the food and go to your house?”

“you just want to watch the tape of children of paradise” you two cross the street to get to the diner.

“that’s not fair bub, your couch is also way comfier than mine.”

“fine, but you’re getting me a milkshake.”

“cookie’s n’ cream?”

“you got it,” you squeeze robin’s hand.