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tellerluna-stories · 2 years

Text

save the first dance for me.

PAIRING: diluc x reader

GENRE: slight angst with a fluffy ending! strangers to something more, perhaps?

TW/CW: mentions of alcohol and drinking. diluc does work in a tavern, after all...

A/N: this is a gift for my beloved sun @x-zho's unbirthday!!! pls check out her blog, you won't regret it <33 HAPPY UNBIRTHDAY TEN OUTTA TEN I HOPE U ENJOY THIS DRABBLE

also, this fanfic is inspired by this fanart I saw on tiktok and this song that I simply adore!!!!!! I've always associated this song with diluc and i just HAD to write something for him with this song AAAAAA

Raucous laughter and the clink of glasses ring throughout Angel’s Share, a round of cheers as its customers chugged down another round of alcohol to go with their mirth. It was the sound of a typical evening in Mondstadt, except that tonight was a special occasion held in honour of— you couldn’t remember what exactly.

Not that it would matter, since everyone would be too hungover to remember it in the morning.

The aroma of grape juice lingers on your tongue before melting away, the sour-sweet taste contrasting sharply with the bitterness that filled your mouth— attending events like these was already bad enough, but getting stood up by the people you were supposed to go with was even worse. They’d all begged and pleaded for you to come to this event, only to leave you stranded in an uncomfortably loud room with nobody you knew.

You take another sip of grape juice and grit your teeth, ignoring the twinge of pain that courses up your foot— the consequence that came of you wearing your newly bought shoes to impress a shameless bunch who didn’t even bother to show up.

“This joyous occasion calls for singing and dancing!” A bard declares, his face flushed red from the amount of drinks he’d already downed. It would be a miracle if he even managed to stay standing, let alone sing a song, but nobody paid any heed.

The girls in attendance tittered and hid their smiles behind their hands, batting their eyelashes at the boys who they hoped would ask them for a dance. Everyone knew that occasions like these were where romance and courtship bloomed, and to publicly ask someone for a slow dance was practically to get engaged.

All-in-all, a riveting display of youth, you thought dryly. It must be nice to attend a dance with friends, and to talk to them about the person you had romantic feelings for. Not that you would know about things like that.

“Would you like a refill?”

Some of the girls glance your way, their already rosy cheeks flushing an even warmer shade of pink at the sound of the stranger’s voice. Your gaze swiveled to fix upon the man standing behind the counter— oh.

“Would you like a refill?” He repeated firmly, gesturing to your glass. This man wasn’t the one who had served you your drink when you’d arrived, no— his eyes matched the crimson hair that was swept up into a high ponytail, gleaming in the lamplight like a thousand rubies. A simple bartender’s uniform was all he wore: a trim black waistcoat and gloves to match, worn over an open-collared white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“Oh, but…” You peered at your glass, still half-full of grape juice. “I still have some left.”

“Well, just let me know if you want a refill. It’ll be on the house for tonight.”

“Another round, barkeep! Keep the wine flowing till dawn!” A fresh-faced bard cheers from the opposite end of the counter, his braided hair dangerously close to getting sloshed by his half-empty cup, and the bartender rolls his eyes but obliges. You could feel the eyes of those girls boring into you, but you couldn’t exactly blame them, either— this man would not have looked out of place among the gods as their cupbearer.

In the background people begin to clap in time with the music of the bards, a delightfully brisk tempo that had the young folk standing up eagerly as they waited for the dance to begin. Those who did not stand instead chose to stamp their feet or bang their cups against the tabletops, cheering wildly as a young lass took the floor, her skirts swishing playfully as she eyed the crowd for her potential dance partner.

“How come you’re not joining?”

The bartender reappears out of nowhere, nearly causing you to jump out of your skin. “Ah- you startled me!”

“My apologies.”

You sighed once more and let your gaze wander back to the scene; the girl had found a partner, a young boy with a mischievous smile that matched the spark in her eyes. Likewise, the rest of the crowd had followed their example and filtered into pairs, the atmosphere brimming with the anticipation of a glorious dance.

“…I don’t know anybody. All the people I was supposed to go with ended up ditching me.”

“Ah.” His face creases, contorting into the ‘I’m sorry to hear that’ expression that people usually gave you when you told them about incidents like these. “I’m—“

“Don’t tell me you’re sorry to hear that. I’ll only feel worse because some stranger is taking pity on me for having no friends.” You smile ruefully and finish the last of your grape juice, pushing the empty glass across the counter. “I’ll just go out for some air, and maybe I’ll feel a bit better afterwards. Thanks for the drink.”

The expression disappeared as quickly as it came, but you paid it no heed— instead, you headed for the door, seeking it to cool your head in the peaceful quiet of moonlight.

——

The streets of Mondstadt were empty, completely devoid of any life whatsoever; the distinct lack of people was evident, even in the center square. But the lack of people meant that it was quiet, and that sense of solitude was what you needed to clear your head.

Taking a deep breath, you savoured the crisp coolness of the night air, taking this opportunity to reflect.

Under normal circumstances, you wouldn't have felt so bothered by situations like these— in fact, you weren’t even familiar with events like these, yet somehow what you had seen tonight made your heart ache for something you never knew you wanted.

It felt silly to envy those people who you barely even knew, yet you wished that you could experience that joy that they shared so freely among each other. What would it feel like to be able to enjoy yourself at a gathering without feeling left out? To have people who made the time and effort to spend time with you? To even have butterflies as someone asked you for a dance?

"Are you alright?"

For the second time this evening, you nearly jumped out of your skin. Behind you stood the handsome bartender from earlier, who had apparently followed you out of the tavern.

"You startled me once again."

"My apologies." He said, though he didn't look very apologetic. Perhaps that was just his resting face.

The proper response would've been to tell him it was alright and to forget about it, but you no longer had the energy for formalities; instead, you sigh and draw a hand over your face. "Don't you have work to do?"

The bartender threw a dismissive glance towards his workplace and snorted. "It's alright. Besides, it's also my job to ensure the welfare of our patrons."

"Quite the workplace ethics you have."

"Thank you."

The conversation dies down into a companionable silence as you both gaze at the moon over Mondstadt, extending its moonbeams as a gesture of kindness towards the citizens that weren't partying the night away.

"So, is there any particular reason for why you wanted to clear your head tonight?" He asks, the moonlight dancing in his ruby eyes like milk in a cup of rosy-red tea.

"Well, there's the usual reason of me not being one for loud social gatherings. That's one."

"What about the fact that your acquaintances left you stranded?"

"That's two reasons," You reluctantly admit, secretly praying that he wouldn't ask anymore questions. Your third reason was embarassing enough and would sound even more pathetic if you said it aloud.

"I have a feeling that there's a third."

Perhaps you should have held your tongue.

"...Yes, there is."

Your dismay must've shown on your face, for the bartender shrugs and returns to moon-gazing. "There's no need to say what it is. I can probably guess it anyway."

No pressing questions, no subtle guilt trips to get you to open up— just an acknowledgement of your feelings and your decision to keep them to yourself. This man was a perfect stranger to you, yet in the span of one evening you felt more comfortable around him than during all of the years you had spend hanging around your acquaintances.

A faint chorus of cheers can be heard from within as the dance reaches the peak of its excitement, the stamping of feet speeding into a frenzy as the music grows faster and faster. The voices of the bards were drowned out like birds in a summer's storm, leaving only the skeleton of a song to be heard by outsiders.

"...Well, it was nothing much in the first place. Just the feeling of being left out."

He gives a soft hum in reply, nodding to acknowledge your answer; somehow, you have the feeling that he understands the sort of loneliness that you've carried with you wherever you went. This stranger had the air of one who was well-versed in the language of loneliness, and he seemed to be the sort of person who wouldn't judge you for it.

"I don't even know why it bothers me so much when I can't even dance in the first place." You smile awkwardly, turning away from the light of the moon to stare longingly at the glowing windows of the tavern. "I'd probably muddle up that first dance alone, much less survive through the entire evening."

As if on cue, the claps slowed in rhythm, signalling that it was time for the long-awaited couples’ dance. Through the windows you could see the faint silhouettes of the boys who extended a hand to their would-be partners, who all accepted with giddy smiles.

Your feet twitch in your shiny new shoes, aching to know what it was to dance and enjoy dancing.

Your companion must have noticed your staring, for he, too, turned to look inside. "Are you sure you don't want to join them? This dance has a slower tempo and is a bit easier to learn."

"It would just be a hassle. Besides, I don't even have a dance partner."

"You do have one."

"Where? I don't see one."

"Right here."

For a moment your mind completely halts, struggling to properly process the full meaning of what the bartender just said. But he does not wait for you to recover— instead, he bows formally, extending one gloved hand to you in his offer.

“May I have this dance, then?” A faint smile flickers across his features, almost impossible to catch in the darkness— but that smile betrays itself in the sound of his voice, in the way it washes over you with its rich baritone and pulls you under in its irresistible warmth.

“I don’t even know your name.” You laugh slightly, yet your hand slips into his all the same. “I can’t very well dance with a stranger, can I?”

You cannot tell if it is the skill of your dance partner or some heaven-sent instinct, but the moment he steps closer to you, everything falls into place automatically; your posture naturally corrects itself, taking on the tall, upright stature of a dancer that you'd only dreamed of imitating, and one hand finds its place on his shoulder while the other firmly clasps his gloved hand. Even your feet forgot their aches and pain, shifting to balance your weight on the balls of the feet just as you had seen the other dancers do.

"My name is Diluc," he says simply, bringing his other hand to rest on the small of your back. "May I be so bold as to ask for yours?"

This was not the kind of dance that you had expected to have tonight— a pas de deux with cobblestone streets for your dance floor and the moon replacing the light of a chandelier, and a strange but trustworthy bartender as your partner. Yet that does not stop the heartbeat that thrums faster than the tempo of any dance, nor does it hinder you from speaking your truth.

“Yes," you reply, your first genuine smile of the evening working its way up your lips. "Yes, you may.”

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smoochkooks · 3 years

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—prologue: october sky

this is a part of my an ode to a broken heart drabble series.

pairing: jeon jungkook/reader

genre: unrequited love, best friends to (?), heavy angst, future smut

word count: 751 words

summary: it’s october, the sky today is clear and cloudless, just like your love for certain raven-haired boy. first is abnormality, second - a cruel reality.

chapter one

October is a very distinctive month.

There's no better word to describe the aura it emites. Some people might say it is a perfect template of human's life. October's a silhouette of autumn and the last, remaining memory of hot summer days. Then there will be nothing but grey skies and skeletons of trees, pulled out straight from Caspar David Friedrich's paintings.

So October is, in fact, a good representation of the way how un unavoidable cycle of life goes for humans. We breath the very last remains of pre-fall air, while walking down the alley that could only be described as autumnal. But we know this state is temporary, that soon those paths would be hollow, dirty and covered with rime, when the first morning frosts will come.

And this cycle is unstoppable, whether we want it, or not. Humans live like there's still summertime behind their backs and easily forget rainfalls are ahead of them. Even though they have been through it a couple of times, even though they are aware that good things don't last forever, they still yearn for the sunshine picking through the branches when days become shorter and winter's hiding behind a corner.

Today though, the sky's clear and cloudless. 'Rare sight', 'Abnormality' say headlines appearing on the morning news. Temperature reaches seventy-two degrees and if you didn't know any better, you would've thought that somehow, miraculously, you fell asleep yesterday and woke up six months later, in April.

But it's October, and wherever you lay your eyes on, there's no sight of upcoming fall.

There's a bunch of envelopes you've pulled out of your mailbox grasped in your hand while you enter your apartment. Carelessly, you kick off your shoes and throw the letters onto your coffee table. You don't pay attention to that–you already know what's written inside them. It's this annoying time of the month when bills arrive one by one and flood your mailbox until you decide it's time to empty your bank account again.

It's not until hours later, when you're sat on the couch, looking over them, that something catches your eye. Among plain, white envelopes there's one that stands out. It's beige, your name written in the corner in black ink and... nothing else. No address, no post stamp. Someone knew exactly where you live and purposely left it in your mailbox without delivering it in person. It's almost like you're thirteen again, opening your first ever Valentine's Day card; girls rounding your table and giggling while you're reading the silly poem over and over again.

Inside the envelope there is, in fact, a card. You've seen them multiple times in your life before. Your parents stash them in one of their drawers because it's 'a nice memory'. Until today, you've never received one yourself.

A wedding invitation.

You're cordially invited to the wedding of Jeon Jungkook and Kang Soojin.

You've never really understood how the world can crumble in front of one's eyes. How everything else can disappear in a matter of seconds and you suddenly feel so, so small and the world is bigger and cruel and devoid of justice. As you're clutching the sheet of paper between your fingers, you feel everything around you breaking into pieces. It's like you've been living behind glass walls and someone decided to smash them. Now they're falling apart around you.

All you hear is shattering.

The design on the invitation is pretty. Sentences printed in a swirly font, decorated with eucalyptus leaves and shiny, gold ornaments. Nothing too posh or extravagant, beauty in its simplicity.

You've seen it before. The combination of green, white and gold Jungkook showed you with a grin on his face what it feels like years ago now. Of course he designed them himself. There’s no way he would let anyone else do that when he spent years in college pursuing an art degree. Theres no way he wouldn't execute a vision he imagined for his wedding.

You should've seen it coming and frankly, you did. Sooner or later, you knew this day would come. Until today, you've been lying to yourself. Becoming a victim of your own, unrealistic fantasies. Now, the plain evidence of your foolishness is right in front of your eyes. The last flicker of hope vanishes as a lonely tear lands on the paper.

It's October, the sky today is clear and cloudless, just like your love for certain raven-haired boy. First is abnormality, second - a cruel reality.

#jungkook smut #btswritingcafe #ksmutclub #bangtanarmynet #bangtanhq #jungkook angst #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #bts smut #an ode to a broken heart #drabble series #my writing

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cellsshapedlikestars · 3 years

Note

If you are accepting prompts--how about Sansa and Jon being on opposite sides of a political contest? Prime Minister Rhaegar Targaryen is forced to call a referendum for Northern independence, as demanded by the Northern Nationalists party. He is campaigning in the North for a United Westeros, taking his second wife Lyanna Stark and their son Jon along, toshow how hollow all talk if Northern independence is. However, this means that Jon keeps running into his Stark cousins, particularly Sansa Stark, who accompanies her parents to every debate and campaign rally...

I've been sitting on this for a while (and yes, I do see all the anon prompts, I promise!) and I've sort of been writing this on and off since I got it. The thing is, I have no point of reference for these politics, I'm assuming you wanted something like the Scottish independence movement, which I have almost no knowledge of as I am a dumb American who can barely handle American politics without spiraling into anxiety and depression. So, I've sort of talked around the specifics and hopefully I haven't gotten anything too crazy wrong.

Also, you mention his Stark cousins, but... well, I cannot do modern incest. I can handle them being cousins in olden times where it was acceptable & common (I can't even handle the sibling incest aspect in any time period), but I was writing this modern and that's a hard nope for me. I know it's a fairly predominant part of this fandom and if it's your thing, absolutely have at it! There is no kink shaming in this house. It's just not for me and I couldn't write it, sorry!

Also, as usual, this turned out longer than I intended since these are supposed to be drabbles mostly. But 'drabbles' for me always end up like 2k words

Jon sits in the window seat of the jet, headphones on and turned up. Somewhere behind him, he knows his parents are sitting, likely talking strategy. He knows dad wants him to join in, but Jon's in no mood to talk politics. It's what got him in this situation to begin with.

That stupid reporter. Jon's stupid response.

Jon! How do you feel about Northern Independence?

I say let them.

It's what he believes, honestly – if the North wants independence, why not? The rest of the SK treats them like shit anyway, why not let them break off, like Dorne did? It's not a naming issue – they're still called the Seven Kingdoms despite losing Dorne decades ago, so what if they're technically only six now? Jon knows it's about more than that – it's economics and politics and... well, pride. The SK can't lose another piece of their kingdom – nevermind that piece has been conquered and beaten down multiple times over hundreds of years. Northern Independence isn't a new concept – it's just been met with military resistance every time and stamped out. But they aren't in the middle ages anymore.

For a moment he turns his head to look behind him – to see mom with her head bowed in conversation with dad and something ugly twists in Jon's stomach.

He knows dad only married mom because she got pregnant – because his political career was just taking off and a mistress and bastard would have ruined him. And mom, she'd been so young, she's convinced herself he married her for love. Jon swears that mom used to be different. She used to argue with Rhaegar all the time about politics, he even remembers her bringing up Northern Independence when Jon was just a kid. But over the years she's had to play the perfect wife for him and somewhere along the way it just... stuck. Mom isn't his mom anymore. No, mom is what Rhaegar's political advisors want her to be.

So even though Jon had wanted to protest this trip, there's also a part of him desperately clinging to the hope that when they get North, mom will snap out of it. When she's home, maybe she'll be his mom again.

Especially since the leader of the opposition is an old friend of hers.

Ned Stark.

Dad doesn't react to much, he's a politician to his core, so seeing him get riled anytime Ned Stark is on TV is notable. In fact, there's a rebellious part of Jon that already likes Ned Stark simply for the fact that dad hates him so much. There's more to like than just that, Jon knows – Ned Stark seems like one of those politicians that's doing the job because they want to make a difference. They're rare, nowadays, but Jon's been surrounded by politicians his whole life and he can spot the do-gooders from a mile away.

He thinks it's partly why dad hates it – Ned Stark doesn't use the same underhanded tactics Rhaegar's used to, and from everything Jon's heard, there's nothing to use against Ned. The only skeleton dad's advisors had ever found tucked away in Ned Stark's closet had been that his wife, Catelyn, had originally dated his older brother Brandon, who died in a car accident. They'd begun dating and married shortly after - a minor scandal that hadn't gained any traction, considering they've been married for over twenty years with five children.

Dad was hoping to get somewhere with the youngest daughter, Arya, who always seemed more wild than the rest of her siblings (except maybe the youngest, Rickon). The problem is that she's never done anything really wrong and the North loves her. The oldest son Robb is as perfect a son as any politician could hope for and Jon sometimes wonders if dad would rather have Robb than Jon.

The other two sons are still fairly young and going after them would only make dad look like the bad guy. Then there's Sansa.

Jon remembers her from growing up – not that he'd ever met her, but they're both kids of prominent politicians and he's seen her in photos since she was old enough to walk. A proper lady, he remembers even the southern press naming her. Perfect, just like her older brother.

A hand on his shoulder jolts him out of his thoughts and he turns to see mom, who motions at him to take off his headphones.

“We're landing in a half hour and your father would like to go over your role,” she tells him with a perfect, bland smile. (She hasn't been his mother for a very long time.)

“I know my role,” he says and he can't help the bitter tone to his voice. “Stay quite, don't talk to the press. Pretty easy to remember.”

“And yet you still managed to nearly undermine my entire campaign with one flippant remark,” dad's voice calls over from his seat, low and smooth, though Jon absolutely hears the annoyance underneath it.

“Oh, he's just a child,” mom says, trying to play the peacekeeper like she always does.

“He's twenty, he's hardly a child,” dad starts, but Jon doesn't listen to the rest. He pulls his headphones back over his ears and looks back out the window and tries to pretend he's anywhere else.

…

By the time they reach Winterfell Castle, Jon is in a bad mood.

Not that he hadn't been before, but he's not allowed his headphones in the limo and so he'd had to listen to dad talk nonstop about his two favorite topics: Jon's failure as a son and how much he hates Ned Stark. And the way mom doesn't even try to defend Ned Stark like she used to infuriates Jon even more.

Jon hates his tuxedo and he hates that they barely had any time between landing and having to get ready for this dinner and he hates that he's going to have to smile and shake hands with a bunch of people who hate him on principle, simply for who his father is. For what his father represents.

When he does step out of the limo, he ignores every photographer and reporter that shouts his name, eager to get any sort of scandal out of him.

He doesn't blame them for this, he's given them enough over the years – not just his apparent support of Northern Independence, but everything else he's done to gain his notoriety. His reputation as a heartbreaker and a playboy that's mostly over-exaggerated, that time he punched a teacher (though to be fair, Thorne deserved it)... Teenage rebellion, they'd written it off as, but he's no longer a teenager and he knows he should grow up and stop doing things to piss off his father at some point.

(His favorite one had been sleeping with that investigative journalist when he was seventeen. She'd been older than him by a good few years and he'd known she was using him to write an article, but he was using her just as much to infuriate his father. His only true regret is that Ygritte's article hadn't done any real lasting damage to Rhaegar's reputation.)

Inside, there aren't any reporters but there are politicians everywhere and that's worse. He does the bare minimum to not cause an issue – he shakes hands and says hello, though he refuses to smile while doing it. They already hate him for being Rhaegar Targaryen's son. They already hate him for being Northern-traitor Lyanna Snow's son.

He keeps an eye on mom to see how she's doing and his heart twists painfully in his chest when he sees her. She has a bright smile on her face and anyone who didn't know her would think she's fine, but Jon can see how pale she is under her makeup. This is the first time she's been back in the North since she married dad and he has a sudden, sharp pang of hatred for Rhaegar – for getting her pregnant, for marrying her, for never letting her go back. For turning her into this.

He can tell the moment Ned Stark enters the room because mom freezes. And sure enough, there he is – beautiful wife at his side, the three adult children with him. Robb, Sansa, Arya. Jon's eyes scan over them – Robb with his perfect hair and smile, an easy way about him that's always come through even on camera. Sansa standing poised and almost too beautiful to believe – Jon's only ever seen her on film and somehow she's even more unreal in person. Arya, who by all accounts hates politics as much as Jon does, stands firmly by her family and Jon gets the sense she only hates the system, not her dad. Not like Jon.

As Jon scans the room, he can see other families here that he recognizes – the Greyjoys, including Robb Stark's best friend Theon. The Manderlys, the Karstarks, the Ryswells, the Boltons, the Mormonts. More families than Jon cares to remember.

There's a sense of someone behind him and he turns just enough to see that dad has come up to stand next to him. For a moment, dad just stands there before turning his head ever so slightly and bringing his mouth close to Jon's ear and he says so low Jon can barely even hear it - “if you do anything to embarrass me tonight, there will be consequences. If you do anything that makes it seem like you support this pathetic independence movement, there will be consequences. Do you understand me?”

Jon feels blind rage that winds so hot in his chest it makes him shake and his vision narrow. He has to close his eyes and take a deep breath before he can answer, and he grits out, “of course.” Dad nods and moves away, putting on his best politician smile as he goes to greet Howland Reed.

Mom shoots him a concerned look, but Jon ignores her. He can feel it building in him – that rebelliousness the press likes to talk about so much. He wants to hurt Rhaegar. For everything – for his mother, for all the people dad's stepped on and hurt. He wants to embarrass him, consequences be damned.

Just as he's thinking this, his eyes catch on copper hair and bright blue eyes.

Sansa Stark.

Darling of the press. Perfect Northern princess.

It takes root in his mind, against his better judgment. What would make Rhaegar more furious than an affair between his son and the daughter of Ned Stark?

Jon can't imagine Sansa would be amenable to the suggestion, not like Ygritte had been – there is no mutually beneficial agreement here. She would never agree to do something that might embarrass her father (and once again, Jon is reminded of the, pun intended, stark difference between his relationship with his father and the Stark children's relationship with Ned. Jon has never even met them in person and he knows this).

So he can't approach her with any sort of offer or plan. No, he'd have to pretend it was real.

He's going to have to seduce Sansa Stark.

#jonsa #prompt fic #ask #oooh boy do i know nothing of politics #and political families #do not @ me #is this boring?#probably #jonsa fic

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nanaminokanojo · 3 years

Text

[6:30PM] Iwaizumi X You

LOG #14 OF MY HAIKYUU!! TIME STAMP DRABBLES

CHARACTERS: Iwaizumi Hajime X You WORD COUNT: 1,200+ GENRE: fluff | romance | high school au TRIGGER WARNING: strong language SPOILERS: n/a

collection masterlist

Effervescent. That's how Iwaizumi's kisses were like, always similar to the cool feel of sweet carbonated drink touching your lips for the first time on a scorching hot day, tiny bubbles popping against your mouth, inconspicuous at first then spreading into something more profound and intense.

You felt that same thing every single time and at that moment as he tilted your head up, big, calloused hands securing you at the nape while you both sat lotus at the sidelines of the volleyball court. You anticipated what was to come as his slightly chapped lips made contact with yours, uncaring of who was watching, but the feeling was something you can never get used to.

It's been a month since you started dating but you have not adjusted to his affections towards you from the sweet little gestures to his affection both physical and verbal. It always and without miss flusters you. Probably beyond that since you feel as if you can't breathe and you feel as if your heart would just stop every single time he comes too close.

In your defense, you didn't really know him as well as you thought you did. Your relationship started with a dare because you were too shy and socially impaired and your friends were a bunch of jerks who told you to walk up to the group of seniors lounging about at the front quad and ask for anyone's number. But surprise, surprise! They seem to know you by name and Oikawa took your number instead, gave you his for the sake of the dare and later gave your number to his "friend" who was apparently crushing on you. How and why, you didn't understand. It ended up to be Iwaizumi Hajime, the volleyball team's ace.

You've known him a total of six months and every single time he does and says something, be it involving you or not, your reaction is to be stunned speechless or motionless, basically useless. You didn't understand why every little thing he does has that profound effect on you, his multi-faceted personality surprising you at every turn.

"Baby, you're turning blue," your now boyfriend said when he pulled away from the kiss, torn between concern and laughing.

In your head, you were trying to figure out how the fierce, somewhat scary Iwaizumi who keeps Oikawa in check in a gruff manner could be so gentle with how he approached you, smile like he has never frowned in his entire life and do all those corny things couples do. You marveled at his warmth, at how affectionate he could be. It was unsettling and sometimes, you're wondering if you were dealing with the same person.

"Breathe," he told you and you released the baited breath in your lungs you weren't even aware you were holding in. He grinned at you then. "Don't look at me like that, Y/N. I'm gonna melt."

"Huh?" Okay, you're being dumb now, but you had no idea what he was talking about. "I-I wasn't..." You looked away, covering your face with your sweater paws, your cheeks feeling like they're going to catch on fire.

He clucked his tongue. "Baby, you're scaring me. You suddenly freeze up when I touch you. Am I doing anything wrong?"

"No!" You cringed at how loudly you spoke and just shook your head. "That's n-not...no." You flashed him an awkward smile. "Please don't think that way, Hajime. I'm just..."

"What?"

"Er...not used to this." He's your first boyfriend after all. You didn't know how to handle things yet, and really, you were fumbling blindly.

Iwaizumi arched a brow at you, tilting his head to the side, a smile threatening to draw itself across his mouth. "You don't like it when I kiss you?"

Your eyes grew wide as saucers. "No. I like it."

"So why do you get all nervous?"

You took a sharp intake of air, overwhelmed by your thoughts. You didn't know where to begin explaining. You liked it when he gets physical with you, but then it also addles your brain and makes you all jittery. And you only managed to say one thing: "Warn me."

"Huh?"

Your eyes met his squarely. "Tell me when you're about to do something. Prepare my heart for it."

He was quiet for a bit, trying to figure out the meaning behind what you were saying. He looked brooding, making you distance yourself a bit, thinking you said something wrong. You didn't want to make it seem like his advances were tornadoes that need sirens, but it pretty much sounded like that to you.

"I didn't know I affected you that way." Iwaizumi broke into that crooked smile, morphing into a smirk as he leaned even closer, slowly closing the gap between you. "But I can't get enough of your flustered face whenever I kiss you."

You pouted. "If my heart stops it's your fault."

Without a warning, he leaned much too close, advancing forward as he placed a hand behind your head. Just as you said, the little thumper in your chest fluttered rapidly and seemed to have stopped. Your eyes remained locked in his piercing gaze, more because he commanded you to than the fact that you wanted to. He rested his hands on either side of your head, poised above you as his muscular arms supported his weight, suspended mere inches from you.

"How's that for a warning?" he asked, voice coming out hoarse as shifted his vision between your eyes and your lips.

"T-that's not much o-of a warn-warning –"

"It's okay if you blame me for when your heart suddenly stops." He grinned slyly at you. "I'll always make sure to restart it."

Iwaizumi was about to claim your lips again, millimeters away when he suddenly raised an arm in defense as a blue and yellow ball came speeding towards him. You gasped, bracing for impact but it didn't come.

He effectively deflected, eyes remaining on you. A gentle smile etched its way across his mouth before pecking you quickly, his head immediately turning to look at the direction from whence the ball came from. Sure enough, Oikawa, Matsukawa and Hanamaki were standing there, sporting cheeky grins.

"Oh no," you whined under your breath.

"Iwa-chan, you're getting bolder every day," Oikawa commented, looking smug.

Your boyfriend was suddenly on his feet, running at full speed towards the other three, chasing them and throwing balls he picked up along the way at them, the last one hitting his best friend on the back of his head.

You just lay there, covering your face and suppressing the smile that was threatening to make itself known as heat suffused your skin, tickling your cheeks pink and your heart aflutter yet full.

"Are you just gonna stay there?" you heard Iwaizumi say from above you. When you took a peek, he already had his hand extended towards you. "Up you go."

Taking it, you hoisted yourself up, surprised when he suddenly pulled you towards him, arms locking around your waist. He gave you that tender look, happy that you weren't the only one whose face was burning red. Still, he had other things in mind.

Iwaizumi leaned his forehead against yours, smiling like he hadn't just tried to beat up his friends seconds ago and said, "Now where were we?"

-end-

Thank you so much for reading. Likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed it.

PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART CREDITS TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

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deanwinchesterswitch · 3 years

Text

Weekly Fic Recs ~ Part One

It's very late, but my fic rec post is back. The past couple of weeks have been very hectic, which put me behind on my posts. However, I have been trying to keep up on my reading.

So... there are a bunch of fics that I would like to recommend from various fandoms, and pretty much everything from fluff to smut. It should be easy to find something to enjoy and share.

Because of the new limits for posts, I had to make two.

Many of these blogs and fics are NSFW-18+. Please honor any requests from a blog regarding no minors and heed the warnings for each fic.

Part Two

Are You Trying To Turn Me On? ~ @downanddirtydean. Author's Summary: A quick (and rough) fuck in the library with your boyfriend Dean after you (unintentionally) turn him on… and Sam’s supposed to be back any minute.

Hit & Run: Moving In ~ @anotherspnfanfic. Author's Summary: short little time stamp for my Hit & Run series. Takes place after the end of the series.

Salt, Sugar and Viruses ~ @babyboibucky. Author's Summary: You’ve been secretly making coffee for Bucky at the office.

You Don't Look At Me Like That ~ @downanddirtydean. Author's Summary: You may be a little bit too excited to be at your favorite diner again for the first time in years, introducing Dean to the best burgers in the world.

Broken Promises ~ @dreaming-about-fanfictions. Author's Summary: None. Star Trek - Bones x Reader

Rainy Night ~ @anotherspnfanfic. Author's Summary: None

How We Say Goodbye ~ @themoonandotherslikeit. Author's Summary: Y/N catches Dean sneaking off with his gun cocked and a serious expression on his face. She knows after being together for 7 years what he looked like when he was about to go into a fight that he can’t win, and this is that look.

Wherever The Whiskey Takes Us ~ @impala-dreamer. Author's Summary: Bored, alone, and drunk in the Bunker, Y/N goes on a hunt for something magical to do, and of course, finds Dean. Or, rather, he finds her…

Dream Car ~ @carryonmywaywardbucky. Author's Summary: Dean is used to absolutely nobody besides Bobby working on the cars at Singer Auto. When he sees someone that’s clearly not Bobby tinkering beneath a car he’s never seen, he’s understandably intrigued. He becomes even more intrigued, however, when you slide out from under the car.

Through the Shadows ~ @thegirlwhorunswithwinchesters. Author's Summary: A nightmare alerts him of her discomfort, and he is right there to take it all away.

Home To You-Eight ~ @smol-and-grumpy. Author's Summary: Dean enlisted in the hopes to help secure enough money for Sam to be able to go to college. Of course he didn’t tell Sam. Why would he? Sam would understand, right? Turns out, Sam didn’t get it, and is giving Dean the silent treatment for over a year. In Dean’s desperation to reconnect with Sam, Dean reaches out to his brother’s best friend. Little does he know that the hurricane named Y/N will turn out to be the reason he wants to stay alive and go back home for.

Dean's Jeans 2 ~ @watermelonlipstick. Author's Summary: Spending the afternoon working on the driveway with Dean, Sam, your daughters, and nephew.

Welcome home (part 1) and (part 2) ~ @waywardbaby. Author's Summary: A beautiful encounter that turned into something so much more.

Mechanic and Mistletoe-Epilogue ~ @deanwanddamons. Author's Summary: Y/N, an ER nurse is driving home to her Mom on Christmas Eve. Her car breaks down on the side of the road. She calls Winchester Singer Autos and Bobby sends Dean to help her. Will she make it to her Mom in time for Christmas? And will she get back home in time for her shift on Boxing Day?

Public ~ @covered-byroses. Author's Summary: None (Drabble)

Close Quarters ~ @carryonmywaywardbucky. Author's Summary: When Lucifer and the reader are forced into a tight spot, she expects him to slip into his usual playboy role. When he doesn’t, though, you’re understandably confused but also unexpectedly attracted to his protective side.

All Our Sins ~ @impala-dreamer. Author's Summary: It has been a long time since your last confession, but you were pretty sure it wasn’t supposed to go like this…

Cops and Hunters pt. 1 ~ @apple-pie-life. Author's Summary: She was a hunter and it wasn’t exactly a profession legally recognized, so she never really had a good relationship with the law… until now?

Obvious ~ @babyboibucky. Author's Summary: You and Bucky are more than friends but less than lovers.

Welcome Home ~ @impala-dreamer. Author's Summary: Your husband comes home for vacation and you both settle in for some R&R

when he forgets... @justagirlinafandomworld. Author's Summary: He says he doesn’t mean to, but it happens again and again.

Like A Fine Wine ~ @thinkinghardhardlythinking. Author's Summary: Jensen and the Reader have a playful argument about his ever youthful good looks

All The Ways ~ @thinkinghardhardlythinking. Author's Summary: A Lust spell hits the Reader and Dean is the only one there to help, which is unfortunate as she doesn’t want to risk their friendship.

In His Bed ~ @thoughtslikeaminefield. Author's Summary: She needs a rebirth.

Too Close to Gone-Chapter 4, Chapter 5, and Chapter 6 ~ @jawritter. Author's Summary: Dean’s been gone for a year. You have been gone from the Bunker for just about as long. When you finally get the guts to go back “home” after leaving, someone you never thought you’d see again stumbles into your life, and now you have to figure out how to move on with a constant reminder of what you’ve lost following you around in the flesh.

Stripped ~ @risingphoenix761. Author's Summary: None. Original Poem

Your Eyes ~ @samwilsons-pillowpecs. Author's Summary: Sam Wilson is a loyal man with a big heart, no wonder he bonded so easily to Steve Rogers… but he loved you first. Now, his loyalties are torn.

Hunter's Farewell ~ @peridottea91. Author's Summary: You left to hunt on your own after one too many mistakes… Only to make the biggest one of your life

Wake Up, Dollface ~ @risingphoenix761. Author's Summary: None. TWD - Negan x Reader

#weekly fic recs #fabulous writers #fic rec #052321 #part one

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seokmingiggles · 3 years

Text

peonies.

Prompt: "Going somewhere?"

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x gender neutral reader

Genre: fluff, established relationship, quarantine!au (if that’s what you’d call it?), non-idol!au (this isn’t a typical tag of mine, but I want to make it clear!).

2.36k words

No warnings.

Being cooped up inside for the protection of others can become a redundant routine. Today, your boyfriend breaks that cycle and goes on an unexpected outing—safely, of course.

Alternatively, Taehyung decides that he wants to remind you of his love with the surprise of little gifts. Not that he needs to, but he wants to.

A/N: Here’s a little something I wrote in the span of a couple of hours tonight to separate my Seventeen teacup drabbles. By ‘quarantine!au,’ I mean this one-shot takes place in our current situation with Covid-19 :/ I truly hope all of you are able to stay safe and healthy. Please wear a mask when you go out! We will fight this pandemic!! ♡

•• The distinct metal clinking of keys jingling by the front door catches your attention.

"Going somewhere?"

Taehyung looks up from his feet after slipping on a pair of brown boots. He's got his keys in one hand, along with a slightly crumpled list of something illegible to you from your spot on the couch. A black medical mask is hung haphazardly to the side off of one of his ears.

He stands up tall, "Just got a couple of errands to run. I'll be right back." Your boyfriend flashes you a smile, rounding his cheeks into rolls of puffy dough.

You hum out, "Okay," and return his small wave as he leaves your shared apartment.

There's a slight crisp to the air outside today. It nips on the tips of Taehyung's cheeks exposed from his mask. The boy considers if he should have put on a scarf, too, overtop his jacket. Overtop his mask? It's too late now, he muses. At least his hands are warm inside his fleece-lined pockets, and his round nose is sheltered from the late-winter air. He clutches the piece of paper tightly in his right hand. Writing lists may be obsolete now in the digital age, but Taehyung can't deny how he likes the feel of pen on paper, even if he can recite each written line from memory; crossing off his to-do lists makes him feel accomplished.

His shoes gently click on the sidewalk. The streets are emptier than he's used to seeing. The light snowfall from a few days ago has already melted. Instead, some dead leaves rustle across the dry ground. Someone is walking on the same sidewalk, heading in Taehyung's direction. She's wearing a similar medical-grade mask with hands stuffed deeply into her pockets too. Her hair blows violently in the head-on wind. She looks up from her footsteps, and Taehyung swears he can see what might be a polite smile beneath her mask. The boy's eyes crinkle slightly at the corners in response, continuing on his way.

His first stop is the used bookstore. The smell of old paper and the slight dryness from the dust make their way through Taehyung's mask, into his nose. He doesn't have anything specific in mind. He does, however, know the types of books you like to read. Shelf after shelf, he scans the spines one by one, in search of a title that stands out to him. Stardust, he ruminates, eyes inspecting the plain royal blue cover. It seems simple enough, and if you don't like it, he may consider reading it.

Taehyung weaves through the maze of piled books laid out on the floor; there are far too many for the small shop to accommodate. The owner of the store is sat behind the desk at the side, likewise surrounded by stacks upon stacks of books. Some are dustier than others; some look newer than others.

"Just this one today?" the bookkeeper ponders, face half-masked.

"Yes, please."

The blue-bound book finds a place in the crook of the boy's elbow, pressed to his chest as he returns on his walk. This time, someone is on a run with their dog, jogging on the opposite side of the street. Taehyung never sees his face, only the back of his head as he moves ahead. But he does notice the little elastics of his mask tucked around his ears once he passes by. Muscular, yet lean calves push him to run further; the brown spotted dog seems to skip happily along the sidewalk next to its owner.

The aroma of the bakery is mildly evident before he crosses the street. Located as the first shop on the corner of a new avenue, the little store contains your favourite treats, Taehyung's too. A family-owned business, the boy wants to support their shop during this time of limited sales. Frankly, the boy wishes he could do the same for all of the little stores lining the streets here downtown.

The bell above the door chimes when Taehyung enters the store; the sound resonates in the single room. A rush of hot air smacks his face.

With the sound of footsteps coming down from the upstairs attachment, the shop owner appears in a blue mask. "Welcome!" her voice is jolly, eyes in crescents. "Is it the usual for today, Taehyung?"

The boy in question nods with a smile, fluffy bangs bouncing with the movement, "Please."

The patissier moves to the windowed counter displaying significantly fewer treats than what would have been a year ago.

"Is it a special occasion?"

"No," Taehyung admits. "Just because."

There's a twinkle in the baker's eye. "They're a lucky one."

Taehyung doesn't say anything, and instead, he thinks how he's the lucky one out of the two of you.

He pays with cash, rounding up as an extra tip. The two exchange thanks and other pleasantries, and Taehyung sets back out in the cool air on his way. The paper gift bag holds the two cardboard containers with mouth-watering snacks inside. He slips the novel carefully into the bag, making sure it doesn't rip.

The florist is his final stop on today's little journey.

Blooming buds of each and every colour of the rainbow and then some invade Taehyung's vision. He's sure the fragrant floral scent would be more potent without wearing his mask. He tries to sniff one of the bunches of tulips near the entryway. No, it's mostly neutral with a hint of dust leftover from the bookstore.

"For any reason in particular? Birthday? Anniversary?"

Taehyung is brought from his flower-sniffing, seeing the florist behind the counter bearing what might be an amused grin. The boy hides his frustration at being unable to read people's expressions properly when concealed by the masks.

"Ah, no," his face flushes slightly, "not today. Could I still get some flowers, though?"

"Of course," she beams. "Anything specific?"

The boy ponders, examining each prearranged bouquet laying about. They all look beautiful to him, but Taehyung also doesn't know much about flowers. What's more important to him is how much you like them; that's all he needs to know.

"Surprise me," is his answer, confident in the florist's abilities.

Taehyung ends up leaving the store with a combination of delicate daffodils, carnations, roses, and two large peonies in the center. The bright yellows of the daffodils compliment the ivory carnations and ruby-red roses. The pastel pink peonies, Taehyung thinks, might be his favourite from the bunch. Maybe the two of you are peonies? You're certainly pretty like a flower, yes, so why not a peony?

Taehyung heads in the opposite direction from his travels, starting the walk back to the apartment. The paper bag containing the pastries and the book is still clutched tightly in one hand, while the colourful, decorative flowers are held with significantly more care in his other hand.

The sky is grey today, filled with an abundance of dense clouds. Taehyung swears it had been blue when he had left the house earlier, although now, it looks like there may be another snowfall. More leaves scatter with the wind, blowing in Taehyung's direction. They dance in the breeze, scraping the cemented road and landing in the crook of an alleyway between two shops, both with their lights off and variations of 'Closed' signs decorating the doors.

Sure enough, what can barely be classified as snow begins to fall from the heavens. Tiny flakes of white flutter down, instantly melting as they hit the sidewalk. The only evidence of their existence is when they land on Taehyung's black woollen jacket, but even then, they don't last for very long.

The distinct metal clinking of keys signals your boyfriend's return home. Taehyung takes in your appearance, now off the couch and facing the stove with your back to him. You've changed out of your trusty pair of sweatpants you've been housed in for the past months, opting for something slightly more form-fitting, but comfortable still, nonetheless. Your hair looks washed. Maybe you took a shower in the time Taehyung had been out. You're boiling some water in a pot, from what the boy can tell. Yes, upon moving closer, some pasta swirls around in the churning bubbles, steam escaping only to be swept up in the oven range above.

"You're done with your errands?" you call out over your shoulder, returning your gaze to the cooking pasta as you listen to your boyfriend removing his outerwear by the front door. "How was it out there?"

Taehyung moves his sock-clad feet to where you stand. After washing his hands, a pair of warm arms tenderly wraps around your torso from behind, followed by a brisk peck to your cheek.

"It was quiet out there, as you'd expect," the boy mulls over as he traces some unknown shape onto your hipbone. "Do you want to see what I got?"

You comply with his request, turning the stove's burner down before moving in his embrace as he shifts the two of you to the kitchen island. There, the array of treats are splayed out.

Your eyes immediately land on the flowers: the colours nearly take your breath away. It's been so long since you've seen something so alive. You don't fail to notice the brown paper bag with your favourite bakery's emblem stamped on the side. Something else is peeking out of the bag, something blue that you can't distinguish.

"Why?" you can't help but ask Taehyung. "What's the reason for all of this?" Still held in his arms, you slightly twist so you can glance upwards at your boyfriend.

He's already looking at you with his big brown eyes. Little droplets of melted snow rest daintily in his hair. You reach upwards to brush some aside, also smoothing down some of the astray strands displaced from the wind.

"The reason is that I love you."

"You're too good, Tae," you whisper, hugging the boy properly and burying your face into him. "I love you too."

Another kiss finds your head before you pull away, but only to move closer once again to place your lips on Taehyung's. His nose is cold, but his mouth is hot as you move together with years of practice. You're the first one to part, but staying close enough for noses to brush. Taehyung has a hand cupping the side of your face, thumbing over the roundest part of your cheek from your smile: a shape comparable to a soft bread bun.

Being stuck inside has its downfalls; you and Taehyung are no exception. You've had more arguments in the span of the past ten months than all of the years in your relationship combined. Considering them as arguments may be putting it harshly, disagreements or miscommunication are more accurate depictions of your quarrels. Perhaps the fatigue of being confined indoors is to blame. The worst dispute was a couple of months ago, where you and Taehyung grimly doubted the status of your relationship—if any of it was worth it anymore.

Clearly, you managed to work things out as here you sit on the sofa now, biting into one of the flaky, buttery croissants—one of the few treats adorning the inside of the paper bag. The raspberry preserves on the inside burst across your tongue in a pleasant tartness, complementing the sweet pastry. The pasta on the stove now forgotten, moved to the side and off the burner for another time. You offer Taehyung a bit of the croissant to which he complies, taking a large bite from it. Little flecks of gold decorate the corners of his mouth; one finds a spot on his upper lip beside the dimple of his cupid's bow.

"You're cute," you mumble, gently removing the crumbs from his mouth.

Taehyung disagrees, a voice so soft you'd nearly miss it if he weren't in such proximity, "Not as cute as you, my love." He takes your hand in his, pressing a string of little pecks onto your fingers. Your hand stays in his even after the kisses placed, digits now laced comfortably.

You take another bite of the raspberry croissant until there's one mouthful left. You wordlessly offer it to your boyfriend.

The floral bouquet occupies the center of the kitchen table. It's a fluorescent sight between the dulled walls of the apartment. Like a little piece of sunshine, the flowers provide you with a sense of warmth or energy that you no longer experience trapped in your confined space day after day.

The snow has picked up outside. The clouds have only gotten denser since Taehyung's return home. The sky is gradually growing darker with the hour; streetlamps flicker on one-by-one, lining the streets in glowing amber and putting spotlights on the colourless, falling flakes. Rooftops and tree branches gradually become covered in a dusting of white.

"I love you," Taehyung repeats out of the blue, causing you to remove your gaze from the winter landscape forming outside.

You examine his face as his eyes flutter between yours. A pretty shade of pink blossoms on his cheeks while his mouth lifts into the smallest of smiles.

"I love you too," you say with all earnest. "Thank you for everything today."

"Of course," he nuzzles into the top of your head, pulling you close against him. "I'm sorry we have to stay indoors most of the time."

"It's not your fault, Tae."

The boy hums in acknowledgement. "Sometimes I wish I could solve it all, you know? Like if I wish or pray, or maybe if I believe hard enough, everything will be fixed. Everything will be normal again."

"Things will be normal again," you return. Your thumb strokes over Taehyung's on the hand you're still holding. Your head finds his shoulder.

Taehyung is warm and familiar and possibly the only constant in your life right now. Your eyes reach the flowers in the vase on the dining table once more—vibrant and attractive yellows, reds, and pastel pinks.

You squeeze your boyfriend's hand: a silent thank you; an unsaid I love you.

Taehyung squeezes your hand back.

To do:

live for today

and cherish (Y/N)

••

#kim taehyung #kim taehyung x reader #kim taehyung fluff #kim taehyung imagines #kim taehyung scenario #taehyung #taehyung x reader #taehyung fluff #taehyung imagines #taehyung scenario #bts #bts x reader #bts fluff #bts imagine #bts scenario #bts taehyung #bts v #bts taehyung x reader #bts v x reader

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hongssami · 4 years

Text

main masterlist

legend: [b] blurb/time stamp [d] drabble [s] scenario [*] bulletpoint [^] paragraph form [♡] personal fav [~] i no longer write for this group

Disclaimer. The contents of this masterlist are purely fictional. Any resemblance of the characters and events depicted in these works to those in real life are merely coincidental (unless stated). This user highly discourages copying, reposting, and/or translating their works without consent.

If you are uncomfortable or find anything wrong with any of the content or would like to point out triggers/warnings that the the user has failed to mention, please do not hesitate to contact them.

drabble games masterlist - an event i hold once a month (but not every month!) where i throw out prompts and i let my readers request things ; I DO NOT TAKE REQUESTS ANYMORE

wingkkun tries to write coherently - just a bunch of word vomits because my mind is filled with too much stardust

mai’s dungeon drafts - every once in a while i post unfinished drafts from the dungeon that i’ve either a) lost interest in, or b) just can’t finish

Stray Kids

cafe stay (skz flowerboy au) masterlist

Bang Chan

[white carnations] [b] [^]

- preview for chan’s flowerboy au

on the count of three [s] [^] [♡]

- subtle friends-to-lovers (kiss kiss fall in love au)

Lee Minho

[01:48] [b] [^]

- starboy minho au (skz forest au)

take me somewhere nice [s] [^]

- subtle friends-to-lovers (kiss kiss fall in love au)

Seo Changbin

and they were roommates [s] [^]

- friends-to-lovers, roommate au, mutual pining

three swordsmen in one [b] [^] [DISCONTINUED]

- parts: part i

- zoro changbin au

[09/12] [b] [^]

- mermaid au (skz forest au)

let's not fall in love [s] [^] [♡]

- best friends-to-lovers (kiss kiss fall in love au)

Hwang Hyunjin

i can’t carry you forever, but i can hold you now [d] [^]

- subtle? childhood friends-to-lovers, probably platonic

[18:20] [b] [^]

- best friend hyunjin confesses but you just had to erase that

again [s] [^]

- childhood friends-to-lovers (kiss kiss fall in love au)

Han Jisung

[00:03] [b] [^]

- jisung’s slow hours after with you

and july [s] [^] [♡] [DISCONTINUED, WILL BE REWRITTEN]

- parts: winter, spring (1)

- idiots-to-lovers au, roommate au, college au, mutual pining

Lee Felix

past the sunset and onwards to the dawn [d] [^]

- felix moon elf au (skz forest au)

hold my heart, it's beating for you anyway [b] [^]

- a messy text message to felix, you'll probably regret it later

[hand in frustratingly oblivious hand] [b] [^]

& [two steps closer to one step apart] [b] [^]

- felix is skinship central and maybe you like him, best friend au

Kim Seungmin

college au [s] [*]

- revised ver. [s] [*]

- pol sci major, lit minor, seungmin is doing his best

come over [d] [^]

- drus (male dryad) seungmin au (skz forest au)

Yang Jeongin

[15:48] [b] [^] [♡]

- shapeshifterfox jeongin au (skz forest au)

NCT [~]

hogwarts doyoung (k.dy) [d] [^]

- hanging ending :/

domingo en fuego (n.jm) [s] [^]

- [DISCONTINUED] surfer jaemin au

BTS [~]

college & roommate headcannon (k.nj) [b] [*]

- 10/10. would recommend being his roommate

The Boyz

barista jacob (b.jy) [d] [^]

- friends-to-lovers au, mutual pining

summer job eric (s.yj) [b] [*]

- friends-to-lovers au, summer job au, slight fantasy au heh

#masterlist #mobile masterlist

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greensphynx · 4 years

Text

Timer Starts Now

A fanfic for Voltron: Legendary Defender

Rating: Mature

Pairing: established Shance

A Spanksgiving drabble for you lost souls.

---

They were all set.

Lance had managed to transform the cold, alien dining hall of the Castleship into the perfectly festive, picture perfect dinner occasion.

He had found a piece of fabric large enough to cover the entire huge table as a proper table cloth and found the best Altean tableware deeply hidden in the cupboards to set out. He had raided the scrap heap Pidge and Hunk shared for their projects to recreate some pretty fancy high candles - the LED type, of course, but it didn't take an engineering genius like Hunk to make them flicker like a real flame.

There was a lot of space left on the table, but Lance had been prepared and brought a big bunch of the beautiful vegetation of the last planet they'd been on, setting it up over the free space like an alien flower arrangement.

Hunk had done his part with an amazing feat of his culinary artistry, cooking up a whole lot of delicious looking side dishes - the occasional neon coloured food would just have to do - and a surprisingly accurate recreation of cranberry sauce. It was too bad that the large roast looked nothing like a turkey, but at least it appeared to be meat so Lance was not going to be picky.

Lance was way too pleased to be picky about such a thing now.

The table was set for a feast, because the steadily advancing calendar of his tablet said today was Thanksgiving, and it was about time they had a party together, just the paladins and the Alteans and not some other civilisation that needed to be pleased and coddled into an alliance. Just them, and a lot of delicious food and all the free time to enjoy it.

Coran had brought out the formal, non-armoured wear for the paladins, so they all looked good.

Lance could not have been happier right now. (Well, aside from spending the holidays with his family back on earth, anyway.)

The only thing off with the table was that when they all took their seats, Shiro pointedly put his tablet on the table, the numbers of an unstarted timer blinking brightly on the screen. Lance glanced up at Shiro's face questioningly, only to receive a meaningful look and Shiro pointedly starting the timer.

Boy, Lance knew what that look meant.

For the first time since he started to prepare this party, he couldn't wait until it was over.

---

"I'm so proud of you, Lance."

Lance answered with only a soft, relieved whimper, his death grip on Shiro's pants legs finally loosening a little. Shiro's hand felt hot and rough where it gently petted the burning skin on Lance's backside, but it was a blessed break from the harsh spanking that had been raining down on bare skin for what already felt like an eternity.

"You set the table so nicely," Shiro continued to praise, all gentle and fond while his hand continued to stroke and pet. "It was almost like being back home, celebrating with family. Which we were doing now too in a way, weren't we?"

"Y-yes, sir," Lance stammered out quickly, knowing better than to let a question go unanswered.

His breathing was finally slowing to something more normal again, the muscles that had him tense as a board over Shiro's lap slowly relaxing into a slump.

Lance was holding back from relaxing fully, knowing what would happen once he did.

Shiro saw right through him though, as he always did.

"Come, we're almost halfway."

Lance couldn't stop the helpless sob at that news, yelping when Shiro's hand swatted down on his abused skin as hard as every time before. His break was over, and Shiro's spankings were relentless, his hand coming down hard and fast, back and forth from Lance's left cheek to his right and back again.

The harsh slapping of Shiro's hand on his skin filled Lance's ears even more than his own wailing did, the rhythm of it hypnotising until he couldn't hear himself at all anymore. He couldn't hear the rush of his blood in his ears, or his rapid, gasped breathing or the creak of the fabric in his hands that he was nearly tearing through. Only that hand coming down again - and again, and again, and again.

And then it stopped again, Shiro's hand remaining on the last spot it hit, like every time Lance was about to get too overwhelmed. Lance heaved in a breath and whimpered out another wail, letting himself be hushed by Shiro's cooing over him.

Another round over. How many times had the timer gone off before the meal had ended?

"It takes so long because you did so well. You should be very proud, Lance."

Maybe he was, but right now he only had whimpers and sniffles, no boasting or genuinely pleased smiles. Right now he couldn't look up at Shiro to see the proud smile on his face - if not for the angle of Lance over his lap, then because his eyes were too full of tears to make out anything.

"Not even Pidge was in a hurry to leave and get back to her laptop. She looked like she was having so much fun, finally letting go a little. She really needed that."

Lance gave a watery nod in agreement as he came down again. Shiro's gentle voice and touch never seemed to have any trouble tugging Lance down from the edge, no matter the situation. No matter the knowledge of how calming down would merely mark the next round.

But the next round also meant one round closer to the last one.

"Maybe I should've taken a larger time interval to measure how many rounds you should get," Shiro mused quietly, and Lance quickly tugged on the leg of his pants, shaking his head sharply.

"N-no!" He protested, voice a rough croak from his crying. "I earned- you can't take away my- I earned them." He tugged again, like a petulant child stamping his foot.

Shiro could not deny him the spankings he earned!

Shiro chuckled warmly at Lance's insistence, giving a light few taps on his butt in acknowledgement. "Alright, dear, don't worry. You worked hard for this, so you'll get your prize."

Lance tensed up in advance when Shiro's hand lifted again, readying for the next round of spanking as Shiro rumbled in amusement. "Happy spanksgiving, Lance."

#voltron #Shance #Lance #Takashi Shirogane #vld #drabble

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hothian-snow · 3 years

Text

Sparagmos: First Draft

To celebrate me reaching 32K with my WIP, here’s a bunch of drabbles which inspired the initial first draft. I might reuse one or two scenes, but not the stuff with Darth Zhorrid. Both Yen and her master has changed a lot through my second revision of the fic too, and so has my writing style. Enjoy!

Darth Kharopos knew damn well that he was intimidating. He must be, lest all the other Darths devour him whole. He was also acutely aware of the effect he had on Yennevyr. It was almost amusing, the sudden change in her posture, her back snapping straight the moment he stepped into the room. Her deference towards him, the soft words and lowered eyes. Was she eager to please, or eager to survive?

From her quick feet and mind, he thought it was the latter. Self-preservation was a necessary trait among the cutthroat Sith, but for his apprentices - his legacy - he wanted more. He thought with her keen eyes and her outsider’s perspective, she’d be able to see the Empire for what it was. To see beyond the rabble, beyond the rat’s race and see what truly mattered. Instead, her eyes were puffy and pink, the next morning they met during saber practice.

Pathetic.

And it wasn’t a one off occasion too. Every time she’d come back from a particularly grueling mission, her mind was elsewhere, her blows lacking the conviction he’d expect from an acolyte worthy of being called his apprentice.

Drawing his attention back to the current practice, he swung a saber at her, the saber deflected mid-swing by a well-placed parry. He stepped aside, and noted how her feet were firmly planted into the ground, readying the body to absorb the weight of a heavy thrust or jab. A defensive stance- again. Must he truly hurt her for her to finally switch to the offense?

The tip of her saber was shaking, her stamina running low.

With the ease of swatting a fly, Darth Kharopos knocked the saber out of her hands. Scowling, he walked away, not pausing to glance back..

*******

Something was different. Clearly, something had changed.

Yet, it was less of a change or a growth and more of a pot bubbling over, the pressure and the heat exploding, the fragile cage of a badly crafted glass teapot cracking, its jagged shards flying into the wall before smashing into sharp little pieces.

Something flared in her eyes and her single red blade came to life, slashing in his direction.

He stepped right and striked left. She jumped back, moving like a spooked jungle-cat, before bouncing back forward with an unexpected speed and thrusted her saber towards his form. He blocked her, catching her blade with the end of his own. Her stance buckled under his strength, and so she slid her saber away but not before suddenly twisting her grips - shifting form, right in the heat of combat, inches away from her enemy - and plunging the blade into where he stood. Darth Kharopos spun his double-bladed saber, creating a quick shield that deflected away Yennevyr’s weapon.

The weapon flew out of her hand.

He felt her clearly. Frustration. Loathing. Wrath.

Their force bond was never this strong, but now he could feel her closer than ever. The way her heart raced, the blood thumping in her ears, her ragged breath and barely held back sobs- it was a dam broken loose, her force presence like a whirlpool throwing the cold serenity of his mind into chaos. Decades of careful restraint and calculating control kept him from drowning in the waves of her emotions.

Yennevyr, with her lithe form and dancer physique, sent a butterfly kick towards his head. Darth Kharopos reeled back. He could’ve blocked her again, that he was more than capable of- but his senses were screaming, alarm bells ringing.

With that distraction - that uncharacteristic distraction, that daring, was so different from the cautious acrobat who used to dance in and out of his range - she summoned her saber back, the hilt smacking into her palm with a loud slap. Fluid like water, she leaped and swung the saber like a guillotine axe above his head. Eyes wide, Darth Kharopos raised his saber up to form a cover, digging his feet into the sand below as the impact hit him. Yennevyr was not relenting.

Her eyes were scarlet. Those amber orbs now glowed red, the color looking like freshly spilt blood against her snow-pale skin. It reminded him of the first time he saw a total lunar eclipse: the moon bled red, as if someone had stabbed its white soil and the wound began gushing glistening ruby.

He let her hit him.

*******

Despair was an emotion Darth Kharopos never experienced, not truly and certainly not personally. Whether that was an indication of mental strength or privilege, he didn’t know.

Lord Atala’s death hit them all hard; the empty space where his mother once stood still felt like a void. Darth Kratais second marriage with Darth Labrys could never fill that gnawing, missing hole, but the woman’s hands were tender and her gaze was warm and when she whispered words of comfort to him, it felt like he had a mother again. Her presence had gentled his father’s severe disposition, and when she brought about his half-sister - Tatyan - into the world, the younger Sith Pureblood felt like a tiny bird fluttering in his palms. She truly was worth protecting.

When his father passed, it felt like a bad dream had come again.

Except this time, mother was grieving and Tatyan was bawling and they all cried together.

“Never show weakness in front of outsiders”, Darth Labrys said. “But here, we’re family.”

Because of family, he’d never known despair.

He was used to inflicting it upon others, though.

Hearing prisoners beg for death, attempting to gouge their eyes out as if the act could wipe away the vision of seeing their loved ones writhing as lightning tore through them, was something he’d grown accustomed to. He saw it coming like a holofilm in slow-motion: the moment where a war veteran’s mind was about to break, their will and determination ready to be shattered into dust at just a single jab. He always made sure their descent into madness was quick- no need to prolong the suffering. Genuine torture was only reserved for the worst of his enemies. It was satisfying, forcing some arrogant Republic general to their knees and making them scream, or exposing some tough Jedi for the weakling they were, like ripping open a bandage to reveal the ugly pus beneath.

How then, had he become so numb to the agony of others, that he missed seeing the same signs in his apprentice?

She was in despair, so upset she wished she’d died.

The circular burns on her arms looked like the ones he was used to inflicting upon Republic foes. It was an easy interrogation technique: stamping a recently deactivated lightsaber onto bare skin, the still-hot metal like a sizzling brand. And when he gazed into her eyes (oh sweet Yennevyr, when was the last time he truly looked at her?), they were dead. Empty glass orbs that had given up on life, if only her heart would just stop beating and give up on her too.

“Do I disappoint you, my lord?”

There was no mockery, no snippy retort in her voice, only pain.

*******

“I’ve always wondered how the law would work out in the long run,” Darth Labrys said, her voice lilting through the holocall. She was referring to the law to bolster Imperial ranks with worthy slaves and aliens, the law which also applied to the Sith. “You can’t expect a slave or a foreigner with no background, no exposure to Sith culture or history to integrate smoothly into Sith society without intervention, much less demand top performances from them.”

Not to mention the consequence of overwhelming power suddenly awakening within someone never taught to wield it, Darth Kharopos thought. The dark side was intoxicating, and one could lose themselves to everything from bloodlust to misery.

“I’m not advising you to go easy on her… but do be understanding, Tyrkos.”

His mother warned that even with the best medicine or therapy available, it would take time, and heavens knew that the Sith journey was already difficult enough, requiring one to fall apart and be reborn from the ashes, to kill who you were for what you could become.

Trust between Sith, especially master and apprentices, was rare. Now, he doubted she’d ever place her faith in him beyond hoping to one day take his place.

*******

Is this how I die? Darth Kharopos thought.

Every breath felt like hot knives stabbing his lungs. The rebreather was dying on him, for he could taste soot in his mouth. Collapsed against the cool floor of his hideout, back leaning against a bloodied wall, his apprentice loomed over him. How embarrassing, for his apprentice to see him so helpless.

“What’s the meaning of this?” she cried out. “Master!”

He thought he’d take that secret to the grave, to ensure that the fallout was minimal. Sith Pureblood, heir to the Rosokor family, involved in a light-side conspiracy. Should he be exposed, the Dark Council would have his mother’s and sister’s heads.

He pleaded for her to understand.

And if she didn’t, he wouldn’t blame her.

Her left hand clutched his holocommunicator where the damning evidence of his treachery laid, and in her right hand was the scarlet lightsaber, poised for execution. In the months under his tutelage, she’d grown into a stunningly beautiful Sith assassin indeed.

He closed his eyes.

“Tell me how to help.”

In shock, his eyes snapped open.

Her eyebrows were scrunched up but whether in anxiety or concern, he could not tell. There was a flush in her cheeks, and wildness in her eyes. Against his every expectation, Yennevyr chose mercy. She chose a chance at the Light. She chose him.

Master, did you not choose me, on Korriban? You saw something in me. I see something in you, too.

*******

Yennevyr hated mopping up blood. She had watched her late father’s maids do it all the time, his underlings scrubbing a crime scene clean. She later played the role of the domestic servant, doing the same back when she was enslaved under the Hutts, whether it be with spilled drinks or bloodstains from a brawl. She wasn’t afraid of blood- the coppery stench just smelled revolting.

Her master bled liters, the liquid forming sticky pools beneath his broken body. Sealing the wound wasn’t too difficult once she found the medkit, although her clumsy handiwork would definitely leave a scar. What was even more concerning was her master’s breathing, the fact that it sounded agonizingly labored and worryingly irregular.

With effort, they managed to haul their way to the hideout’s medical wing before he slipped into unconsciousness.

When his armor was stripped away and it was only his form in plain robes on the simple bed, her master looked more exhausted than she’d ever seen him. Heavy fatigue was written all over his sleeping face. It reminded her of those times she woke up especially early to see the Kaasian sunrise, the soft orange peaking through grey, stormy clouds. Some days, she deduced how master had been running some secret errands the night before, and she’d spot him limping home, his feet dragging, with an uncharacteristic slouch burdening his usually proud posture. Logically, she knew her master was no more or less a person than her, but to glimpse him tired and worn out had shocked her.

She spent the night by his side, the implications of her actions becoming clearer with each passing moment.

To reform the Sith society from inside out, she thought. A lofty dream. When did I become such a cynic?

With curious eyes, she glanced at her master’s resting form, the sound of his still ragged breathing filling the room. She wouldn’t even need a lightsaber; all she had to do was wrap her hands around his neck, and squeeze. She wondered if suffocation felt like sleep.

Oh, will I ever see you this vulnerable again?

Instead, she gingerly placed a palm on top of his limp hand, entangling her fingers with his. His hand was warm.

*******

After the suspicious death of Darth Jadus, Darth Zhorrid - in her sick ways - sought to consolidate her position as a Dark Lord of the Sith.

As if the Council would stand her, Yen scoffed. After they’ve sucked her dry of whatever knowledge Jadus may have passed down to his daughter, she’s dead.

It was no secret that her master disagreed with many of the actions taken by Darth Jadus, but he’d always respected the chain of command, bowing whenever the Dark Councillor requested his presence, amicable before his superiors. This time, however, Darth Zhorrid asked for her master and would not expect anything less than absolute submission.

“Wait outside, Yennevyr. Do not interfere no matter what happens.”

Many may claim force cloaking to be an act of defense, like the Jedi Shadows who’d rather sneak past their foes than needlessly spill blood. Perhaps she truly was like that, in the past. Eager to run, to dart in and out unseen. Conflict-avoidant.

But a cloak was also a tool, like a viper’s green scales that blended into the grass, obscuring fangs and venom. To take it a step further: force cloaking was manipulation. It was to force upon someone a false visage, to bend the mind of onlookers to the point of them rejecting the evidence of their own eyes, denying the existence of a sword pointed at their head. On Korriban, Yen had figured out how to twist her force cloak, inverting it so that her opponents’ visions were plunged into darkness and the world became invisible to them.

It only took hearing her master scream for the first time for her cloak to become a dress.

The scent of ozone reeked through the semi-closed office door. By god, no matter how many times in the past she’d angrily fumed - fantasizing of sweet it would be to give her master a taste of his own medicine - actually hearing her master who had just barely recovered from his previous ordeal now screaming under the powers of some bratty Darth who probably did not even deserve that title...

Yen’s hands curled into a fist, and she was surprised by the anxious lump that formed in her throat. She took in a sharp inhale and when she breathed out, the Force coiled around her like serpentine tendrils, slick and cool. Shadows rested around her shoulder blades like a fashionista’s scarf.

Or for her enemies, a noose.

When her master stumbled out of Darth Zhorrid’s office, a hand clutching at his side, she took the opportunity to peer into the slit of the half-opened office door and caught the Dark Councillor’s sadistic gaze. Yen gave a smile.

*******

Yen had always been good at force cloaking. But this time, instead of projecting the lie of invisibility, she’d chosen an illusion- a glamour, a mirage. To project something false into the world required unwavering will and mastery over that image.

Her mask was fueled by hatred.

Never had she thought she’d one day hate anyone more that she hated the Hutts or herself, until she met Darth Zhorrid. That pathetic mix of insecurity and sadism was infuriating. She had read up on Darth Jadus’ treatment of his daughter. It took everything for her not to barge into that office and wring that sick woman by the neck and ask her if she thought she was the only one who had ever faced abuse. Everyone faced pain at some point in their life. Suffering was the story of all beings, especially so if you were Sith. Yet, when she hated herself, Yen only hurt herself. Unlike Zhorrid, she’d never tortured others as a way to lessen her own pain, to hide her weakness.

And for that, Yen wished Zhorrid was dead.

But not before providing use for her and her master, of course.

Wearing the Force - the fabric of the universe - as if it was a garment, was an act of complete domination. With a smile, she had sparked a flame of interest within Zhorrid. With a light touch of her fingers, she’d quicken or calm the Dark Lord’s pulse, the woman’s heartbeat hers to command at her pleasure. In a blink of an eye, Zhorrid would forgive her master for any misdeeds he’d supposedly done, and most importantly, Zhorrid would leave him alone.

Why pay attention to some grumpy old Sith when the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen was standing there in front of her eyes?

A drugged cupcake ready to be eaten.

Darth Kharopos felt his stomach sinking when he received the holocall requesting that Yennevyr go meet Darth Zhorrid in her chambers. His muscles tightened, as if readying for battle. He wasn’t scared of that snooty brat; anything she threw his way he could take. But Yen, his student, his ward, his protege, his apprentice-

She was smiling.

The Force swirled around her, draped all over her form like a dress blowing in the wind. It was as if she wore a robe of woven flesh, of slithering serpents and tendrils that wrap and cling and coil. There was a gleam in Yen’s eyes, her russet eyes mirthful, radiating confidence. The last time he remembered seeing his apprentice so self-assured was when he was bleeding on the cool tiled floors, her red lightsaber hanging over his head like a bloody guillotine.

“My lord, I am every bit your apprentice. Trust that you’ve taught me well.”

When Darth Kharopos was later summoned to Darth Zhorrid’s office, Yennevyr sat on Zhorrid’s lap like an overpriced poodle. What Zhorrid did not see was the undulating threads latching onto her, their ends sinking into Zhorrid’s skin like a snake’s fangs, or parasites whose teeth pierced her bloodstream, draining her dry.

“Ah, you’re here, Darth Kharopos,” Zhorrid said with a grin. “Very good, you look very nice indeed, perfect for the job.”

Darth Kharopos only nodded, his eyes glued to Zhorrid’s pale hand which stroked Yen’s hair as if she was some exotic pet.

“I need you to look into two places: Belsavis, and the Arcanum.”

Belsavis was a tightly guarded secret he was privy to knowing, but his heart skipped a beat when he heard the name ‘Arcanum’. The Emperor’s property. Jedis have died to get a glimpse of the space station, and there were words of a rogue Dread Master recently robbing the place. Was it even under Intelligence’s jurisdiction?

A squeal snapped him from his thoughts.

“So you do know about the Arcanum!”

Her voice went from a slimy purr to an abrupt shriek. He felt a hard shove and invisible cold fists pinning him to the wall. His legs hung in the air, and he glared at that wretched woman.

“My lord,” Yennevyr murmured, her doe-like eyes widening at Darth Zhorrid. “My master’s a Darth of Imperial Intelligence. Is it not his role to know all that is going on?”

The pressure released and soon he was free. Zhorrid made a noise of agreement, muttering ‘Yes, yes… you’re right, of course.”

Zhorrid began ranting, a semi-coherent monologue punctuated with giggles and sudden screeches on the unfairness of her fate and the need to prove her worth to the Dark Council. Before her anger boiled over, a force tendril planted soft kisses on Zhorrid’s lips, quieting the woman’s anxiety in one swift move.

When the Dark Councillor appeared distracted, Darth Kharopos broke eye contact and glanced at his apprentice. He suppressed a shudder, seeing the predatory glint in Yennevyr’s eyes. Everyday, they grew more scarlet.

You will drink my words, or I will pour them down your throat.

*******

Belsavis he took care of alone, but as per Darth Zhorrid’s orders, he allowed Yennevyr to accompany him on the mission to the Arcanum. It was perfect: with every eye glued to the young rising-star commander, a Sith not-yet-a-lord with the bewitching presence of a black hole, nobody noticed him slipping away, leaking whatever information he could find on the Emperor to Republic SIS. His heart thundered the whole way, but every time he looked at Yennevyr - black hair tied up in a bun, a saber and light armor ready for combat - he felt like he could breathe easy again.

The mission was a success. They tracked the thief, Lord Tagriss, down to Ilum. His dualsaber stabbed a hole in the Sith Lord’s chest, and he felt his apprentice’s pride flared through their bond the moment Lord Tagriss’ dead husk fell into the snow.

When they returned home, she was ready to be a Lord.

“From this day onwards, you are known as Lord Soteira,” he declared, his apprentice kneeling before him. “It means savior.”

His apprentice stood up. When she looked at him, something swirled in his chest.

You honed my blade and sharpened my edges until they are lethal. You scrubbed away the rust, and revealed the blood-soaked truth. Master, don’t feel guilty thinking you turned me into something I already wasn’t. I’ll try to reach for the Light as you want me to, my lord, but don’t pity me if I fail.

#fic: sparagmos

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pluralthey · 4 years

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odd question but i was wondering if you had any tips for someone who is both new to writing and is bad at putting thoughts into words? i have a bunch of story ideas for my characters but every time i try to write them down it looks really amateur and i feel silly

my favorite phrase is “good writing is rewriting.” a lot of first drafts look amateur and silly. more mature writing and rhetoric is almost always reactive to simpler ideas. good writers have done this so many times they can skip a lot of steps, but it’s still simple recall at the end of the day.if you struggle with putting thoughts into words, i recommend starting with simple writing exercises. i don’t have named methods for these ones.

the first exercise is learning how to describe literal observations.pull up some references -- photos, videos, even drawings. you can use a generator if you need or want to. these should not be meaningful choices.now describe these things. do not at any point say what the object is in any of the descriptions. you should have at least 5 sentences for each subject: one for each sense. you’re going to want to be utilitarian about this. think less of what fancy words will evoke strong sensations and more like you are trying to describe this thing to someone who has never seen or heard of it before. you may reference other objects to describe this thing.now put your references away. open a drawing program or pull up a notebook. draw what you just described. it doesn’t matter if you’re good at art or not, although this can work great for artists who struggle to understand their reference material too. make it simple.now look at the references again. does your drawing look exactly like what you were trying to describe? describe every detail you notice didn’t translate to the drawing. now you’re done with this exercise.over time you should notice that the most accurate way to describe something is in reference to something else that is presumed shared knowledge. for example, i can describe a corn cob as long, segmented, round, and this isn’t inaccurate. but if i described it as “like someone stretched out an egg and embossed it with a checkerboard stamp” that would be more accurate. if you notice that you lean on certain types of descriptions or sensory elements, you can add rules for this exercise to make describing things a bit more challenging and help you process and conceptualize concepts in a flexible way.

the second exercise is to help learn what exactly rewriting entails. go ahead and write a drabble, synopsis, description of an event, whatever -- something short, but continuous. this doesn’t have to be creative, but it can be if you want it to be.now go through what you wrote and hit enter at the end of every sentence. look at your sentences. you’ll want to ask yourself some questions at this point.do they all start with a certain word? do they all have a similar length? how many pronouns are there versus actual nouns? how many adverbs and adjectives versus descriptive synonyms? how many times did you use passive voice and active voice? how many semicolons or parentheticals did you use? there are a lot of ways writing is structured and none of them are inherently bad.now go back and rewrite every sentence 3-5 times without any of the words you used previously for the sentence (aside from the basics, like articles, etc.) i recommend doing this one by one, because your thoughts on your own writing are freshest and the structures of the revisions will probably have the most complexity if you focus on one sentence exclusively, although revising sentence-by-sentence can provide its own sort of complexity.this will make your own “voice” as a writer very obvious, and familiarize you with alternate ways of producing the same goal when communicating. there’s nothing wrong with having a voice-- everyone has one. recognizing your own authorial voice will help you play to your strengths. this exercise is great for learning to write dialogue for characters in a way that sounds believable.

that’s probably enough as it is. embarrassment with your writing can be painful and difficult, but those feelings are often projections of what others will think. even though considering what others will think is a very important part of the writing process, no one is thinking anything about your writing except for you until you publish it. it’s still what YOU think others will think.have a conversation with yourself! explain what you mean, why you’re saying it, how it makes sense, anything it takes, and the ideas themselves will usually become less silly over time. reassure yourself that you are changing the writing because you are a smart person taking precautions because you know things, not because someone is telling you it’s bad and you have to change it right now. embarrassment is self-awareness and emotional intelligence.alternatively, you might just need to let the idea be silly. you can always switch the tone or goal of the writing while preserving the idea. playfulness is an extremely necessary part of flexibility and creativity.remember that writing has a purpose, always: you’re communicating information. writing always hinges on the basic premise that your audience shares certain knowledge with you, even if it’s just the language you’re speaking.good writing has an INTENDED, IDEAL audience, even if sometimes that audience is only yourself. good writing DOES NOT focus on convincing critics that it’s good. good writing predicts critique from varying members in its IDEAL audience ahead of time to better serve its purpose to said audience.know what you want and why you want it. good luck.

#not art #ask #asks #thugc1ty

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kweebtrash · 4 years

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Hey, not necessarily a sex question. But as someone who loves reading fanfic and appreciates fanfic writers, I still can't bring myself to write it. How did you get into writing fanfic, and was it ever weird for you? Do you have any advice on how to feel less weird about it? Especially smut about real people? (To be fair I can't bring myself to write smut in general idk why)

I started writing naruto and yu yu hakusho fanfiction when i was ten and it was just a regular oc and the character i liked. It wasnt good at all but i thought it was the greatest. When i met my sister (non biological) in middle school we decided to come up with our own "anime story". We would write it in notebooks and pass it to each other during class and get in trouble for it. So i guess that was the first time ive written an "original" story. By the time i was 12 i knew what sex was (mostly) and i knew teenagers did it (my characters were teenagers) so i was like oh if they like each other then they should do it. But because i was 12 i was like THATS ICKY TO WRITE ABOUT (in detail) so i made them get in bed and then skipped ahead and wrote THE NEXT DAY 😂😂😂

Then when i got access to a laptop and internet thats when i round "real" fanfiction online and smut back when it was called "lemon/lime/citrus" whatever the fuck that means. I still remember my first one was about neji hyuga LMAO.

I started reading more fanfiction throughout my teenager years and kept writing for anime, wrote bandfiction, created a bunch of OCs to rp with my partner at the time and i think by the time i actually started having sex that i was like ok this isnt so weird to write about anymore. So when we would rp we would just text each other sex scenes and i guess it became normalized because we were doing it irl so writing about it was just like hey! We sorta know what were doing! Oh i also used to watch a lot of porn as a teen? Idk why. That stopped after like a year or so but i found out shit through that, like bdsm, squirting, how utterly gross blowjobs are, what a hitachi wand was, how much i hate spit, etc. So that actually helped me discover like my beginning kinks. Porn is still terrible tho.

I think the first time i wrote smut was with a wrestling fanfic? And i had been reading a bunch of fics that had smut and with my basic knowledge and slowly finding out what phrases i liked in order to describe things it flowed a little more naturally but it was still hard.

Then i think i didnt really write much until i wrote my pentagon story which i think is terrible but other people like it. I guess with my practicing, experience, and sex education it started becoming easier? You can tell in my pentagon story that i was still getting back into the swing of things bc my sex scenes are atrocious and ridiculous 😅

I never really liked reading series myself bc i didnt want just prose and build up. I wanted smut. I was like THATS WHAT I CAME HERE FOR. So i made it a point to write smut in every single chapter so that way people stayed interested. In doing so it also helped me practice and get better. Then i read A LOT of bad kpop fics and was like....why dont these people know that sex isnt like porn??

There is a lot of copying in kpop fics in the sense that a lot of them are written the same way and we get the usual; some u realistic giant dick, "ministrations, pussy, cunt", kitten every other word, thigh riding, everyone confusing abuse with bdsm, "daddy" popping up left and right without going in depth to what meaning that holds, random weird shit. And i realized WOW I REALLY HATE KPOP FANFICS lol. So when i started writing messy i was like OK FUCK THIS IM GONNA WRITE SEX LIKE HOW ITS SUPPOSED TO GO. Then i starting writing smut where the condom broke, they talked about birth control, having a mental breakdown during sex, sexual assault, accidentally wacking each other while moving around, giggling, talking, explaining what you want. This i think helped me a lot, especially with my mental trauma that was associated with sex. I wanted to make it fun and real while also possibly teaching my readers about sex and maybe influencing other fic writers to not just regurgitate what they read.

As far as advice, im not quite sure if i have any?? Maybe i do lol. Take it with a grain of salt maybe?

With writing i would suggest

Read fics you like and highlight key phrases or actions you think are sexually appealing

Practice writing shorter scenes, you can even do time stamps or drabbles, things like that-people love those on here

Look into things. Honestly i knew what a cock ring was but someone requested i USE it in a fic and i was like shit guess i gotta google how to use a cock ring and while awkwardly watching videos of guys putting these things on i learned about metal ones, cages, silicone, rubber, rings, how long you should keep it on for, etc. So RESEARCH! is key too

If youve never had sex before that also helps if you research. Porn can give you a little bit of knowledge in generic motions or toys to use but by no means is it great as far as realism and sometimes its just plain icky.

So porn can be a basis, research can be a middle layer, reading other fics and seeing what you like and dont like is on top, and writing ur own is like...idk frosting lol.

As far as being weird with real people; since i wrote bandfiction and wrestling fics i was used to writing about real people for a little under ten years or so. Also i have a really active mind at night and i have tons of sex dreams that fit into like a story based setting. Thats where all my ideas for prose, dialogue and smut come from. Not everyone ofc has a brain like that but writing down things here and there might work. Lets say you have a favorite idol moment-like some really slutty dance move during a performance, you could time stamp that for inspiration. Save a lot of gifs and pics of them looking *chefs kiss*, listen to some music (i like alina baraz, sabrina claudio, galant, alex tbh, and jooyong for softer, gentler scenes or if you wanna get freak nastie listen to some dumbass jae park, or pretty ricky, or any sex related song thats not pretty lmao. Like rude boy by rihanna or something with a hard beat).

I think its also good to try and picture yourself in a sexual situation. You dont have to look like you, you could make up however you want to look in the scenario, its fantasy after all. Also think "would i like this?" Like i wont write about some idol spitting in my mouth or slapping me or peeing on me or something because thats not stuff that im into and i would be forcing myself to appease someone else and the writing woukd end up sucking big time. This also doesnt help the lack of good fics bc people are just following the requests they get even if they dont like it. I would write about what i think id feel in the moment. Id probably be nervous or if im pretending i could be a cool badass, i would think about things that i find attractive like his (imma use his bc i do write mostly about boy idols) face in the shadows of the light, how nice or soft his lips look, they way hes conveying emotions and looking at me if we were in love or if we were angry, the hold he has on me, why would it be going slow? Is it sad makeup sex? Is it a first time together? Is it just comforting after a bad day? Why would they be rough? Are they angry? Had a fight? Had a slow burn relationship and its culminated into a big explosion? Did they hate each other but hide their true feelings?

So i would suggest not just thinking about sex but thinking about the moment and all the things that lead up to, happen during, and the aftermath of it.

And of course if you don't understand anything or need more info about sex you can always ask me!

I hope this help and sorry its long😅😅😅😅

#i love my readers!

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therunawayscamp · 4 years

Text

The Taskmaster’s Word [Drabble]

Thankfully, the knock sounded when Casethar was out at the market and Hazil was asleep in the sick room. Under no circumstances would Vilayn wish to inflict Luca upon them, in all her scruffy glory and holding a box which clearly had the crest of the Fighters' Guild stamped on the side, quite close to the stamp which read DO NOT REMOVE. She wasted no time in thrusting it towards him when he opened the door.

'I did what you said, Mister V, asked 'em all about that Order thing until they said they was gonna throw me out. I didn't find much, but this is some papers the Guild let me have.'

Aware that, in Luca's opinon, letting her have something meant not putting too strong a lock on it, Vilayn lifted the box out of her hands, removed the broken padlock, and peered inside. A few journals lay at the bottom, dog-eared and tattered. One of them was scorched across the front.

'What's in them?' he asked. Luca scowled and dug her hands into her pockets.

'I dunno, I didn't read 'em, did I? They was already chasin' me out the building. But I learned how they was int'rested in Mistress Willa's magic puddle and the Order of the Thingummy, ages ago. Said they had some guy called Jilos who was ill and thought it might help, and this is all the shit he wrote about it.'

Vilayn leaned against the doorframe, remarkably pale for somebody who had recently sailed through the waters of Hammerfell and Elsweyr.

'What did you say he was called?'

'Jilos. Sounded Dunmery to me.'

'Did they mention his House?'

'Nope.'

Luca watched curiously as Vilayn glanced over his shoulder, towards the closed sick room door, but whatever was on his mind he chose not to share it with her. When he turned back his face was carefully blank and his voice, equally carefully, business-like.

'What about the Order of the Eclipse? Did the Guild learn anything about them?'

'That they's a bunch of evil bastards?'

'I'd gathered that already.'

'I tried. Real hard, it was. I only did it 'cause of it being fer Mistress Willa an' all.'

'Thank you, Luca. Run along.'

Luca did not run along, and even went so far as to follow Vilayn inside, until he relented and flicked a coin in her direction. Only when the gold was safely lodged in the mysterious inner recesses of her shirt did she turn tail and amble off to wherever it was she whiled away her time without shipboard duties to occupy herself. Pitying the poor soul she intended to torment next, Vilayn took the box upstairs, into the bedroom, and pushed aside the curtain hiding a rickety table in the back corner.

The first few journals revealed very little, other than the discomforts of travelling from Morrowind to Valenwood and the author's particular dislike of teleportation spells, which seemed apt to land him twenty miles from his intended destination in the middle of a den belonging to the more vicious specimens of local fauna. Ostensibly he undertook his journey in pursuit of the Order of the Eclipse, acting on orders from the Fighters' Guild, but it became apparent, as Vilayn read on, that Jilos was less interested in his Guild contract than he was in discovering a miracle cure for his growing illness.

Some days are worse than others. I could barely lift my sword our second day in Arenthia; I told the steward it was ataxia and he gave me some vile Bosmer concoction which did nothing. Perhaps, if the rumours about the Order are true, this spring they've found might help.

Towards the end of the journals, entries became increasingly sporadic, with a gap of a whole month following a rumour that the Order had been sighted. Vilayn ran a finger between the pages, but there were no rough edges which might indicate something torn out. Whatever happened in that silence, Jilos had been either unable or unwilling to write it down, and only resumed his account after the discovery of the spring. There were no further mentions of the Order.

I believe it is safe to sample the water. With no children of my own and the healing properties of the spring on my side, I believe I might finally remove this evil from the blood of House Vasar.

The thump as the book fell to the floor woke Hazil. Vilayn heard his voice calling from downstairs, asking what he was doing up there, but rather than hurry down he retrieved the book and turned the page with hands that shook so badly they almost ripped the paper. The next few entries detailed Jilos's delight as the water took effect, a delight not even his apparent failure to fulfil the contract could stain, and his triumphant return home.

Vilayn turned to the final entry. This time it wasn't the book which fell to the floor but his own body, folding slowly at the knees, sinking back against the bed without feeling it digging into his back, as he reread the page.

Llaraniah told me her child was taken ill while I was away. She thought perhaps it was ataxia, but it has been going on for the past two months and the healers can do nothing. I drank from the spring two months ago to the day.

It is my fault. I should tell her that I brought this upon her child. Peryite may not be a Reclamation, nor even of the House of Troubles, but His reach is far and insidious and House Vasar has been riddled with His pestilence for generations. She doesn't know and ought to be warned that it cannot be removed, and to try brings Peryite's wrath down tenfold upon the next generation. There is nothing to be done.

I thought perhaps I was recovering, but even that proved false; I merely delayed the onset. My sword-arm grows weaker again. I write this page in the hope that before the curse takes me, I will have the courage to show it to Llaraniah, let her read of my shame, all the while knowing that I will not. The guilt is too much. I have doomed her son to buy myself a few more years, and now I cannot even bring myself to confess what I have done.

I beg Azura to show Her mercy, if not to me, then to little Hazil.

#trigger warning: chronic illness #the works of master vilayn #vilayn #luca #hazil #hoistingcolours

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mystical-luv · 5 years

Text

First Encounters

A Mystic Messenger 707 drabble

Words: 1035

This is my first fanfic for MM and I'm nervous AF to post it, so please be nice. It's nothing much, but it was fun to write because I love Seven.

So, this is basically what I think (hope?) goes through our favorite secret agent's head when MC (Kaylee) first appears in the RFA chat. It's written in first person, which I also normally don't do. I hope it's enjoyable.

I was participating in the chat with the rest of RFA, but I was working at the same time, therefore I wasn’t paying too close attention…that is, until someone odd entered the room. I look back at the messenger to see someone called “Kaylee”, who’d somehow managed to enter our sacred and secret chat application.

“Someone joined the chat.” I type quickly, immediately starting a trace on her IP. Is it a female? Guess we’ll find out.

Everyone began panicking as Kaylee said Hello. Yoosung actually screamed.

“I’m on it.” I type right away, my heart pounding. I have no idea how someone could possibly have hacked in. I created the app myself, took every precaution. I’m a secret agent for God’s sake, my apps are un-hackable. Yet, somehow, someone showed up.

I immediately called V, who, surprisingly, actually picked up his phone for once. As I’m telling him what’s going on, I’m trying to calm down Yoosung, Zen, Jaehee, and Jumin. Well, Jumin isn’t really panicking, because he’s basically a robot, but I’m used to doing multiple things at once. So, here I am, Agent 707, doing my work, talking on the phone, chatting in the messenger, and uncovering the identity of the stranger who just showed up.

“V, I’m telling you, I don’t know how she’s in this chat right now. It should be impossible, but…” I trail off as one of my computers pinpoints her location. “That…can’t be right. V, have you let anyone in Rika’s apartment?”

There was a pause on the other line. “No, I have not. I don’t know the passcode to get in.”

“Kaylee is in Rika’s apartment.”

“I’m signing in to the messenger, I’ll be right there. Keep searching for who they are.”

“Got it!” I confirmed, turning back to my computer. I couldn’t believe it. Someone’s in Rika’s apartment. The only people who know where that is, are myself and V. No one else. It’s top secret, since there’s so much classified information about the RFA. Everything has been untouched since Rika killed herself, a year and a half ago, taking everyone by surprise.

“Okay…birth certificate….” I scanned through, everything looks legit so far.

“She’s a girl LOL” I typed quickly into the messenger, smirking as the rest of the guys freaked out.

“What? I’m not a girl!” Kaylee responded.

I couldn’t help but chuckle as she was already trying to mess with everyone.

“She’s definitely a girl. She’s cute.” I reply back using a bunch of hearts. Course, I don’t actually know that yet.

I started my background check using her ID number…as that runs, I’m going to look up her driver’s license, run some police and traffic reports, get some visuals on who she is. I wasn’t expecting much. Jaehee is the only female in the RFA now, and all she does is work and think about work. She’s basically Jumin’s mini-robot, except you can tell she’s human.

As I’m waiting for Kaylee’s driver’s license, I glance back at the messenger, seeing V had arrived and is trying to calm everyone down. Kaylee wasn’t saying much, but then, the way these guys are talking, it’s not like they’re giving her a chance to speak. I shook my head, rolling my eyes. They don’t know a thing about her, none of us do. No one knows what she looks like, not yet anyway, and yet they’re all falling over themselves to please her.

I heard a faint ding on the computer that’s searching for her, and I turn to look at that monitor…I gasp softly, my heart skipping a beat. On my screen was a full picture of her. She was gorgeous, with dark brown hair and deep chocolate eyes. In my line of work I’ve seen so many faces, so many beautiful faces and I’ve felt nothing…but Kaylee is striking. I take a few deep breaths. Maybe it’s not the right person. I look at several others that popped up during my search, and each one was of the same smiling girl. I found myself entranced at the photos, clicking through each one, trying to get a glimpse of who she really is. Background checks are great and usually give me the immediate information I need on a regular person…but this was different. I ran a now shaky hand through my red hair and turn back to the messenger. I didn’t want to share anything about her. For the first time in my life…I wanted to keep someone just for me. Out of the whole RFA…I’m the only one who knows what she looks like. I told them she was cute without actually knowing…now that I’ve seen her…there’s no way I’m sharing her picture like I’m sharing everyone else’s right now.

With everyone else practically confessing their love for her already…they don’t know what she looks like, and as soon as they find out…I’m sure no one will leave her alone. Hell, I don’t even want to leave her alone. A strange feeling of protectiveness washed over me. I’ve distanced myself from romantic and even platonic emotions so long ago…I can’t afford it; my job is too dangerous and anyone I care about is immediately in danger. Even with my friends in the RFA…I know it’s possible that at any moment I might have to disappear and lose them forever. That’s why I programmed myself to never fall in love. Despite knowing this…I feel she’s mine to protect, at all costs. I need more information. I need to dig as though she’s a target.

I try quieting a faint voice trying to sound through the back of my mind, fully knowing I need to stamp it down and crush it before it ever comes to light. That she is a target. She’s mine.

Seven Zero Seven doesn’t love anyone. And no new girl is going to change that. I blow out a breath.

“Okay Kaylee. Let’s see who you really are, and how you managed to get here.” There was a lingering feeling of uneasiness throughout my body as I tried to forget the realization that perhaps Kaylee is just as dangerous as I am…in a way I never expected.

@dancetothestoriesinyoursoul

#mystic messenger #mystic messenger fanfic #mystic messenger fanfiction #agent 707 #agent seven zero seven #707 #mm 707 #luciel choi #mm luciel #saeyoung choi #mm saeyoung #707 fanfic #luciel choi fanfic #saeyoung x mc

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ladiekatie · 5 years

Text

Sterek Drabble

so at work, i had do some research on the value of stamps as a collector’s item, and naturally Sterek happened. This got long so... it’s under the cut.

So like, imagine Stiles’ kid is obsessed with stamps. Stiles literally has no idea how this came about but the kid loves stamps. So Stiles buys them the whole stamp collection and stiles works really hard trying to find stamps for them and getting the ones they wants and it’s a whole Thing right?

And maybe, Stiles asks his kid where he wants to go for his birthday trip, because it’s during summer vacation and an excellent excuse to go out of town for a week, and his kid CHOOSES THE CALIFORNIA STAMP COLLECTORS CONVENTION IN ANAHEIM. And stiles is like... okay? but we’ll be in Anaheim, do you wanna maybe go to Disney? and his kid is like “no dad, there won’t be time for disney!”

Stiles is like of like “..........*deep sigh* okay?” and he plans the whole thing. They get tickets, he books a room at the same hotel the convention is at, which happens to be really close to disney so he budgets in a couple tickets to disneyland just in case and off they go!

The whole drive down, stiles is mentally preparing himself to deal with a whole bunch of old people and their stamps for an entire week. He also gets together a speech for his kid when the convention isn’t what they thought it was going to be. Stiles Googled the damn thing okay? Last years photos looks pathetic as fuck, so he was preparing himself to have to deal with the disappointment from his kid.

They get there, they check in. Stiles and his kid play The Floor is Lava in the hotel room. They order a pizza and Stiles tries to explain that scene from Home Alone, which gets lost in the generational gap and he promises they’ll watch it at christmas time.

The morning of the convention comes and Stiles’ kid is off the wall excited. They walk down to the continental breakfast, and the kid cannot sit still while eating the toaster waffle stiles prepared. The two of them go back upstairs to get their book of stamps and head down to the foyer of ballroom 1 for registration. At the desk there are two old men, and the seem thrilled that there is a child here.

Immediately Stiles kid goes off on a tangent with the gentlemen about how long they’ve been collecting (2 years) and how long the older gents have been collecting (42 and 38 years respectively) and Stiles can already tell that his kid is just on a whole different level of thrilled. They direct them to go into the ballroom for opening remarks and his kid is already digging through the totebag they were given moments ago.

They’re early, because they are among the youngest people here, so all the other attendees are slow moving. Another old man and an older woman walk on stage and commence the week with a few remarks and a mention of their director this year who has really done an amazing job gathering vendors and yada yada yada. They say they don’t want to keep everyone too long, so the floor in ballrooms 2 and 3 were open!

Immediately, Stiles’ kid shoots up and Stiles has to flail to keep up as they bolt out of the room, little map in hand. And that’s how Stiles spends his day, following the tuft of brown hair and pulling out his card when those eyelashes get batted in his direction. There is a sucker born every minute, and he is that sucker everytime.

When the day ends, at 3pm, Stiles and his kid go back up to their room, where Stiles listens to a recap of the entire day and every booth they saw like he wasn’t standing right there the entire time. And that’s how it goes for the first couple of days.

Then THEN YOU GUYS, on the third day, Stiles decides that this is a safe environment for his kid, everyone seems so nice and like they really want to teach this young padawan everything they can so Stiles lets his kid go on his own while he stands in the corner and checks him email for the 78th time today.

A guy walks past him pushing an old man in a wheelchair, and he does not look like he belongs here. (The guy pushing the wheelchair, not the man in the wheelchair) and Stiles not so subtly begins to stalk the man because any not 50+ year old is a friend at this point. At some point, the guy leaves the man and the wheelchair at a booth with a dozen binders to look through, and Stiles sees and in and manages to work up the courage to say:

“Is that your dad?” The guy turns to look at him, and fuck the dude is hot right? Like he looks more like he should be at a lumberjack conventions for the rich and famous than a stamp collector’s convention.

“Um.. no. Marshal’s wheelchair battery stopped working so he’s in his manual until the repair guy can come and fix it,” the abercrombie model looks at him curiously, “I don’t believe we’ve met though, I’m Derek.”

“We haven’t, first time here. I’m the little munchkin’s dad, Stiles.” And like somehow they get to talking and Stiles realizes that Derek is the man who organized this year’s convention because the guy last year really botched the budget and did a shitty job but this year, Derek got a sponsor and the whole thing is amazing. and like... Stiles is falling a little bit in love?

And later in the day, Stiles kid finds him talking to Derek and Stiles’ kid is in complete and utter awe of Derek because, “Dad!! Do you know who this IS?!”

“I mean... he’s Derek?”

“He has one of the most expensive stamp collections in the WORLD!” Derek is kind enough to sign an autograph, Stiles wants to shove his head in the ground out of sheer embarrassment. Also, it should be illegal for someone as hot as Derek to have such a... unique passions like stamp collecting.

And then because this is getting long, imagine them spending a lot of time together the rest of the weekend? There’s a bridge tournament, there’s bingo night, there’s karaoke night, there’s bingo night again, and Stiles, his kid, and Derek go to all of them and have a blast. There really was no time for disney.

At the end of the weekend, Stiles’ kid is sad because maybe they didn’t find that one stamp they really needed to finish out a set. And Stiles is really sad that he didn’t manage to get Derek’s number even though he has no idea where Derek is even from. He maybe fell a little bit in love wit him over the week. They get home, and There’s a letter from the convention and inside is THE STAMP THAT STILES’ KID WAS LOOKING FOR and a letter from Derek telling Stiles kid to never stop collecting and to call if they need help finding their next treasure.

It’s not like... a week before Stiles finds his kid on the phone chatting to someone and when he rips the phone away to see who it was, it’s DEREK, and it turns out that his kid has been telephoning Derek daily to talk about stamps because they miss him and they asked him to come to visit. AND EVEN MORE OF A SHOCKER IS THAT DEREK ACTUALLY LIVES IN BEACON HILLS so naturally Stiles takes his kid to meet up with Derek to talk about stamps and Stiles gets a real date with him and it’s adorable because Stamps and Sterek.

the end okay bye.

#shut up katie #sterek #my writing #sterek drabbles

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devoutconfidence · 5 years

Text

Send me ‘☯ + a scene from my characters canon’ and I will drabble it from my character’s POV.

@poisener

Under a read more for length.

But also because of Content Warnings for intrusive thoughts.

It was late, so the silence was to be expected. But this was Luke. Before this point, whenever they’d shared a bed, there hadn’t been silence for hours after the fact, regardless of how dark or how late it was. They could stay awake whispering for hours if the mood struck them, and almost always did.

Not this time. This time there was just silence. And that terrified Helena. Her eyes were closed, but she was wide awake. She didn’t know if Luke was asleep or not, but she was scared to move to see if that was the case.

And then Luke exhaled. A big, deep sigh. She didn’t know if it was reflexive or intention, but it gave her some hope that he wasn’t asleep. This hope only increased when she felt the bed shift as he moved from his side onto his back, at which point she opened her eyes as he exhaled a sigh again, seeming to get comfortable. She looked at him, but he didn’t even seem to realize that she was-his eyes were closed. He looked so handsome when he was sleeping, or trying to get to sleep, and almost involuntarily Helena smiled a little.

If he wasn’t mad at her, she knew the quickest way for them to get things back to normal. She shifted so she was almost cuddling against him, placing a hand on his shoulder as she looked at him. His eyes were open now, but he was staring at the ceiling. Something twisted in her heart, but she pressed on, leaning in to press her lips to his cheek as the thumb on her other hand stroked his cheek almost absently. She pressed a few kisses to his neck as the hand that was on his cheek started to wander downwards...

She felt the shame and embarrassment burn through her like an electric shock when he full on rolled over so his back was to her, at which point she pulled away from him like she’d been burned as he heaved a sigh. “What’s wrong?” She asked the words constricting in her throat ever so slightly as she pushed herself up on her arm.

He cleared his throat. “Just not feeling it, I guess.” That was her next indicator that something was clearly wrong. It wasn’t like him to close off like this. But, then, she’d never seen him as upset with her as he’d been when she told him he shouldn’t run for mayor. So it appeared that nothing about tonight was going to be normal.

She placed a tender hand on his shoulder and pressed a single kiss to the back of it. “Something the matter?” She didn’t want to make him angry at her again, but she was concerned.

“No.” He responded, but it was short, crisp. “Yeah. I don’t know.”

Helena’s brows furrowed. Something was really wrong, and this realization just made her stomach twist itself even further into knots. Like a clown was making a complicated balloon animal out of her insides.

Still, she tried to keep things light. “Well, which is it?” She asked, hoping Luke would rise to the bait and start playfully bantering with her.

“I don’t know.” Luke responded. “I just...” She pressed another kiss to his shoulder, her thumb rubbing back on forth. “don’t feel good about most things right now.”

These words gave her pause. She halted all of her actions and pulled away, just enough so that she could roll over and flick on the white rabbit lamp on the bedside table. Then she rolled back over to face him, and placed a hand lightly on his arm. “About what?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to have this conversation, but at the same time she knew that it needed to be had. Luke was facing her, now. Barely. “About us?”

“No.” Luke said almost immediately, which made the balloon animal in her stomach deflate slightly. “I don’t know. Maybe just...rushing things.” And there it was again, back to full size.

“Rushing what?” She asked with a slight shake of her head. There was definitely a knot in her stomach, one that she wasn’t sure she’d be able to untangle at the end of this conversation without some serious effort on her part.

“I just...I feel like it’s moving kinda quickly.” Luke said. “Don’t you think?” Helena felt her eyebrows raise. It wasn’t like they’d just gotten together, they’d been together for years, what was he going on about ‘moving kinda quickly’? Before she could ask, he was pressing on. “I mean. living together, getting married...”

This time she did interject, because she was starting to find it a little hard to breathe, but she tried to stamp that feeling down. “You don’t want to get married?” She got out, trying to process what he was saying, why he was saying this.

“Maybe.” Luke said, and this time it was Helena who shifted slightly to look straight ahead before looking back at him. “I don’t know, maybe I’m just confused right now.”

“What’s confusing?” She asked, but she became less and less certain that she wanted to see this conversation through to its conclusion the longer it went on.

The laugh that came from Luke’s mouth wasn’t really a laugh-in fact she couldn’t really pinpoint what it was. “A lot of things.” He said, and this time he was looking right at her. But Helena wished he wasn’t, because the words coming from his mouth right now terrified her. “Helena, I don’t know.” He didn’t look at her for long before he was looking away briefly. “Shit, I don’t know. Maybe I’m just unhappy.”

He’s unhappy because of you. The insidious thought crept into her head before she could stop it, and she didn’t have the emotional strength to push it away. This is all your fault. You’re too controlling. “Is this about the election?” She asked immediately on the heels of that thought. “About what I said about you running?” That was exactly what it was about, wasn’t it? Why did she have to say anything at all? She should’ve just kept her mouth shut, supported him. Sure it wasn’t what she thought, but maybe doing so could’ve prevented all of this.

“No...No, I’m just trying to figure things out for myself. Okay?” He looked at her again, and then away, and back at her as he kept talking. “Like, about how I want to feel. Like, me.”

Helena tried to calm herself down at least a little, but this was all getting to be too much for her to handle, too quickly. “Luke, we love each other. We slept together.” Not to mention he’d asked her to marry him, not the other way around.

“Yeah, I know.” He said, but he sounded annoyed, which in turn annoyed her, gave her something to focus on other than the growing monster of feelings inside of her.

“You don’t get to just take that back.” Her voice started to raise...

But so did his. “I know! Okay? I know. I don’t know what you want from me. I’m just, I’m telling you how I feel. Like, can that be okay for--”

Helena cut him off, before she chickened out, gave in, though her heart was pounding loudly in her ears. “I’m just trying to understand what this is about.”

“Yeah, and I’m telling you that I don’t know.” He said his tone so matter-of-fact that it completely threw her for a loop and she stared at him incredulously. The insidious hum in the back of her mind, pushed there by her other emotions, was back now, and sounded more like an angry buzzing. “Maybe it’s about all of it.” She really didn’t know what to say to that, but it seemed like Luke was done talking about it. “Just...just go to sleep. All right?” His tone was more demanding than she’d ever heard it before. At least towards her anyway. He turned away from her again. “Talk about it another time.”

He cleared his throat, but she stayed in the position she was in, propped up on one arm, almost frozen. The insidious thoughts, which had become a hum in the back of her brain as a result of the spike of anger she’d felt-knowing that she’d given him something she’d intentionally been saving for marriage, and now he didn’t even seem like he wanted to get married at all-came rushing back full force. Only this time, those thoughts sounded more like a buzzing than a humming. She could barely hear anything else over them, even though she couldn’t clearly hear them either. It was a bunch of cold, calculating gibberish that she didn’t have the emotional or physical energy to try and decipher.

Her eyes burned, the sign of incoming tears, and Helena blinked rapidly several times as she gave a heavy sigh of her own. She rolled back over to turn off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness once more. Once that was done, she flopped back down onto the pillow, one hand on top almost cushioning her cheek, the other almost tucked under the pillow.

She felt sick, the buzzing in her brain wouldn’t stop, and the balloon animal in her stomach just kept twisting itself into more complex shapes. It had sentience now, apparently. She pulled her legs up so she was almost curled into a C shape under the blankets and tried to get to sleep.

But she already knew that wouldn’t happen.

Not if her stupid brain had anything to say about it.

Your fault your fault your fault.

He hates you now. He hates you. He never cared about you at all. You’re just a status symbol to him.

Now that he’s gotten what he wants from you, you’re nothing to him.

She tried desperately to ignore them, desperately hoping with what little hope she had left that things would be better in the morning.

#send me a scene from my character's canon and i'll write their thoughts #here comes a wave meant to wash me away || headcanons #helenaisms #long post for ts #anxiety cw #intrusive thoughts cw #//wow this got really fucking dark and angsty super fast #//big yikes

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