#so i changed the whole fic to present tense

[neverevan]

Wip Wednesday 🎄

I was tagged by the ever so lovely @daffi-990 @thewolvesof1998 @jamespearce9-1-1 @hippolotamus @exhuastedpigeon and @rainbow-nerdss mwuah 💛

Welp a little later than usual but here I am! And uh apparently I added another Christmas fic to the pile because why not lmao but it's just a real short one and I'm aiming for it to be posted this week. 🫡

He was just about to decide what kind of disgustingly greasy takeout food to order, when the door clicked open behind his back.

He turned to see— Eddie. Because of course it was Eddie.

“Hey,” he said gently, shutting the door behind himself and Buck knew it was a little irrational right now, but it still warmed his heart that Eddie came and went like this; that he knew no matter what, he was always welcome here.

“Hi.” Buck gave him a weak smile over the brim of his beer bottle, unsure of what to expect.

“I just wanted to see if you were okay.”

“Why, did uh did I not seem okay?” Buck scoffed, just falling short of casual.

Eddie averted his gaze almost guiltily before pinning Buck with a knowing look. “No.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s fair.” Buck took a long swig of his beer with a grimace.

“You know it doesn’t change anything, right?”

“Uh no, Eddie, I really don’t know that.” Buck drawled and put the bottle down on the counter top with a loud clink.

“Bu—”

“Eddie, you’re leaving the 118. That- that literally changes everything!” He spread his arms widely, as if he could indicate just how much of that everything covered.

✨no pressure tagging: @malewifediaz @spagheddiediaz @jeeyuns @ladydorian05 @disasterbuckdiaz @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @eowon @heartshapedvows @nmcggg @watchyourbuck @eddiebabygirldiaz @theotherbuckley @fortheloveofbuddie

#most of this is just a flashback to post 5x10 and the whole thing is barely 1.5k #I spent so much time screwing around today but at least I've got this done ugh #also I'm not 100% sure yet but the current lineup is: 510 - puppy - hospital - ski fic #so like a fic a week #but we'll see how things go #also also fun fact: I initially screwed myself over with this #because I wanted it to be short so I started writing it in present tense #which I can only hold up for like twitter threads and tumblr ficlets #but then it got longer and I had to go back and change it 🙃 #it wasn't all that long but still ugh #anyway I shut up now #buddie #911 #wip #the 510 fic

[the-ace-with-spades]

(I adore fics where Johnny’s family loves Ghost from day one, but, you know…angst)

Soap and Ghost had been together for almost two years. They never name the relationship, really, but it's serious and they both know it.

Thing is, Johnny's seen Ghost's face a total of four times, counting Las Almas.

Well, he sees parts of it regularly, more than others. Ghost will either roll the balaclava up when they're reading together in bed or when they're eating. Sometimes, when Soap wants to go out and Ghost indulges him, he goes in public in just either a face mask or a gaiter and Soap can see his short wavy blonde hair sticking all over the place and 

The four times he had seen Simon’s face in it’s whole — obviously, Las Almas; one time when he was unconscious and bleeding from a head wound and Johnny had to check; one time when they took a shower together, Simon stayed with his back toward him through most of it, but when they finished, he let Johnny dry off his hair; one time, when Johnny asked him to see him for his birthday presents, a few minutes after midnight.

Johnny wasn’t sure why exactly Simon didn’t want to show him his face. It wasn’t a trust thing — he trusted Johnny with more than his own life — and it wasn’t like he was ugly — he was downright sinful. He never drilled the topic because he didn’t care, if SImon wasn’t ready, then he wasn’t ready, but if he had to guess, it was all to do with identity and being seen. No one knew his face — people could know his name, Simon “Ghost” Riley, but they wouldn’t know the man behind the mask. Wouldn’t know the people behind Simon “Ghost” Riley.

(Johnny wasn’t completely off on the assumption — Simon didn’t want anyone to know his face because faceless people weren’t missed. Faceless graves — like his own — didn’t have people to leave behind, and faceless soldiers didn’t have loved ones to find and he was both. No one could get hurt if he remained faceless. Or at least that’s what he’d been telling himself.)

And Johnny is okay with that — if Simon never showe him his face again, he’d still love him all the same. Johnny’s family? Not so much.

They’re supposed to be in Glasgow for five days total, leaving after Boxing Day. Johnny gives them all a warning, that Ghost is a bit shy and doesn’t like showing his face, he’ll most likely stay covered the whole time, he might be wearing a balaclava, or a mask, he probably won't eat at the table.

When they arrive at his parents house, it almost seems like everyone forgot. Like everyone thought it'd be more mild or that Johnny was exaggerating.

There are looks. There is silence. People can't stop staring.

His mam takes one look at Simon’s balaclava once they enter the living room and looks funny at them. “Ah thooght Ah tauld ye boays tae strip doon.”

“Mam, lea him alane,” he tries but he can tell that Simon is getting tense and his mam is getting tense.

His mam, who is usually the sweetest person ever, is uncharacteristically quiet and curt whenever Simon is around. Simon doesn't really know how to make it better — Johnny's never seen him so silent outside of stealth missions, he just stands there like a sore thumb, not making anything less awkward. He didn't expect him to — Simon's social skills are lacking and he loves him that way — but he expected his own family to not make such a big deal out of that mask.

His da is stern and silent, which is as disapproving as he gets. His sisters are a bit weirded out, but mostly focused on teasing Johnny, even making fun of the mask. With a stupid grin, his older sister asks, “Does he keep it oan in bed?”

Johnny doesn't say anything to that, even though his face feels red. His sisters stop laughing.

“He does?” When Johnny tries to step out of the room and avoid the conversation, his sister’s tone changes. “Hae ye e’en seen his face?”

“O’ coorse Ah hae,” he spits out. He doesn’t specify it was only four times — he doesn’t think it’d help. “And ‘s a bonnie ane, alricht.”

It doesn’t save the situation and his sisters are also weirded out and wary from then on.

 The kids do not care — they ask maybe two questions, tilts their head as Simon explains and that’s it — and Johnny breathes a little easier as soon as his nieces push Simon outside to help them build a snowman.

The judgment doesn’t stop. Johnny’s blood boils any time it shows and even though Simon says it’s all fine, he can’t stop feeling angry about this. They just can’t get past the mask.

Christmas Eve and Christmas Day are difficult to Simon and Johnny knows it. He’s given him the option to omit the family dinner on both those days if he’s not feeling alright enough to spend those days in crowdy house filled with a flock of loud and cheery people of all ages.

Simon knows this. He also knows that if he says he wants to stay at Johnny’s flat for the time being, Johnny is going to insist he doesn’t have to go either, that he’d prefer to stay in with him and not go for the Christmas dinner. Which he also knows is bullshit — Johnny loves Christmas, loves spenidng time with his family, that was basically why he kept on insisting Simon couldn’t stay alone at the base for Christmas another year in a row. It was the main reason why he agreed to go with Johnny in the first place, he was pretty sure if he didn’t go with him, Johnny would insist he stays, too. 

So Simon stays in for Christmas Eve — or rather goes to a pub while Soap spends the day with his parents — but insists they go to Christmas dinner. 

His family is disappointed to see him there, to the point the usual manuevering around politeness and disapproving go onto a backburner.

“John said yer nae a fan o’ Christmas,” Johnny’s mum says to him pointedly.

“That’s right.”

“And yet ye’r ’ere,” she notes.

Johnny is far away from the earshot and he doesn’t want to lie to her so he admits, “If I didn’t come, Johnny would insist on keepin’ me company.”

“How come ye dinnae try to hae a bit mair cheer fur th' holidays then? Put a bit mair effort in for ma baby.” 

Johnny notices and soon enough, he’s next to him, their arms brushing, Johnny’s hand on the small of his back. “Lea him alane, mam.”

“It’s fine,” he says even though it’s not fine. They deserve an explanation, even just to know what they son is getting himself into. “My family was murdered on Christmas Eve. I’m—I’m trying.”

The silence falls over the room — Johnny’s mum, dad, his sister, all present, not looking at them. Simon closes his eyes, tries to breathe.

Johnny rubs his back. “Let’s gae home.”

“I’m not ruining Christmas for you, Johnny,” he says. Before Johnny can deny it — and he knows he’d try — he tries to placate, “Let’s just have ourselves a minute to calm down.”

Maybe it’s the way his voice is perfectly levelled or the way his hand trembles as he squeezes Johnny’s, but he lets him leave the room.

He steps outside — to the backyard. Sits down on the step to the garden and lets the snow soak through his jeans and the top o his balaclava.

The kids come outside, tripping over Simon’s legs. They were all oblivious to the trails and errors of Simon’s integration into the family, so they approach him as always

“Whit's wrang?”

There’s just something so innocent in having a six-year-old girl covered from head to toe in pink and glitter worry about you. Simon would never admit it in front of Johnny, but he finds the accent cute.

Simon takes off the mask.

The kids all look at him and look at him, a bit unsure maybe a bit fearful — it can be a scary sight, he admits, the elongated, jagged smile that sticks to him no matter the mood, makes him more crazy than he already is — but only one of Johnny’s niece keeps her eyes on Simon’s face. 

Shily, she asks, “Does it hurt?”

“No,” he replies. When she smiles, he smiles back.

Not anymore.

This is Johnny’s family. Simon can deny it all he wants, but Johnny’s seen him as family, as someone he’d leave behind, and it hadn’t been unrequited. He can’t hide behind a mask forever and maybe this was the kick he needed.

He steps back inside when his hands turn numb. He doesn’t put the mask back on.

Johnny’s eyes widen. “Simon?”

Simon just—smiles. He can feel the scars pulling on the corners of his mouth, the stiffer skin, but he’s not faceless. He’s not been faceless for a while.

Edit (29/03/24): This is now a WIP for a minimum 15k fic, titled don't shoot me, santa, that will have 4 chapters and will be posted (hopefully) later in the year

#this is like a very shortened version with some points cropped out #maybe this will be a full-blown fic at some point #who knows? not me for sure #idk maybe closer to christmas or sth if i have inspiration #i headcanon soap speaks scots whenever he's home/speaking freely and softens the accent otherwise #i love glasgowian accents but im not good at writing them so #ghoap #ghostsoap #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #cod #call of duty #q #charlie writes #op

[mrghostrat]

Hello and good morning/day/night :]

I was wondering, in BNF, we’ve gotten tiny little bits of information about the ‘Nice and Accurate Prophecies’ (not sure if that’s the correct title, sorry) book and TV series, if there was anything else you could tell us about it?

Character names, storylines, plots, any fun details you may have made up or otherwise, etc, etc.

I just think it’s sweet how interested both Aziraphale and Crowley are in the series, and if you might be as interested, if not more, in it too.

Thank you, and have a lovely Sunday. 🫶

this is it, my leash has snapped, i'm wild in the streets, thank u for asking; i'm gonna go be insufferable now

(hi @neil-gaiman if you see this, i think it's safe to read, but it does border on being fan fic. i'm writing a fic where crowley and aziraphale are an artist + writer in an online fandom, much like we are for good omens, and this is the fake story i've made for them to be fans of 💛)

The Nice and Accurate Prophecy

info dump of the fake 5 book series by Agnes Nutter (1985-1992) and its fake fandom:

The Nice and Accurate Prophecy

The Strange and Improbable Prophecy

The Vague and Perfidious Prophecy

The Tense and Harrowing Prophecy

The Faint and Ineffable Prophecy

a dramatic, layered story with a bizarre and unexpectedly lovable cast of characters, humour that hits you out of nowhere, and a lot of attitude from the narrator. a la Good Omens, A Series of Unfortunate Events, Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy

fantasy/historical fantasy and mildly action & romance

a la good omens, a witch and a witchfinder become friends and help each other throughout history, despite being on opposite sides. they get closer as they fight against the immoral plays from their prospective sides (the witchfinder army and a demonic cult the witch was born into) that each lose sight of their core values in a bid to hold more power over the world.

the story is set primarily in a medieval fantasy era, but suddenly jumps to the present in the later books, catching everyone off guard and giving a whole new context to enjoy the story. the challenges they face parallel the earlier story but in a modern take with modern technological twists. the modern era is the late 80s, since that's when it was written.

the witch reincarnates, similar to doctor who, due to a high class black magic ritual they performed in their arrogant youth (which they were NOT supposed to have access to). they've had long lifetimes where they die of old age, and others where they've barely managed to live a year. their reincarnations aren't entirely random; they will reincarnate according to their growth and preferences as a person (a la Magical Boy's magical outfit generations), which includes fluctuation in gender identity. their pronouns fluctuate depending on each "face" they wear, but have canonically been a "they" before. the good side of the fandom (crowley & aziraphale) default to they/them as an overall rule. they do have a name, but they like to change that too, so the fandom almost exclusively calls them witch, or witchy.

the witchfinder also has a name, but the fandom have taken to calling him witchfinder to match the fact that witchy is called by their role. it also helps that a lot of the witchfinder narration refers to him by role instead of name. he is human, 30ish in appearance, but at the end of the first book, the witch fears to lose him and curses him with immortality against his knowledge to try and keep him safe.

witch is crowley-coded, witchfinder is aziraphale-coded. my to-do list includes an illustration of the two of them played by michael and david :') but i picture them being kind of like newt and anathema for the most part.

ship names include witch/finder, witchwitch, w² or witch², and witchfound.

at the start of the first book, they meet and become friends without knowing each other is a witch & finder. the witchfinder is a bit bumbly, like newt, and the witch is cool and suave but neurotic and insecure like many human au variations of crowley (major overcompensation vibes). witch is male at the start of the first book. their friendship is secure when witch finds out he's a witchfinder, so there's less "oh my god i'm friends with the enemy, is he going to kill me in my sleep?" and more "ah fuck, Lets Drink About This"

there's battles, horseback riding, camping out in dark woods, disappearing and losing each other for months at a time, and many missed connections as they try to work together against two common enemies, whilst keeping up the facade that they're on their respective team's sides.

there's charged chemistry in the first book, but it's more plot heavy. there's hints of shippy moments in the 2nd book that fall in between the plot. there's a Moment of almost confession in the 3rd book, and a non romantic kiss towards the end (we gotta, for neil). they're pretty much married in the 4th book, securely at each other's side, but never actually talk about it until the end, and there's a more explicitly stated shippy connection in the 5th book.

agnes herself is a total recluse who drops books out of nowhere then goes back to existing somewhere in the english countryside (people presume). she's happy to supply signed copies to fundraisers and conventions, and sometimes random bookshops across the country will be vandalised with genuine autographs on the inside covers. she's notoriously pedantic about being involved with adaptions behind the scenes, but she has no social media and isn't ~around~. she once did a talk when she was presented with an honorary doctorate, and did a single book signing when the first Prophecy book came out, but beyond that she keeps to herself.

there are a small handful of quotes from her in behind-the-scenes footage talking vaguely about character intensions and clarifying world building, but she likes to leave things up to interpretation like neil does. it's in these few snippets of interaction we've seen from her that she's steadfastly supportive of intersectionality and lgbt rights, like staring dead-eyed at an interviewer when they ask her a ridiculously heteronormative question about the characters (like "have you read my books?")

adaptions include:

(most adaptions start like the book, with a male witch at the beginning that turns into a female witch when they first regenerate. the early ones usually change the pacing by switching to a female actor by the time they realise witchfinder is a witchfinder, unlike in the book where he's male for this scene, and there's way less Charged™ chemistry between the m/m witch/finder.)

Feature Film: late 90s, kind of cheesy, but good spirited fantasy (a la Indiana Jones). focuses on the first book alone, with hints to a sequel that never happened.

Abandoned TV Pilot: early 2000s, a little too dramatic but still a good time (a la the Dungeons and Dragons 2000, ASOUE 2004). good source of gifs and Moments™ but the fandom is generally Fine with it being abandoned.

Stage Performance: late 2000s-early 2010s, a stellar stage adaption of the first book with elements of the 90s movie. f/m witch/finder the whole way through. one cast used m/m actors but it was a short run and only a handful of fans were lucky enough to catch or remember it. crowley would give his left arm (or someone's, anyway) to have experienced it, so a fan sent him some flip phone camera footage of it that he keeps on a harddrive in his safe.

HBO Streaming Series: late 2010s-present, high quality, highly revered, resurged the fandom's popularity and spread the series further overseas. made in america, but doesn't try to americanise the series. extremely respectful to the books, with easter eggs to the film, and is working its way through the entire book series (a la The Witcher netflix series). f/m witch/finder, but has had one episode that included some flash backs/montages of different witch faces. probably like 15 minutes total screentime of a male witch played by a ncuti gatwa level/style of actor, which the fandom has giffed, edited, and screencapped to oblivion.

Several bonus books: Agnes has written a few extra books (a la The Unauthorized Autobiography of Lemony Snicket and The Beatrice Letters), as well as curated some anthologies from other authors (a la A Study In Sherlock). there are a total of 3 anthologies so far, in which other authors have written stories about the characters in their own tellings. basically like canonised, published fan fiction, curated and authorised by agnes herself. There's also an unfinished graphic novel that retells the book series (a la The Adventure Zone comic), but has been WIP/unheard of since the 3rd book.

#ask a rat #fuck i lvoe this fucking fakedom #bnf au #i cannot get it out of my head #rat writes

[connorswhisk]

and so it goes (miguel o’hara x spiderman!reader)

hi note this is a fic specifically for transmasc readers. don’t come anywhere near this if you’re a cis woman. you have a million fics you can read that aren’t this one. thank you 🍻

@spokentothewoods here you go ☺️

WARNINGS: Angst, slightly sexual situations >:)

That ever-present tenseness is visible in his shoulders; in truth, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him without it, for as many years as you’ve been working with him. You’ve been working late tonight and could really use a break yourself, but with Jess away for an ultrasound, someone had to stay behind and keep an eye on Miguel.

Perhaps you volunteered for the job a tad too hastily, if the smirk Hobie had flashed in your direction was any indication, but Hobie’s always smirking at things. You’ve gotten pretty used to it.

In any case, even Margo’s signed off for the night. You know Miguel’s the Big Boss In Charge, but…couldn’t he benefit from some chill time?

“That’s it,” you say, yawning. “That’s the last of the logs done. Think I’ll turn in for the night.”

Miguel says nothing. He either is so immersed in his work that he didn’t hear you, or he’s ignoring you - both are likely in their own way.

After a moment’s more of silence, you frown, and web yourself up to his platform. He’s always brooding, that’s pretty normal, but…

Oh, you realize, because you recognize the video footage he’s watching. You’ve never seen it yourself, but you know what it is, where Miguel came from. You know why he is the way that he is.

You contemplate leaving and pretending you saw nothing, but then Miguel turns his head and fixes you with his dark, exhausted eyes, and it’s too late to act innocent.

“Sorry,” you say quietly. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. You just…”

“What.” He phrases the word as a statement, not a question. “I just what.”

You sigh. “I worry about you, Miguel. I mean, when you first found me in my universe…you were sad, sure, but you weren’t this angry. I don’t know what changed, but if you ever need to talk…”

“I don’t.” His stare is fixed somewhere past your shoulder, his jaw hard as steel. “Nothing changed. I’m fine.”

“Oh, bullshit,” you tell him, and you can’t help but roll your eyes. “How long have we known each other? I know when you’re lying to me.”

Miguel shakes his head. He’s been working with Jess the longest and all the Spiders respect him as their leader, but he’s never gotten as close to anyone as he has to you. You know this because he told you so himself, a year ago when MJ was killed and you were stumbling around HQ in a haze, the big empty pit in your stomach threatening to swallow you whole.

We all lose people, he’d told you, his voice the gentlest you’d ever heard it. But we persevere. You’re strong, Y/N. You can survive this.

I bet you tell all the Spiders they’re your favorite, you’d joked half-heartedly, desolate and depressed, sure you were right. But Miguel had given you this look that had told you plainly: I am completely serious. And then he’d started to say something, stopped as if he’d thought better of himself, and swung away.

You don’t know what he’d been about to tell you…though maybe you kind of do. The pair of you have never necessarily been the emotionally vulnerable types, but the connection between you is one that cannot be denied.

“I’m fine,” he’s repeating now, still hiding from the truth. “Just tired.”

“Which is exactly why you should call it for the night. You’ve done plenty.”

“I haven’t done enough.”

“Look, just…” You exhale deeply, pull off your mask so you can meet him eye-to-eye. You don’t miss the slight change in his demeanor when you bare your face, the fleeting look of quick relief. “Do you…want a massage or something?”

He blinks. “What.”

“I asked if you wanted a - “

“I heard you.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Ok. So? Your shoulders could really use it, dude.”

“I…” You can pinpoint the exact moment he decides to give in, posture slumped and scowl deepening. “…Fine.”

He turns back to face the screens - thankfully, the video from before is long gone. Miguel says nothing for a long time, ‘til he finally snaps, “Well?”

You lay your hands on his shoulders. You’re no trained masseuse, but your Aunt May does a wicked back rub and you’re sure you can replicate her technique, more or less. And so you try.

Are all shoulder muscles this knotted? Or is Miguel just overworking himself per usual? You’re not sure, but you press as hard as you dare, first with your fingertips, then kneading in and out with your knuckles. Miguel is silent as you work. The only sound he makes is the measured course of his breathing, up-down, up-down, up-down. You can feel it thrumming through your neurons, slow and steady.

“What, sorry?” You didn’t catch what Miguel just mumbled under his breath.

“Can you - go harder?” he repeats, practically spitting the words. He sounds as exhausted as you’ve ever heard him.

Wordlessly, you begin to apply even more pressure, and Miguel moans. You’ve never heard him make a noise like that before, and in your shock, you start and almost back away from him entirely. You manage to keep your wits, though, and you press again in the same spot, feeling the knot aching to unravel beneath his skin.

“Y/N,” he groans - but before you can begin to wrap your head around that, Miguel’s body is freezing up under your fingertips, and suddenly, he’s wrenching himself away from you.

“Woah - you ok?” You drop your hands to dangle by your hips, but you can still feel the buzz in your head, concentrated and slightly painful like a migraine, a hit off a cigarette.

“You should go,” Miguel says quietly, his back to you. “This…you should just go.”

“Ok.” You’re finding it hard to breathe, beneath all the spandex and bindings and confusion. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.”

“Did I hurt you?”

“No.”

“Then what the hell is the prob - “

“GO, Y/N,” Miguel seethes, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. “Just leave me alone.”

You scowl. “Fine.” Pulling your mask down over your face again, you shoot a strand of web over in the opposite direction, pull yourself through the air until you land against the wall and cling there. “Fine, Miguel. Whatever you want. As usual.”

If he looks back at you as you leave, you don’t know. At the moment, you’re too hurt and angry to waste another thought on him.

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #across the spiderverse #male reader #my writing #might write more if this does well! i have ideas 😈

[oneshotnewbie]

(Tw, eating disorders)

hiyaa, could you do a fic with NCIS (the whole team or just a few characters) and reader who had been struggling with an ed?? i will leave the details to you xx

⚠️Trigger Warning⚠️ This one-shot includes the topic of an eating disorder (anorexia) and the plot is presented. If this triggers you too easily or you just can´t handle the subject, I urge you NOT to read this work. I am NOT embellishing this topic under any circumstance. Read at your own risk.

ᕚ---ᕘ

You sat alone in the darkened kitchen of your apartment. The plate in front of you was empty, the remains of a meager salad that you had tossed around several times. Your gaze was blank as you stared at the plate, as if searching for answers that might be hiding in the dried lettuce leaves.

The last few weeks have been a challenge for you. The relentless cases and high stress levels at NCIS had taken their toll on you. The originally secret battle against the numbers on the scales had long since become an open war that you were waging against yourself.

Your colleagues started to notice your changes. Special Agent Ellie Bishop, your best friend, was one of the first to notice a certain distance in your eyes while you were working on a case. Gibbs, who could read his team's moods like no other, had also picked up on the subtle clues- the tired eyes, the emaciated appearance, and the color that had drained from your face.

After a discussion about the latest case and your lack of sympathy, Ellie and he exchanged worried glances before silently agreeing that it was time to talk to you. Together they decided to bring in Jack Sloane, the team's experienced psychologist and agent.

Just a few hours later, after gathering informally, Gibbs, Ellie, and Jack found themselves in her office. The tension in the air was palpable as they patiently waited for you to walk in the door unsuspectingly. “Sit down, Y/n.” The older man spoke calmly, pointing to the couch opposite.

You hesitated with a questioning and slightly confused look before sitting down. The gazes of your colleagues literally pierced you and made you nervous.

"We're worried about you, sweetheart," Ellie began gently, her arms wrapped around her body as her lower back dug into the blonde's desk. "You seem so different lately and we want to understand what's going on."

Jack eventually continued, bringing out her expertise, enhancing the expression of her words by readjusting her glasses. "There's no reason to walk alone in the dark."

It was hard to miss the tension on your face as you tried to control her emotions. Gibbs looked at you seriously, a hint of concern and sensitivity shining in his eyes. "Y/n, we are your team. If you have problems, you don't have to fight it alone. Talk to us."

"It's nothing. I'm fine." You spoke after listening to your colleagues' words, literally feeling the pressure inside you as a lump formed in your throat. You hesitated for a moment before standing up and abruptly leaving the room without saying another word. The look on your face told the three of them a mix of anger and shame as they realized there was a deeper reason for your change.

The door closed behind you with a muffled bang and Gibbs sighed heavily, keeping his eyes on the closed door. "Damn," he muttered. "She won't let anyone talk to her."

Ellie cast a worried glance in the direction you had just been sitting and furrowed her brow in frustration. "We can't just let her go through this alone. She needs help."

Jack Sloane nodded in agreement, her emotions contained as she considered what to do next with you. "I agree, but she also has to be willing to accept help. We can't force her."

In the next few days the atmosphere in the team remained tense. You tried to appear as normal as possible, but the tension between you, Ellie, and Gibbs was palpable. The usual jokes with Dinozzo, the shared breaks with Ellie and the feeling of togetherness with Gibbs seemed to have faded into the background.

Until the senior agent's team received an urgent mission that required your full attention and teamwork. A suspicious package with a bomb inside appeared in a public building. When you arrived on site, the situation quickly became aggravated by memories of 9/11. The building was evacuated and the team took control of the entire situation.

This effort that brought you back onto the field was actually intended to provide distraction and focus for you. However, the tensions in the team were obvious. You avoided all eye contact with your colleagues, the images of the failed conversation echoing in your head, and the pressure you were trying to hide weighed heavily on you.

While you were concentrating on your tasks, you suddenly felt a wave of dizziness. Your heart was pounding fast, the world around you was spinning, and your legs suddenly felt like they were made of rubber. Your vision blurred. Instinctively you reached for the closest thing possible to hold on to, which at that exact moment was Ellie, but your knees gave way and you sank to the ground next to her. The colors blurred before your eyes and you lost consciousness.

Ellie noticed the suddenly tight grip on her forearm. Gibbs, who was standing right behind you, reacted quickly and caught you before your head hit the paving stone. “Y/n!” He called as he gently laid you on the ground and Ellie called emergency services while Dinozzo and McGee continued to focus on the case. You were pale and breathing shallowly, the older agent trying to wake you up while Ellie looked for signs of acute medical distress and checked your pulse, all while talking to the emergency dispatcher.

Gibbs watched worriedly as you slowly came to. When your eyes opened, they showed a mix of embarrassment and weakness. "What happened?" You mumbled, still dazed.

"We'll sort that out later," he replied calmly, brushing some stray strands of hair that had gotten lost in it out of your face. "Right now we need to make sure you get medical attention."

Even as the paramedics arrived and took care of you, the two exchanged a meaningful look. The events of the last few minutes had exposed a reality that they could no longer ignore and it became clear to everyone that this was not just about the case and the hot summer days that drove everyone into a corner - this was about the well-being of an agent who not only fought against external threats in everyday life, but also against her own demons.

ᕚ---ᕘ

In the hospital room, surrounded by dim lights and the hum of medical equipment, you sat up straight in bed. Gibbs and Ellie had alerted Jack to come to the hospital, where all three of them gathered around you, each of them with a serious but caring look.

"Y/n, it's time we talk about this," Jack began in a soft voice, sitting on the edge of the bed, her hand tentatively running over your still-shaky forearm, skillfully ignoring the intravenous access for medication. "We really care about you. This fainting is a symptom of something bigger. You need to tell us what's going on so we can help you."

You looked down, fingers folding nervously in your lap. The walls you had so stubbornly built seemed to be crumbling. Gibbs took a step closer to you. His eyes met yours, intense and fatherly at the same time. "You're part of my team, y/n. If you're having trouble, I'm here for you."

Ellie also wanted to join in the conversation, adding something that completely grounded your walls. "We are not only colleagues, but also friends and family. You can trust us. We will help you." You took a deep breath and nodded, a lone, slow tear rolling down your cheeks. "It's not easy for me to talk about it. It feels like I'm losing control."

Gibbs placed a protective hand on your shoulder, letting you know that it was okay to let them in and accept their help. "Sometimes it's okay to let go of control. You are not alone and together we will help you get back on your feet."

"I fell into something that I didn't think I would ever fall into again. An eating disorder that I actually left behind a long time ago," you began to say, many more tears following. Ellie had immediately moved to your side, wrapping you in a big hug to help you tell them everything they needed to know.

The following weeks were characterized by intensive discussions with Jack, supported by professional help from another psychologist outside of working hours. The entire team was there to support you every step of the way, enveloping you in care as they ate with you and brought you small snacks.

Gibbs, who was otherwise known for his strictness, became a protective father figure who lost his strictness on you when it wasn't work related. He constantly reminded you that there was no shame in showing weakness and that you didn't have to fight alone if you suffered a setback for the day.

The team became a supportive unit that not only solved crimes but also looked after each other. Through your courage to defy and confront your own demons, the connection between you all became significantly stronger. Everyone in the family had learned that true strength often came from accepting help and going through the darkness together, rather than isolating yourself and taking the rocky road alone.

#ncis #ncis x you #ncis x reader #ncis imagine #ncis imagines #ncis fanfiction #ncis fanfic #ncis oneshot #leroy jethro gibbs #leroy jethro gibbs x you #leroy jethro gibbs x reader #jeroy jethro gibbs imagine #leroy jethro gibbs imagines #leroy jethro gibbs fanfiction #leroy jethro gibbs fanfic #leroy jethro gibbs oneshot #ellie bishop #ellie bishop x you #ellie bishop x reader #ellie bishop imagine #ellie bishop imagines #ellie bishop fanfiction #ellie bishop fanfic #ellie bishop oneshot #jack sloane #jack sloane x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #oneshot #imagines

[hongcherry]

pretty please (stay with me) || c.sc | 1

"After being assigned a fashion show for your big senior project, you set off to find volunteers to make it successful. However, when you meet Choi Seungcheol and his unfriendly clique through your volunteers, you realize they’re an unwanted package deal you can’t escape from. Can you handle Seungcheol's obnoxious friends, and can he handle your brash behavior?"

🍒 Pairing: businessMajor!Seungcheol x fashionMajor!Reader (afab)

🍒 Rating/Genres/AUs: M(18+); Slice of life (!!!), slow burn, drama, fluff, angst; Unrequited enemies to lovers (lol), strangers to lovers, college au

🍒 Warnings: [general tw (won't be repeated in the other chapters)] reader has she/her pronouns (referred to as girl, miss), reader dresses really feminine, reader is not nice, character outfit descriptors, parent/family issues (marital problems), bullying | [chapter tw] “joke” that implies prostitution in a negative way, near car accident (rear end), brief mention of death thru a joke

🍒 WC: 14.8k

🍒 Betas: Huge shout out to my bae, @love-strike, for being with me throughout this whole process, for listening to me whine, for helping me brainstorm majors for OT13, and for being so supportive! tysm 😭 And thank you to @playmetheclassics, @here4kpopfics, @angelwoozi for also beta'ing this series! ty for your time and for your sweet feedback! i really cherish everyone's efforts and brains hehe 🥰💖 i understand this was not an easy task to take on.

🍒 Author's Note: HAPPIEST BIRTHDAY TO THE LOML, CHOI SEUNGCHEOL!!!!!!!!! 🎂♥️ I started this fic in September 2022 and contemplated even publishing it multiple times. I think this will be the first fic I've worked on for so long and published. Also, this is the longest fic I've ever written, so that's exciting! It was supposed to be one long one-shot, but I ended up writing way too much for a one-shot LOL. I'm really proud of myself for powering through and not abandoning it, as I've done in the past. I also wrote this all in past tense and spontaneously decided to change it to present 😪 Anyway, please enjoy the start of this couple's journey 😁

also read here: AO3 | Wattpad

seventeen masterlist | main masterlist

previous chapter \\ series masterpost // next chapter

When people say good students are those who arrive on time, you find it hard not to scoff. Professors should care more about how hard-working one is rather than if they show up on the dot.

Of course, you do try to make it on time, but can you really leave your house looking less than perfect? Absolutely not. Plus, the first fifteen minutes usually consist of professors getting set up for their classes, so you don’t feel like you are missing anything of importance.

Today is no different.

Ten minutes past the official class time, you stroll inside the room. Students are seated where they normally sit, some are on their phones, and others are trying to finish some last-minute homework assignments. It’s a fairly small class, and being in your senior year means everyone knows each other well. Although, most of the people in your class think ill of you and don’t talk to you.

At first, you thought it was a pity, but in the end, you realized you didn’t want to befriend those who would only talk shit behind your back. This is what you figured they did since they were never discreet when they exchanged whispers with their eyes glued to you. 

Luckily, you have at least one friend in the class. Quality over quantity, right?

“Right on time,” your friend, Dae, says with a sly smile when she spots you.

You chuckle and slide into the seat next to her. “Class started fifteen minutes ago.”

“It did, but you’re right on time for you,” she explains with a knowing grin.

“Guess I need to be more late from now on,” you tease as you take out your iPad.

The device is a holy grail to you. Majoring in fashion design means all your ideas and creations over the past few years are stored there. When you don’t have it, it’s stored in secret in your house. Maybe that’s a little excessive, but losing it would feel like losing a part of yourself. After all, art creations always include a part of the creator. The device almost feels like it’s an extension of yourself—something too personal for others to peek at.

Dae rolls her eyes. “Or you could come on time. That would be different.”

“Why would I? The first fifteen minutes are worthless,” you huff and open your notes.

“I wouldn’t quite say that,” Dae answers, sliding a piece of paper over. You glance down at it.

Prepare for the annual Senior Fashion Show! Students are to create their own fashion show with a theme of their choice. The show will be toward the end of the semester in the Main Theatre (official times and dates TBD). The project will count for 80% of your grade as this will require you to use all the skills you’ve acquired as a student. When creating your show, be sure to be mindful of the following…

“This was handed out at the beginning of class. Seems like we’re going to have to work with students from outside our department,” Dae comments after she gives you a few minutes to read everything.

So, this is it.

Every senior majoring in fashion design is required to participate. You attended every fashion show hosted during your time as a student here. You were always left in awe, motivated to be a student that would leave behind a name for themselves at the college. You want to inspire the next seniors just as the ones inspired you before.

While this assignment has your body giddy with excitement, there is a part you are dreading.

People skills are not your forte.

Not because you feel awkward talking to new people, but because the conversations always end unpleasantly. Sometimes with back-handed compliments, insults, or them trying to scold you. You hope that won’t be the case while recruiting volunteers.

“So, do we have the class period to start getting things together?” you question once you finish skimming through the instructions again. You’re responsible for a lot more elements than you anticipated. You need lighting, music, a theme, backstage helpers, hair and makeup artists, an advertiser, and most importantly, models. This is when you wish you had a large network. Though, every friend you tried to make didn’t end up lasting. Dae is the only person who has stuck by your side.

“Yup,” she replies. “We’ll be doing mini assignments throughout the semester to help us prepare. I think it’s just a way for Dr. Lim to give us grades so he doesn’t get in trouble.”

“Probably,” you sigh. You are already feeling stressed. Quickly, you scribble down a list of to-do’s in your notes.

“Do you have a theme in mind already?” Dae asks after a moment.

“No, do you?” you wonder.

Dae sits back in her chair, pen resting between her fingers. “I was thinking about something with space? Maybe my main colors will be blue, purple, and black.”

“Oh? Isn’t that what you’ve been doing, though? Don’t you want to try something different?”

Although the question is harmless, the tone of your voice must have rubbed Dae the wrong way. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and then looks at you again.

“Think of it as branding, okay? Why does it bother you so much?” she wonders with a frown. Realizing your mistake, you inhale slowly.

“It doesn’t. I didn’t mean to sound rude. I’m sure your stage will do well,” you reply, forcing a small smile on your lips.

“No ‘sorry’?” Dae asks despite knowing it isn’t part of your favorite vocabulary.

You narrow your eyes at her. “Nope. Just don’t be so defensive next time.”

“You’re insufferable,” Dae answers. “One day, you will be sorry for your behavior.”

Shrugging, you say, “There’s always a chance, but maybe if the world wasn’t so insecure, saying sorry wouldn’t be so wanted.”

Dae exhales disapprovingly at your thought process, displeased with your reply. “Well, for now, maybe try to be more empathetic?”

“I have bigger things to worry about right now. For instance,” you start, a finger at the top of your to-do list, “I’ve got to find someone who can provide me with music.”

Fuck, it’s too loud in here.

The sounds of different instruments being played at once, all emitting different tunes, have a migraine bubbling in your head.

You make a beeline to the professor who is sitting in the corner. She is an older lady, evident by her wrinkles and gray hair. Yet, her features are soft, and the smile she gives you makes you feel at ease.

“Hello, miss, can I assist you?” she asks when you’re in hearing range.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt, but I was hoping you could help me with an assignment?” you wonder and offer her a kind smile, hoping she won’t shoo you away immediately.

“Ah, it’s alright. They’re just practicing for an upcoming assignment today. What is it you need, dear?”

“Who would you consider your best student? Is there a way you can get me in contact with them?”

The professor’s eyes widen slightly at the question. She didn’t expect that. Nevertheless, her gaze rises to scan the classroom.

“There,” she points as discreetly as she can. You follow her finger, which lands on a blonde-haired guy tuning his guitar. “Lee Jihoon. He’s the most talented student I’ve ever had.”

“This semester?” you ask out of curiosity.

The professor shakes her head. “Ever.”

You can’t stop the small disbelieving huff that escapes you. The best student ever? You aren’t sure how long she’s been teaching, but you doubt out of all her time, he is the best. He looks too young.

“Now, now, don’t judge a book by its cover,” she scolds gently. You have to force yourself not to roll your eyes at the phrase. You’ve heard it too many times that its meaning lost its effect on you.

“What makes him your best student?” you question, sight going back to the man who is oblivious to your stare. He sits next to another student who also has a guitar. They seem to be friends from the way they are laughing together.

“His work is versatile and very good. I’m positive he will be the perfect person for your project.” The way she speaks about him makes you believe her. There was no waver to her voice, and her eyes hold a fondness in them you know one can’t replicate if not genuine.

“How long until they have their assignment due?” you wonder, realizing you may have to wait until the class ends before you could talk to him.

The professor smiles. “I’ll let them have five more minutes so you can introduce yourself.”

Internally, you sigh in relief. You’re grateful you don’t have to wait.

“Thank you,” you say before strolling to the man.

As you near, his friend glances up. He’s mid-sentence when he spots you, eyes growing slightly at the sight of you. You’re used to getting looks like that. Your fashion is always dressier than the average college student's. People just aren’t used to it.

“Hi,” the brunette friend says. He has prince-like features, and you almost consider asking him to be one of your models. You give him a small grin out of politeness before turning to the whole reason you came over.

“Lee Jihoon?” you ask.

Jihoon’s mouth parts slightly in surprise. “Uh, y-yeah. Do I know you?”

“No. My name’s Yn. I have a project in a class and need someone to provide music for me. You won’t get paid, but any extra experience is always good, right?” you greet, not wanting to dance around the subject. After all, this is only the first of many on your to-do list.

“What major are you in?” he wonders, brows knitted in confusion.

“Fashion design,” you answer.

Jihoon is silent for a moment. “And how did you find me?”

This guy is more difficult than you wished. You just need him to say yes.

“I asked for the best student, and you were recommended. So, what do you say? Will you help me?”

Jihoon gives you a small smile, but something about it rubs you wrong. “Sorry, my plate is a little full right now—”

“Do you need money? I can give you some afterward.”

You try not to sound desperate. Lee Jihoon is not the only music major—this is obvious by the amount of noise you hear in the background.

But you never settle for less than the best.

You have been looking forward to this project since your college tour here. 

“It’s not that,” Jihoon chuckles awkwardly. “I have other assignments I have to practice for, but I’m sure there will be someone else to help you. There’s a lot of talented students her—”

“But they’re not the best,” you interrupt. What else can you offer him that will make him say yes?

“Well, being the best is subjective,” Jihoon counters, voice light so you know he doesn’t mean it rudely.

You open your mouth to bargain with him more, but his friend leans into his ear. The noise from the other instruments behind you makes it hard to hear what they are saying.

Patience is something you rarely have. The longer you stand there waiting, the more annoyed you get.

“Look, you have almost a full semester to get a song done by then. I’m sure you can find some tim—”

“Fine,” Jihoon grumbles as he shoves his friend away. “I’ll do it.”

“Oh,” you pause. You are fully prepared to go down the mental list of how helping you will help him in return. One that will be complete bullshit, but if it gets him to say yes, then so be it. Luckily, you don’t have to. 

“Great!” you say.

You aren’t going to give him time to back out, so you quickly retrieve a business card you had made from your purse. It’s easier to exchange contact information, and you never know when you may run into someone important. Being in an artistic field means competition. You always need to have an eye out for something, or someone, that will help you get your name out there.

“Here’s my number. Please contact me before the day ends.”

Jihoon takes the card and examines it. “Got it. What kind of music will you need?”

“I’m not sure yet, but I’ll let you know,” you reply. He nods in response.

“I look forward to hearing your music. I’ll talk to you later then,” you say.

You have half a heart to wish them both luck on their assignment, but part of you is a little petty that Jihoon put you through some trouble. Instead, you give them a wave before turning on your heel.

As you’re leaving, you hear a loud sigh followed by a laugh from behind you. 

“Shut up, Shua,” Jihoon groans before the professor calls everyone’s attention.

Music, check. Now, what’s next?

As you make your way down the hallway, you stumble across Dae. She is surrounded by two other male students, none of whom you know. You don’t plan to greet her since she seems busy, but the sound of your heels clicking against the tile catches her attention.

“Yn!” she calls out cheerfully.

You halt in your tracks, turning to see her smiling at you. She gestures for you to come over, so you do.

“Hey,” you say to her.

“How’s your project going?” she asks.

“I got someone to help me with music,” you reply, then glance behind her to see the two guys staring at you. Dae follows your gaze and makes a small “oh!”

“Is that all? Do you have anyone for advertising or graphics?” Dae wonders, her voice seemingly excited.

“I don’t,” you answer hesitantly. Her eagerness has you worried.

“Perfect!” she exclaims, then turns to the others. “This is Yejun and Jeonghan. They’re both advertising majors. Yejun agreed to help me with my project, but Jeonghan,” she pauses to address the man. He has blonde hair that goes past his eyes. His soft features are handsome and almost angelic. 

“Jeonghan, would you mind helping my friend with hers? She’s super talented.”

Jeonghan glances at you, but before he can say anything, you ask him, “What are your skills? Do you have some work I could see first?”

Jeonghan looks taken aback. “O-oh, I don’t have a portfolio yet, sorry.”

“Ah, that’s fine,” you say before looking at Dae. “Thanks for trying to help me, but I’ll find someone else.”

Dae’s eyes narrow at you. “Come on, Yn. Jeonghan is really good!”

“Didn’t you just meet him?” you question and try to stop the scoff that threatens to escape.

“Well, yes, but Yejun has been my friend for a while, and I’ve seen his work. Yejun and Jeonghan have worked together as well, and their creations are unique!”

You inhale deeply, eyes roaming from your friend to Jeonghan. He offers you a smile.

“What your friend said,” Jeonghan replies with a small chuckle.

“Trust me on this,” Dae says. “Jeonghan won’t disappoint you.”

You don’t feel at ease agreeing to someone blindly. Dae’s definition of “really good” could be different from yours. Although her work is good, you feel your standards are way above hers. You had planned to ask for the best student for each assigned task, so having been offered a random helper with no proof of their credentials is unnerving. 

Granted, you haven’t heard Jihoon’s work, but you were sold on the way the professor spoke about him. Dae, on the other hand, is not a professor and could be biased as Yejun is her friend. Though, you still have a lot more positions to fill, and you need to do so soon.

Sighing, “Fine. You can work with me.”

From the way you word your sentence, it’s almost as if Jeonghan is supposed to jump up and down with glee. He doesn’t.

You grab another business card from your purse and hand it to Jeonghan. He takes it slowly.

“Just so you know, I have the right to replace you with someone else if I see your work isn’t fit,” you warn as Jeonghan slips the card into his pocket.

His eyes lock on yours. “That won’t be necessary,” he answers, not bothered by your comment.

“Oh?” you wonder and quirk an eyebrow up.

“Hm. You also need graphics, right? I have a person for that as well,” Jeonghan says.

“I haven’t seen their work yet—”

“You’re not very trusting, huh?” Jeonghan observes with a laugh. You shift your weight on one hip, not liking the way he is trying to tell you about your personality when he doesn't know you.

“I just know what I want, and I won’t settle,” you answer sharply.

Dae huffs next to you and gives you a gentle shove, indicating you to ease up. That isn’t going to happen.

Jeonghan doesn’t reply and instead takes out his phone. His fingers dance around the screen for a minute before he turns the device for you to see. On the screen is an Instagram account with various posts of different art and graphic pieces. Your eyes drift to the username. by_xuminghao_o. His art is impressive and definitely not an amateur like you half expected.

“So, about not settling,” Jeonghan trails off, a hint of a cocky smirk on his lips.

“I expect you both to contact me before the day ends,” is all you respond with.

Jeonghan pockets his phone and nods. He seems content with your answer even though you don’t confess the art meets your standards.

“All good then?” Dae asks, glancing between you two.

“We’re good,” Jeonghan replies and gives you another smile of his—one you are starting to hate seeing. There is just something about it that seems like he knows more things than you in a cocky, condescending way.

Yejun glances at his watch and then nudges Jeonghan.

“Thanks, ladies, but we have a class to attend. Nice to meet you, Yn,” Yejun says.

You hum in response while turning away from them. Dae says her goodbyes, watching as they leave before putting her focus on you.

“Do you have to be so picky?” she sighs.

“As I said, I know what I want. I’ve waited to do this project for years. It has to be perfect,” you explain and pull out your iPad. You check off music and advertising from your to-do list. Graphics aren’t listed, but you figure it will be a nice addition.

“I understand, but—”

“Just focus on your project, and I’ll focus on mine, okay?” you interrupt. You don’t feel like hearing her lecture you for a second time today.

“Alright,” Dae answers. “I’ll see you around,” she says, walking away before you can say anything else.

With her back turned, you roll your eyes at her attitude. It has your mood lowering, and you conclude you’re done with human interaction for now. You carefully place your iPad back in your bag, then make a beeline to the parking lot, ready to go home to figure out a theme for your show.

Home is somewhere you don’t enjoy being.

It always has this melancholy cloud looming over you. You can never seem to get rid of it completely. Even on the good days, it lingers in the corner of the room, always threatening to float above you. You doubt it will ever dissipate.

Your back is against the headboard of your bed, your iPad resting against your legs that are pulled to your chest. The music playing is too low for your liking, but you know if it’s any louder, your father will scold you for the high volume. Sometimes you will raise it just to get him to talk to you. Though today is not one of those days. You want to be left alone for once, which isn't usually too hard to do unless your sister needs attention. Like now.

“Today is the last day. Pleaseeee, Yn!” your sister whines at the foot of your bed. Her small body is bouncing with desperation and eagerness.

Reluctantly, you flicker your gaze up at her. The slight scowl on your face doesn’t seem to faze her… Probably because she’s seen it so much.

“Can’t you see I’m busy?” you exasperate, gesturing to your iPad.

Seoah frowns. “When are you not? Come on! It’ll take, like, ten minutes. I’ve been looking forward to getting a Fallin’ Flower frap for months! You know it’s a seasonal drink.”

“Didn’t Dad say you couldn’t have any more sweets?” you say and peer down at your iPad again. You’re in the middle of brainstorming themes for your show. There are various words within bubbles, each connected with a line.

“I’ll just get a small,” she explains. When you don’t move, she walks around the bed to stand next to you. Her voice becomes softer, sadder. “You said you would take me. Dad can’t.”

“That was before I got assigned this project. It’s my—”

“Senior project that you’ve been looking forward to since your freshman year, yeah, I got it,” she responds, reciting what you’ve told her before.

You finally look at her once more. “I’ll take you for the next seasonal drinks, okay? They’re probably better anyway.”

“But I really want a Fallin’ Flower,” Seoah pouts.

“Next year,” you offer and return your attention to your homework.

“Yn—”

“Next year,” you repeat firmly without looking up.

Seoah pauses in her begging. You think she’s going to continue, but you hear the soft padding of her feet as she moves.

“Oh, Seoah?” you call out, glancing up.

She pauses by your door and looks up with some hope in her eyes.

“Don’t forget to shut the door all the way.”

“Right,” she mutters slowly, then leaves the room. You wait until you hear the door click close prior to getting back to work.

You sit on your bed the remainder of the day, only getting up to cook dinner for your father and sister. Your eyes feel strained and your body weak, but the sooner you pick a theme, the sooner you can get started. 

It’s days like these when your body is mentally and physically exhausted, that you miss your mom. You try not to think too much about her as it only makes the gloomy cloud above your head darker. 

Is she happier? Surely, she is. She is living her dream as a traveling journalist. Sometimes you will see her adventures if you peep at her social media. It’s self-torture to do so, but curiosity gets the best of you. You hope one day you’ll have the willpower to block all her accounts. 

At this point, you’re having the same conversation you have with yourself once a month. It never ends the way you want.

Inhaling deeply, you finish plating all the food before calling your family for dinner. While your father eats in his office, needing to continue his work, you and your sister eat in silence in the dining room.

Maybe one day things will change, but for now, you’ll have to settle with this.

You are about to knock on the door a second time when no one answers it. You have allotted only an hour for this meeting, so the longer you wait outside, the more you grow impatient. You have set mini-deadlines throughout the semester to ensure you will complete this assignment in a timely manner. You just hope your recruitees aren't going to slow you down.

Suddenly, the door is yanked open. Jeonghan stands on the other side, hair a little damp and a few wet spots on his shirt.

“Sorry about that,” he says hastily. “I thought I could shower quicker.”

“I told you eleven o’clock,” you scold. Jeonghan simply smiles.

“Never hurts to give people some wiggle room. Plus, aren’t you the early one?” Jeonghan leans back to view something. He looks at you after a few seconds. “It’s only three minutes past.”

“Early is on time,” you say as if that is an obvious life choice. Although you’re never really on time for classes, you reason that to be because the first fifteen minutes are a waste of time. This, on the other hand, is not. “Invite me in?”

Jeonghan moves aside and lets you enter. His apartment is tidy for the most part. It seems as if he had started to clean up but gave up toward the end.

“Where’s Minghao?” you wonder when you saw you were the only one here. He’s supposed to be here with Jeonghan, so you can all go over the advertising designs.

“He called and said he hit some traffic. Have a seat anywhere; I’m going to grab my laptop,” he instructs before jogging to another room. Shaking your head in disappointment, you glance around again.

Spotting his couch, you walk over and make yourself comfortable. You take out your iPad and open what you have so far—color ideas, font ideas, and a few mock-up fashion designs. It has been two weeks since you last saw Jeonghan. The majority of your tasks have already been assigned to people, but you still have to find a few more models.

“Alright, so, what’s the theme?” Jeonghan asks when he comes back. He sits down next to you, causing you to bounce slightly from his weight.

You angle your screen, so he can see it easier. “I decided on the four elements—water, ice, air, and earth. The title right now is Pinwheel.”

“This gives us multiple color options,” Jeonghan examines. “Maybe we could have five designs. One for each element and then one with all of them? That would give you a variety of exposure and make the audience feel they’re not looking at the same promo material every time.”

You sit still as you ponder his suggestion. “You don’t think people will get confused seeing different designs?”

“We can make it all tie in some way. You have your own logo, as I saw on your card. We can use that and the same fonts.”

“Okay,” you say slowly. “That sounds—”

A knock on the door stops you.

“Ah, that must be Minghao. Do you mind getting that? I’m going to get my notepad, so I can try to sketch some layouts.”

You nod, setting your iPad down next to his laptop, then walking to the entrance.

“You’re late,” you groan while you pull open the door.

“Oh? Am I?” the person says with a little playful smile on his lips.

Although you’ve never met Minghao, you have seen pictures of him on his Instagram. You expected to see a head of blue hair, but you are greeted with black. Instead of a narrow face, his is slightly wider. He wears an oversized white shirt, jeans, and a colorful necklace. He looks like every other college student. Sure, he’s more handsome than the average, but not by much. Behind him are two women and one man.

“Can I help you?” you exhale a disheartened sigh when you conclude it isn’t Minghao. Meaning, he’s even later than you wished for.

The guy chuckles. “I doubt it, but Jeonghan can. Is he here?”

His voice is slightly deep. You may have found him soothing to listen to if it wasn't for his irksome words.

“He’s busy right now. You can come back in an hour, though,” you instruct and start to close the door. You don’t need any distractions.

The man sticks his foot out to stop you, causing you to exhale annoyed when you can’t get rid of him. You open the door slightly again.

“Just tell him I’m here,” he says, his teasing tone not so visible anymore but still light enough to not sound too rude.

“And who are you?” you question apathetically.

“Jesus,” someone hisses behind him before shouting, “Jeonghan, come here!”

Your eyes gaze past the man to see a woman with short-length dark hair. She eyes you haughtily, hand on the man’s forearm as if she were to push him away. Though she never does. She takes in your attire, and you once again get a look of judgment at your choice of dress. Your white dress paired with a same-colored, opened button down and beaded chain around your hips is apparently not her style.

“What’s going on?” Jeonghan asks behind you. Reluctantly, you move aside so he can see. “Oh, Seungcheol! Right. One second. Come on in. I’ll get those papers for you.”

“Actually, do they need to come in? They’re not staying long,” you say quickly before any of them can move.

“Relax, princess, he’s just being friendly. You know, like when someone is kind, thoughtful, and considerate?” the girl questions as if you’re dumb and makes her way inside despite you standing close to the door. It forces you to move over. 

Her friends follow along. Three of them stand in the living room, while the second guy sits at the kitchen bar before pulling out his phone. You watch them with a fire inside your chest. Not only are Jeonghan and Minghao late, you now have to deal with this obstacle.

Just as you’re shutting the door, you see a glimpse of blue down the hall. Finally.

“You’re late,” you repeat, but to the correct person this time.

“I know, I’m sorry! Oh, are they helping too?” Minghao says, pausing at the entry when he sees the group of people inside.

“No. Get in,” you huff and point a finger in the apartment. Minghao enters without a fight.

“Hao!” the second girl exclaims with a smile.

Great. Do they all know each other?

“Hi, Hana,” Minghao greets with a gentle grin.

“What are you doing here?” Hana wonders.

“I’m helping Yn with her project,” he answers and gestures to you while you shut the door.

Hana looks your way, and you can see the distaste in her expression; however, she doesn’t say anything.

Jeonghan walks out of his room with a folder in his hand. “I hope this is what you need,” he tells the first man—Seungcheol, you presume.

Seungcheol smiles and takes it from him. He flips open the folder, doing a quick glance through the papers inside.

“Looks great,” he says. “Thanks for getting these for me.”

“Of course,” Jeonghan replies.

“Hannie, do you want to come to Shining Diamond with us this weekend?” the first girl asks, tilting her head in a way that appears as if she’s begging for a yes.

“Ah, this weekend?” he hesitates. “I have a test on Monday I was going to study for.”

“A few hours won’t hurt you,” she replies.

“Alright, Hajun, but only for an hour or so,” Jeonghan says with a not-so-stern voice.

“Great! Minghao, do you want to come, too?” Hajun asks.

Minghao shrugs. “I’ve got nothing else, so sure.”

Hajun grins widely. Her eyes go past Minghao to see you standing in the corner, your arms crossed and eyes staring daggers at everyone.

She doesn’t say anything, but her look tells you you aren’t invited. As if you are silently begging to join. The thought makes you scoff quietly.

“Cool. You all scheduled your weekends,” you start and walk back to the couch. You turn briefly to Seungcheol, who is eyeing you already. “And you got your things. Can we please continue?”

Your gaze shifts to Jeonghan at your question. He offers you an apologetic look before nodding.

“I’ll see you all this weekend. You can text me the time,” he says while walking to the door.

“We can decide that now,” Hana suggests.

“Or over text like Jeonghan said,” you interject. She narrows her eyes at you.

“Be patient. It’ll only take a few minutes,” she replies.

A few minutes, my ass.

“I’d rather you use those minutes to walk out the door.” You give her a faux smile.

“Have some respect,” Hajun scolds.

You laugh though you don’t find any of this humorous. “What a hypocrite. How about you respect people’s times?”

“I did tell Yn I’d help her,” Jeonghan cuts in sheepishly and opens the door to hint at them to leave. “I’ll text you all later, or you guys can come back in a bit.”

Seungcheol’s gaze lingers on yours as he walks toward the door. Your eyes catch on his as he makes his way into your line of sight. His stare has an unsettling feeling form in your stomach, and you contemplate asking what his problem is. Before you can, he turns to Jeonghan.

“Thanks again,” he says as he lifts the folder.

“No problem. Talk to you later,” Jeonghan replies.

All his friends have filed out except for the one male who hasn’t said a word. He glances at you. You expect to receive another jab about who knows what. Instead, he gestures at your body.

“Nice chains,” he compliments with a smile.

Your eyes widen slightly as you glance down briefly at your outfit. That was certainly unexpected. “Uh, thanks.”

“Come on, Vernon!” Hana yells from the doorway. Vernon gives you a thumbs up, which is uncanny given the situation, then follows his friends out the door.

Once they leave, you narrow your gaze at Jeonghan and Minghao. They’re quick to apologize again and start asking questions about your project before you can lecture them. Lucky for them, your hour is almost up, so there isn't enough time to do that anyway.

Weeks go by with you working nonstop on your project. Annoyingly, you also realize that the majority of the people you recruited to help all know each other. It usually isn’t something to be irritated by, but each time they run into each other, they usually end up making small talk that you have to break up. They can do that on their time, not yours. Even more frustrating is that this so-called Seungcheol and his groupies know them all as well. Their reactions to seeing you are always the same—ones of displeasure. Though the feeling is mutual.

You learn they are all business majors, except for Vernon. Well, he was a business major, but he plans to switch to something else. You can’t blame him. If all the business majors act revolting, you would leave that department as well.

Seungcheol… He isn’t as bad. 

You have only ever hung out with him by himself for less than five minutes. Those conversations spur when you’re both left alone after one of your “mutual friends,” because none of these people are your actual friends, abandon you both. The conversations are awkward and never hold any weight. He doesn’t throw snide remarks at you, but his presence still makes you uneasy with the possibility. You’re normally the first to leave because of that. Maybe if he didn’t have those obnoxious friends, you could tolerate him more. You can’t help but associate him with them though. You simply want to get away from them, even if that includes him. Not that you are craving his presence anyway. You barely know him and aren’t interested in changing that.

“Those are looking awesome so far!” Dae exclaims when she peers over your shoulder to see your sketches.

You smile at her and set your iPad down on the table. The weather outside is perfect, given the cool breezes in the heat. It eases your mind, and you feel more creative being in a new environment.

“Thanks, how are yours coming along?” you question and wait for her to angle her own iPad to you. On the screen are various designs, each with a hint of purple or blue.

“Those are neat,” you compliment.

“Yeah?” she says and beams at you. “What about this one? I think the shoulder looks a little weird.”

You reach over, using two fingers to zoom in on the screen to examine it.

“Maybe just lower this,” you gesture on the screen, careful as to not move the screen on accident. “You could take this part out too and make it asymmetrical.”

Dae hums, lips pursed in thought. “I’ll try it. I guess I won’t really know until it’s on someone.”

You nod in agreement before focusing on your designs again. After a while, Dae excuses herself from your homework session. She had planned to meet with one of her helpers. You bid her a quick goodbye.

Ten minutes pass when you see someone standing in front of your table, blocking your sunlight. Your eyes rise to see who it is.

“Hi,” Seungcheol greets.

You straighten your posture upon seeing him. He wears a basic navy suit that fits him well. To your surprise, it actually looks decent on him. Your eyes dart around him to see if any of his friends came.

“Just me this time,” he answers the question in your head.

“What is it you need?” you ask blankly.

“Must I need something?” he retorts.

You suppress the eye roll you want to give him. “Well, I’m sure you didn’t come here to tell me about your day.”

“I can if you want,” he responds, then to your utter dread, he sits down across from you. From the position he is sitting at, the breeze is blowing his hair forward and into his face. He raises a hand to push it back, but it’s no use.

“You can spare me. Tell me what you want and go,” you instruct. This is the first time he has approached you—and alone, for that matter. You don’t want to make it a regular thing.

“Always straight to the point,” he chuckles.

“I just don’t like my time being wasted,” you explain.

“So, I’m wasting your time now?” His eyebrow quirks up.

“Should I spell it out for you?” you scoff. It should be obvious that you don’t feel like talking to him.

“You can try, but do you know how to spell it?” he stares at you through the hair on his face. Even though you can’t see him clearly, you can tell he has a challenging gleam in his eyes.

“At this point, I think you just came to bother me,” you sulk.

He smirks at you. “I didn’t, but it is a little fun to see your feathers ruffled.”

“They’re perfectly content being unruffled.”

Seungcheol chuckles at your response. He pushes his hair back, but this time he rests his hand against his head, keeping his hair in place. His elbow is propped on the table while his other arm lays flat on the surface. 

All the times you have seen him, his hair has covered part of his forehead. Now, it’s all exposed, and you feel you can see him. Maybe it’s because he’s donning a suit for once, but he looks almost… handsome like this—dressed formally with a small glint in his eyes and his lips spread in a gentle smile.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he replies. “I think you need to have more fun.”

Well, he was handsome until he opened his mouth.

“I don’t need a stranger telling me how to live my life,” you say.

“A stranger? I would think we’re at least acquaintances,” he frowns.

“You only see me because your friends are helping me. Speaking of, is that why you’re here? Does it have anything to do with one of them?”

Seungcheol bites his bottom lip, and you can’t stop your eyes from lowering to his mouth.

“Maybe,” he answers slowly. Your eyes snap back to his when he speaks. He gives you a knowing smile that has you shifting in your seat. You had only looked at his lips because he brought attention to them. Nothing more.

“Are we playing twenty questions?” you groan, finally unleashing the eye roll you have been trying not to do.

“We can,” Seungcheol says with a shrug. “You asked three already—more if you start from the time I sat down.”

Exhaling a deep breath, you put your forehead on the hand that’s propped on the table. The conversation is slowly draining your energy. The need to be alone becomes stronger with each second.

“Seungcheol,” you warn. You are not about to play a guessing game with this man. “Please.”

“Oh, so that word is in your vocabulary.”

“Yes. Would you like me to use it in a sentence?” you question, pitch raised as if you’re talking to a toddler. You lift your head to glare at him.

“Sure,” he smirks and leans forward. He still holds his hair back and this time, you can really see the way he is goading you.

“Please fuck off,” you grin widely. Your head tilts to the side as you push your arms together to act overly cute.

“Please make me,” he counters. The smirk he wears is still plastered on his lips.

“If we weren’t in public, I would,” you say, voice returning to normal as you relax your body—the cute act over.

“Oh? How?” he chuckles. From the way he looks at you, you know his mind has gone elsewhere.

You push at the arm that is stretched across the table. “Because I would rather not get caught for murder, you pervert.”

Seungcheol laughs and sits back, letting his hair fall back into his eyes. It’s the first time you notice he has dimples. Your first impression is that they are cute, but you quickly recall who they belonged to and shove that thought from your mind.

“Seokmin wanted to let you know he lost your card,” he finally discloses. “Asked if you could give him another.”

“If he lost a simple card, is he really reliable?” you sigh as you grab another from your purse.

“The good news is those stage lights are so big, he won’t be able to lose those,” he says, taking the card from your hand.

“Thankfully,” you mutter. “I hope you’re better than Seokmin at not losing things.”

“I’ll get this to him, don’t worry,” he replies and puts the card in his suit jacket. You want to ask why he is wearing that, but that will mean you will prolong this conversation. Fortunately for you, he starts to stand up before you succumb to the temptation.

“Thanks for the talk,” he says as if you had a choice. “I’ll see you around.”

You would have doubted that, but you know that won’t be true.

The second time Seungcheol approaches you by himself is a few days later when he catches you exiting a building he is approaching.

“Don’t tell me someone else lost my card as well,” you say after he calls your name. You readjust your bag on your shoulder as you wait for his response.

“About that,” he starts sheepishly.

You put your weight on one hip and cross your arms, and set your mouth in a straight line. You wait for him to tell you who is the perpetrator.

“I may have left your card in my suit jacket when I washed it.”

Well, that explains why you haven’t received a message from Seokmin yet.

“Seriously, Seungcheol?” you exasperate.

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” he says, lips pouting and eyebrows angled.

Shaking your head, you retrieve another card. You make a mental note to restock later as you are running out.

Seungcheol reaches out to grab it from you, but you quickly pull back.

“Put this in your bag,” you instruct. 

You slowly give him the card and watch as he slings his bag around to his front. He makes a show of unzipping one of the front pockets and sliding it inside.

“Done,” he says, acting like he should be rewarded for doing as he was told.

“Good. Is that all?” you wonder. You’ve just finished your last class of the day, and all you want to do is climb into bed.

“Yes.”

Seeing no need to continue the conversation, you start walking in the direction of the parking lot.

“Great. Bye, Seungcheol,” you say over your shoulder.

“Hey, wait,” he says quickly, walking briskly to be by your side. “We’re going in the same direction.”

You peer up at him momentarily. “That doesn’t mean we have to walk together.”

“You said before we’re strangers. This would help us not be that anymore,” he shrugs casually.

“I never said I wanted that,” you reply flatly.

“It might benefit us since we’ll have to see each other a lot.”

“Is that so?” you sigh sadly.

Seungcheol smiles at you before shoving his hands in his pockets. “You did ask my friends to help you.”

“Well, if I knew you were a package deal, I wouldn’t have.”

“Come on. I’m not that bad.”

Sighing, you slow your steps to look at him better. He stops next to you, awaiting your response. His gaze is hopeful, but you’re not sure why.

“I’ll agree if you leave me alone,” you finally say.

Seungcheol’s lips dip in a frown. “I’ll get you to admit it one day.”

He starts to walk again before you can reply. Now is your chance to let him get a few feet from you. You have the opportunity to finally end this conversation you’ve been dreading. Though, for some strange reason, your feet quickly move on their own accord.

Seungcheol’s steps are small, and you catch up with him easily. Neither of you says a word, but you can see a hint of a smile on his lips.

Instead of parting ways once you reach the parking lot, he follows you to your car. Something about it being dangerous for you to walk to it alone, even though it’s light out.

“Yn?” he says to catch your attention when you open your door. You turn and give a small “hm?” in response.

“My friends and I plan to go to this poetry lounge in two weeks. Would you want to come?” he asks. You aren’t sure why he appears to be anxious.

The shock you feel must be evident on your face because Seungcheol’s apprehensive expression relaxes into a gentle smile.

“Business friends or our ‘mutual ones’?” The idea doesn't sound so bad if you are hanging out with the people who are helping you. Although you have your issues with them, they aren’t that bad to be around if you’re being honest.

“Business.”

That’s not what you want to hear.

“Do your friends know you’re asking me this?”

Seungcheol shakes his head. “No, but I don’t need their permission. What do you say?”

You can’t recall being invited to a night out with someone other than Dae. If you were to go out without Dae, it would be with your family or for a class assignment. To be invited to a place by Seungcheol, out of all people, catches you off guard.

Despite having an opportunity for a different change of pace, you answer, “No.”

“No?” he asks, perplexed.

“Your friends don’t like me, Seungcheol,” you explain matter-of-factly through a sigh, leaning against your open door.

“They just like to tease you. I’ll talk to them before,” he explains. 

Tease is a funny way to describe it, you think.

“I don’t need you fighting my battles,” you answer, referring to the latter part of his reply.

“Still. I want you to enjoy yourself. You’ve probably been glued to that project of yours. Step away for a bit,” he reasons.

He isn’t wrong. Your focus has solely been on the project. Of course, you have other classes, but you aren’t putting as much effort into them as you are this one.

“I’ll pick you up and pay for any expenses,” he offers. The more he talks, the more taken aback you are. You figured he’d drop the offer once you rejected him. From every interaction you’ve had with these “friends,” it never ends well. You doubt this will be any different. Regardless, something in you feels a little… honored he is so adamant about getting you to come.

Thus, hesitantly, “Fine.”

Seungcheol’s face breaks out in a grin. “Okay. I can give you my number, so you can text me your address.”

He starts to pull out his phone, but you stop him.

“No need,” you say. At Seungcheol’s confused expression, you continued with a faint smile, “You have my card.”

His mouth opens briefly in realization before the corners are pulled up.

“One step ahead, I see,” he teases, pulling it out to inspect it as if confirming your number is there. You suppose he may think you’re lying to get out of going.

“I’ll text you then,” he concludes and places the card back.

“Alright,” you say, shifting your weight. You aren’t sure if he wants to say anything else. Why are you giving him the time to? You have already given him enough of it.

Sensing your readiness to leave, he waves as he slowly takes steps backward. “Drive safely, Yn.”

“You too, Seungcheol.”

You climb into your car’s seat, turn on the engine, and watch as he makes his way through the maze of cars until he is out of sight.

That Friday comes sooner than you would’ve liked.

Throughout the times you had met with your “friends,” you had bumped into Seungcheol one-third of the time. Sometimes, you were left alone with him again. Each interaction you had with him became easier the more you talked to him. 

Dare you to admit; his presence wasn’t actually teeth-gritting anymore? At least when he was alone, you didn’t have to deal with his business friends. Despite him not usually laughing at their jokes, he never really stepped in to stop them teasing you at first. Maybe only a few times when he felt things got too heated. He wasn’t your best friend, but part of you did hope he would’ve said something. 

Each time he didn’t, you felt your disappointment rise. He apologized on their behalf constantly, but his apology meant nothing when they kept insulting you. However, lately, he has been stepping in sooner. Although you didn’t want him fighting your battles initially, some things you couldn’t do alone. One thing you and his business friends had in common was that no one really knew where the sudden change of attitude came from. For once, you didn’t complain, though.

You’re tempted to cancel this outing, but talking to Seungcheol a few days ago made you realize he was a little more excited than he was letting on. The reason is unknown to you—maybe he really likes poetry lounges—but you’d feel slightly guilty if you ditch last minute.

It’s not like you haven’t been out on a Friday night with people, yet your heart is beating rapidly in your chest. You have changed about six times, exchanging your accessories with each outfit. Normally, you would dress up more, but these aren’t your friends you’re about to hang out with. They are Seungcheol’s—business majors who think skirts more than two inches above the knees mean you’re a slut. Though, you can’t figure out why that matters. You never dress with the thoughts of others. If you want to wear something that day, even if it’s “over-the-top” for some, you wear it. So, why are you in such a fashion dilemma now?

In the end, you settle for a simple, spaghetti-strapped red dress that is slightly bunched on the sides with strings that are tied in bows. You pair it with a small, heart-shaped purse and white heels. There isn’t any bling in your outfit, which is unusual for you. The accessories you wear are minimal and small. They are a matching cherry set you were gifted by your mother on your 12th birthday. Although it’s been years since you received them, they’re still wearable and delicate enough not to call much attention—unlike some of your other accessories. 

You reach for a white fur jacket only to stop when your fingers graze it. Your eyes travel to yourself in the mirror as you debate on wearing it. The jacket will be too much, you conclude.

The buzzing of your phone catches your attention. It’s Seungcheol telling you he’s five minutes away. After stuffing your phone in your purse, you quickly apply red lipstick and toss it in your purse for later touch-ups.

When your phone buzzes again, you hurry to your front door. Your family is home, and you don’t want Seungcheol to meet them. Life at home isn’t ideal, and the only person who has a hint of what is going on is Dae. You doubt Seungcheol will find that out from one quick meeting, but you don’t want to risk it.

You throw your door open, ready to meet him at his car. Instead, he stands in front of you with a hand raised. He takes a step back in surprise. His eyes glide down your body quickly, but you’re too concerned about your family coming to notice.

“Oh, hey,” he greets. “I was just about to knock.”

Before any of your family can intervene, you close the door and start your way down the porch steps. Seungcheol follows you.

“You didn’t have to. I can make my way to your car by myself,” you answer. Although you’ve never been in his car before, you’ve seen it around. Plus, it’s the only unknown vehicle near your home.

You stand next to the passenger door and wait for him to unlock it, arms wrapped around your body when the chilly weather hits you.

“You sure you don’t want a jacket?” he asks when he notices you didn’t bring one.

“It didn’t go with my outfit,” you explain. It’s a lie. The coat did go with your fit, but you didn’t feel like disclosing the fashion crisis you had gone through.

Seungcheol chuckles. “So, you’re going to freeze instead?”

“It’s not that cold,” you lie again.

“It’ll get colder later, though,” he explains and comes closer to you. You step aside when he is a few inches from you. You press your arms tighter around you, eyes averting from his because of his close proximity. The small distance has you wanting to squirm away, but your feet can’t move. He peers at you with a small smile while he reaches behind you.

“My lady,” he murmurs when he pulls the door open and gestures for you to get inside.

“How chivalrous,” you reply after you force your nervousness away. You carefully slide inside his car, situating yourself comfortably in the seat.

Seungcheol waits to ensure you have all your limbs inside before shutting the door. As he walks around to the other side, your eyes scan his car. The seats are leather, and the interior has higher tech than you thought it would. It is a nice car—not overly luxurious, but enough to show it isn’t cheap. It makes you wonder how much it costs.

“You warm enough?” Seungcheol questions after he gets in and buckles.

“Yeah,” you reply quietly, hands resting awkwardly in your lap. The heat from the vents aids in your goosebumps disappearing.

Your mind is already wondering what to expect tonight. You know his friends aren’t fond of you. At least most of them. That guy, Vernon, seems nice enough. He is the quiet one in the group; however, you did notice he has his own quirks that make him unique. You foresee yourself hanging out with him most tonight. But even then, you don’t feel too great about going.

The longer you sit in Seungcheol’s car, the more you regret agreeing to this.

He stares at you for a moment; brows knitted together slightly. You feel uncanny acting so meek, and Seungcheol can't help but notice.

Silence consumes the small area for a few seconds until Seungcheol says, “Seatbelt.”

You look at him confused, then realize he is talking to you. Of course he is, who else?

“Right,” you mumble, quickly pulling the belt over your body.

“You don’t have to come, you know?” he says with one hand on the steering wheel while the other is on the gear stick.

You sigh and gesture to the road ahead. “Let’s just get going. I’ve got stuff to do after.”

It isn’t completely a lie. You still have to work on bringing your designs to life for the show, but it isn’t like you are behind schedule that you need to do that tonight. You just know you might actually back out if you ponder on leaving more.

Seungcheol bites his bottom lip, averting his focus to the road. He doesn’t reply and obliges to your request by shifting the car into drive.

During the ride, your gaze drifts to Seungcheol. He is relaxed in his seat. One arm stretches to hold the wheel while his other rests on his thigh. One which is clad in a pair of light-washed jeans with a black belt between the jean loops. He wears a white shirt tucked in and a black jacket.

You peer forward slightly to read what his shirt says. Propriety of Balenciaga? The Balenciaga? You don’t think he’s wealthy enough to afford one of those shirts. Perhaps it was a gift or a knock-off brand? Maybe he thrifted it… Though, Seungcheol doesn’t seem like the thrifting type.

“Do you need this?” he asks, breaking you out of your thoughts. He’s holding his jacket open to show you what he means. You must’ve been staring too much.

“No, I’m okay,” you say and turn your attention away quickly. “I just didn’t realize you wore glasses.”

Although the comment is true, you need something to say before he questions why you truly are staring at him. You had noticed the spectacles earlier but didn’t feel like mentioning them.

Seungcheol laughs lightly, “Actually, I don’t. I just thought I’d try to improve my fashion. What do you say, did it work?”

He glances at you after stopping at a traffic light; his mouth quirks up in a teasing smile. You turn toward him and scan his face quickly. They do look good on him, but you aren’t going to tell him that.

“They certainly did something, but whether that effect is good or bad is a secret,” you reply, looking away again.

“I’ll take that as you not wanting to admit they look nice on me,” Seungcheol says and continues driving at the green light.

“I think they’d look better on someone else,” you answer. Though, you don’t believe what you said. Something about the glasses on him has you wanting to stare at him more. They fit his face well and make him appear more attractive. You don’t want to sit on that thought for much longer.

“Is that so? Here,” he says, pulling them off his face. The glasses come into your view, and you stare at him, puzzled. 

When you don’t take them, he adds, “They won’t bite.”

You roll your eyes at his comment and finally grab them from his grasp. You pull down his sun visor to look at yourself. After sliding on the spectacles, you turn your head from side to side to see the different angles.

“I think I was right. They do look better on someone else,” you tease and face him as you shut the visor. Seungcheol turns to you at your reply.

His eyes wander across your face, a hint of a smile appearing on his lips.

“Maybe I’ll have to agree with you this one time,” he says. His stare lingers on yours so much that it has you shifting in your seat. When you avert your gaze, your eyes widen.

“Cheol!” you shout as he was about to rear-end another car. Instinctively, he shoots an arm out across your chest that has your back pressing firmly against the seat. The sudden act causes you to reach up and grab onto his arm tightly.

The car screeches as it comes to a sudden halt. Luckily in time to not hit the other car.

You both sit still, breathing intensified at the near accident. After a few seconds, Seungcheol retracts his arm. It’s then you realize you’re still holding onto him. Your eyes dart to his forearm and frown when you see small crescent shapes indented in his skin.

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly.

Seungcheol’s focus is ahead of him but glances at you in confusion at your apology. “What?”

You quickly gesture to his forearm. When he sees the marks, he rubs a hand over them absentmindedly. “It’s fine. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?” you reply, heart rate slowing down to normal.

“I’m alright. Sorry. I guess I shouldn’t make you play dress up in the car.”

“No, it was my fault.”

Seungcheol eases on the gas pedal when the light turns green, keeping a safe distance from the car in front. He remains quiet for a while to ensure you are both safe.

“Are you sure you’re okay? First, you apologize, and now something is your fault?” he jokes.

You don’t remember what you said a few minutes ago, so it takes a while for you to comprehend what he is saying. “Shut up,” is all you can respond with in the end.

Seungcheol laughs but doesn’t pester you about it any longer.

“Oh, you can take these back,” you say and tug off the reason for almost hitting another car.

“Thanks,” he mumbles as he slides the glasses back on his face.

You nestle yourself back in the seat again and glance out the window. As the buildings pass, it dawns on you that you’ve never called him Cheol. The thought of using a nickname for him has your body tingle with an unknown feeling. It’s strange. You aren’t the first to call him that, but you aren’t that close to him to start using nicknames. Annoyingly, you spend the remainder of the car ride fretting about how he felt toward you shortening his name. 

Did he even notice? If he did, did he like it? Had you crossed a line?

When he parks, you become acutely aware of everyone’s attire. Many wear jeans or tights with a plain shirt and jacket. A few have on skirts or dresses, but they are more t-shirt dresses or plain skater skirts, if anything. Plus, they are accompanied by tights because of the weather. No one has as much skin showing as you do.

The sinking feeling of not belonging consumes you. You can’t remember the last time you felt this way, and that alone has you questioning yourself even more.

“I’m too dressed for this, aren’t I?” you think out loud.

Seungcheol turns off the car, eyes raking your body again. Though this time, you’re aware of it. You tug down the bottom of your dress at his stare. It’s not like it’s predatory, but it still has your nerves skyrocketing.

“Since when did you care about what others thought of your outfit?” he wonders. The question has you sighing, momentarily closing your eyes as you remind yourself you dress for you, not for others’ approval.

“Right,” you swallow harshly and sling your purse over your shoulder—mentally throwing away the negative thoughts too. “Let’s just go.”

With that, you open his car door and step out.

“Yn wait—” you hear Seungcheol call out right as you shut the door.

Your hair is immediately pushed from your face as the wind blows past. It makes your body shiver, and for a split second, you wish you took up Seungcheol’s offer to grab a jacket when you were at your house.

Seungcheol’s car beeps as it locks before he stands in front of you. His broad body blocks the wind, and you feel your own ease from feeling a tad warmer.

“I’m sorry if that came off rude,” he apologizes softly. “I think you look great.”

You look at him, face void of emotion. You don’t believe him, but you don’t want to argue. At least not standing in this weather. 

“Okay,” you reply. “We need to go meet your friends.”

You take a step forward, thinking it will get him to start walking toward the building, but he doesn’t budge. You only decrease the distance between you two.

“I mean it,” he whispers.

Goosebumps are forming on your exposed skin the longer you stay out. You blame the cold weather for them, but something in your chest tightens at the way Seungcheol is speaking to you.

“I think red is your color,” he pauses. “You should wear it more, Cherry.”

Your head tilts at his last word. “Cherry?”

The corner of his mouth raises at hearing it from your lips. Slowly, he brings a hand to your face. You stand still as you stare at him with wide eyes. His hand brushes past your cheek before he grazes his fingertips along your ear. 

“It suits you,” he murmurs, eyes moving away from yours. 

You follow his gaze and realize he has been looking at your cherry-charmed earrings. His eyes then flicker to the matching cherry-charmed necklace resting below your bare collarbones. You’re not sure if he means the color suits you or if the nickname he just made suits you. Either way, you’re surprised at his words.

Suddenly, the weather doesn't feel as chilly anymore. Your body heats quickly at his comment, or maybe it’s from how close he is to you. Nevertheless, you need to distract yourself from this warm, odd feeling bubbling in your chest.

You clear your throat and step back. His hand lowers steadily.

“I’ll think about it,” you reply more confidently and clearly.

Seungcheol takes the hint and moves aside, hands stuffed in his jeans pockets. He nods his head in the direction of the building, and you start walking toward it. Your pace is slightly faster than his, but you don’t mind not walking next to him. If anything, you need distance from him anyway.

The moment you open the door to the lounge, the heat from inside greets you in full force. You step inside and are welcomed by a worker. He is young, maybe a few years younger than you. He gives you a friendly smile.

“Hi, are you wanting to be seated, or are you with a group already?”

“With a group,” you reply. The worker nods.

“Do you need help locating them?”

You shake your head as the jingle of the door opening sounds behind you. Seungcheol stops behind you. His hand comes to hover over your lower back, not really touching you, but close enough to feel the heat radiate from his hand onto your skin. It has you shuffling away.

“They’re over there,” he says. You peer up to see where he is gesturing. Fair enough, you see his friends at a table toward the back of the building. There are five of them, all smiling at each other. You can spot a few familiar faces—one of them being Vernon. You feel a little at ease knowing he made it here.

“Thanks,” you murmur to the worker before making your way to the table. The closer you get to the table, the slower your steps become. You’re used to keeping your chin high in situations you aren’t completely comfortable in. The whole “fake it until you make it” is on repeat in your head.

Yet the saying is not encouraging you much right now.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” Seungcheol asks when he catches up to you. You don’t realize you had stopped a few feet from the table.

“No,” you say. You aren’t mad at him; you just need some space from him for now. You don’t like how you aren’t in control of your emotions when you’re around him. “I’m going to freshen up in the bathroom.”

Seungcheol eyes you for a second before nodding. You make your way to the bathroom, but right before you enter, you can hear the welcoming echoes coming from his table of friends. All of them sound cheerful and excited to see him. You don’t expect any of them to look forward to your presence, yet you feel a little disappointed when no one brings up your name—in a positive way.

After using the restroom and washing your hands, you stand in front of the mirror with your hands lingering under the warm water. Your eyes roam your face and body, taking in your appearance. Compared to your normal fashion, you really did dress down. You sigh when you realize you’re circling back to the same issue.

You retract your hands from the faucet and grab a few towels to dry them.

It doesn’t matter if you’re overly dressed. You usually are and don’t care. You look great. You should feel confident in your fit. 

You gently tug the dress down before turning in front of the mirror.

You look fine. You look nice.

As you reapply your lipstick, you keep repeating compliments and reassuring phrases in your head. 

They’re going to look at you funny. You are going to ignore them.

“That’s right,” you sigh to yourself as you toss the lipstick back into your purse. 

Suddenly, your phone starts to vibrate. You pull it out to see Dae’s name appear across the top. You eagerly answer her call.

“Hey babe,” Dae’s voice comes from the other line. “How’s it going?”

“I’m ready to go home,” you say with a small huff.

“Damn, that horrible? Is he treating you badly?” Dae questions. You had told her about Seungcheol’s invitation when you got home that day. She was shocked, but ultimately supportive of you going.

You shake your head despite her not being able to see you. “No, he’s been fine. I just,” you pause. Although you have your ups and downs with Dae, she has stayed with you when no one else has. You don’t disclose your troubles often, wanting people to not see that side of you, but you’re feeling too low that you can’t stop the confession from coming out.

“I’m way overdressed for this place. Everyone’s in jeans or tights. I don’t belong here,” you say.

Dae sighs sadly. “Jeans are boring. I think I only own a pair,” she answers, trying to make you smile. “Just remember, if you were to die right now, would you want your last outfit to be something boring?”

“No,” you answer slowly.

“Exactly. These are people who are used to looking plain. They’re probably jealous you’re outdressing them. Don’t let them get to you, Yn. I’m sure you look beautiful.”

Your shoulders ease at her words. “Thanks, Dae.”

“No need. If they had the talent to dress themselves better, they would.”

You let her words sink in, but the reassurance doesn’t last long.

“I shouldn’t have come,” you say, beginning to pace the small area in the bathroom.

“It’s good for you to be around people from outside our department. It’ll make you more open-minded,” she encourages. “Plus, Seungcheol isn’t as bad as he seemed, huh?”

There is a teasing tone to her voice that you don’t like.

“One outing with him doesn’t mean he’s my friend,” you argue.

Dae giggles. “No, but it’s a start. Do you like him?”

“No!” you answer quickly.

“I was just asking in general. Not ‘like’ as in crushing on him,” she explains nonchalantly, but you can hear her smile.

“He’s,” you pause as you try to think of a word to describe him, “he’s been alright.”

“Well, I better let you get back to him then. I just wanted to check in,” Dae answers.

“Thanks. I appreciate it,” you say.

“Remember, you don’t need their approval. You never have, and you never will. People want the confidence you have.”

“I’m not feeling too confident right now,” you mumble.

“That’s because you’re overthinking. Chin up, okay?”

Sighing, you reply. “Okay.”

“Good. Talk to you later!”

“Yeah,” you say before hanging up.

Taking one last look at yourself, you roll your shoulders back and exit the bathroom.

Seungcheol is sitting in the middle of Hajun and someone you don’t know. His eyes lift to meet yours when he hears the sound of your heels.

“Hey, you okay?” he asks. 

Nodding, your eyes roam for a spot to sit.

“You knew you were just going to a poetry lounge, right? Not the runway,” Hajun comments with a small scoff.

Your eyes move to look at her, and you quirk an eyebrow. She wears leggings with a graphic tee. Her discarded jacket is slung over the back of her chair. “Are you sure you know that, as well? Or did you think you were just going back to your bed?”

“This is how normal people dress,” she replies.

“Relax, Hajun,” a voice you don’t know sounds. You direct your attention to them. 

The guy has black hair that is parted on the side to expose his forehead. His eyes are narrow, and even though he has a soft appearance now, you’re sure his gaze can be fierce when needed. 

“People don’t need to dress up for special occasions,” he says.

You’re taken aback by his comment. Seungcheol’s friends have always questioned your wardrobe, so for this new “friend” to not agree with Hajun is surprising. 

“No, they don’t, but you gotta’ admit she’s a little overdone huh, Soonyoung?” Hajun replies.

“Hajun,” Seungcheol interjects, giving her a pointed look.

“I understand not everyone knows how to dress. It’s okay, though. I can offer my services if you need some help,” you comment, half tempted to reach in your bag to get a business card. Although you aren’t on campus, you never know when you’ll run into someone who will make a good connection, so you keep them with you wherever you go.

“Services?” Hajun laughs and rests her crossed arms on the table. “And what ‘services’ are you offering? Because from the looks of it, I can tell exactly what you offer. Sorry, I’m not interested.”

Her eyes roam your body once more, indicating that the way you are dressed, means your services consist of paying to be with people in bed.

“I don’t think those services would help you anyway. Your rotting attitude is enough to repel anyone. Though I guess some people are willing to lower their standards when they’re desperate,” you counter.

“You’re such a—” she starts.

“Can we talk?” Seungcheol asks Hajun quickly, but he doesn’t give her the option to answer because he takes her hand and pulls her away from the group.

The table is silent for a few seconds before Soonyoung speaks up again.

“Don’t pay any mind to her. It’s nice to meet you. You must be Yn?” He smiles at you, slightly bowing at you.

“Correct,” you say, trying to not show how irritated you feel.

“Come sit,” he offers, pulling up a chair so you’re sat between him and Vernon. You thank him before sitting in the chair. You sit your purse in your lap as conversations begin to spark again.

Their voices become background noise as your gaze drifts to Seungcheol and Hajun in the corner. They stand close to each other and are in a deep conversation—clearly about you. Seungcheol has his back to you, so you can’t see his expression, but you can see Hajun’s. Her lips are in a frown, her expression not as sassy as before. 

Though her pouting seems forced, her bottom lip a little too far stuck out. Soon enough, she rolls her eyes, an expression similar to how it was earlier. Her eyes then move from him to you over his shoulder. When she catches your gaze, she smiles and raises a challenging eyebrow. However, her gaze doesn’t last long because Seungcheol’s hand comes up and guides her eyes back to him. Even though his hand isn’t touching her completely, she leans into his touch. The act has you stilling.

“Yn?” Vernon questions, tearing you from your thoughts. You don’t realize you’re clutching your purse until your focus goes to Vernon. You ease your grip and raise an eyebrow.

“Soonyoung was asking what your major was,” Vernon explains.

“Oh,” you say, glancing around the table. It appears the others are in their own conversation.

You look at the man to your left. He gives you a reassuring smile that tells you he is patient. “I’m studying fashion design. Are you in business, too?”

Soonyoung shakes his head with a laugh. “I could never. I’m a dance major.”

“Wow, that sounds nice,” you say. “Aren’t your career choices limited with that, though?”

“A little,” Soonyoung replies honestly. He doesn’t seem offended by the question. Maybe he gets it a lot. “But it makes me happy. I can always teach or maybe even become a dancer in a well-known group.”

You hum, understanding his words.

“Isn’t fashion design limited, too?” Vernon asks.

“Clothes are everywhere. I can do a lot with it.”

“But not everyone will wear your clothes,” Hana says, having finally heard your discussion.

“There will always be someone,” you argue, confident in your work. It may be a slow start, but you believe in your designs.

She laughs. “Who? Your mother?”

Your eyes narrow at the mention of your mom, and Hana is quick to notice the change in attitude. Instead of letting go of the topic, she continues.

“Ooh, trouble at home? See? I knew the ‘Great Yn’ isn’t as perfect as she seems,” Hana says. What makes her think you are so “great” is unknown to you, but you aren’t surprised to guess people have made up a persona for you. 

“Stop, Hana,” Vernon says, but it has no effect.

“Oh, so we were right?” Hajun’s voice comes from above. You glance up to see she and Seungcheol have returned. It appears their little chat did nothing to keep Hajun from being a bitch.

“Seems so,” Hana says with a smile. “Care to share with the class what kind of mommy issues you have?”

“No wonder she dresses like that,” Doyun, another one of Seungcheol’s alleged friends, adds. “She’s not getting attention at home. I guess Daddy isn’t there either?”

“That’s enough,” Seungcheol scolds them all.

Your eyes are darting from everyone at the table. Their stares are akin to shrink rays, making you feel tiny and minuscule. You know when you aren’t welcomed, and there’s no reason to stay listening to this. You want to snap back, end the conversation with your own last words, but nothing comes to mind.

In lieu, you push your chair back and stand up. Your hands twitch with the temptation to dump their food all over them, but you just want to get out as soon as possible. 

You waste no time careening for the exit. 

Seungcheol calls your name; you ignore it. The worker from before sees you, telling you goodbye, but you couldn't care less and push past the door before he can finish his sentence.

Your breath gets caught in your throat at the sudden breeze that slams into you. Instantly, your arms wrap around you once more. You glance around and see a bus stop down the street. You don’t care that it’s the other way from Seungcheol’s car. You hurry to the station, not sure when the next bus will come.

The bus stop isn’t deserted despite the cold weather. The area must be busy all the time since the sidewalks are littered with more people than you expect. All the seats at the stop are taken, yet you still shuffle under the shelter in hopes to get away from some of the breeze.

You are shaking, and your teeth are chattering. It’s impossible to force your body to stop since you need to generate heat somehow. You probably look like a pathetic naked chihuahua in winter.

You take out your phone, open up a browser, and search for bus times. Thankfully, there’s one coming in three minutes in the direction you need. The thought of taking the bus is not pleasurable. You hate the idea of your skin touching something so many others have touched. It feels unsanitary.

Accidentally leaning back against the wall while you silently groan has you jumping at the cold material touching your bare skin. Your jolt catches the attention of an older woman who is sitting near you.

“Aren’t you freezing, child?” she asks as she stares at your attire—or lack of. 

“I’ll be fine soon,” you say, not really in the mood for talking.

“Where is your coat? Did you not know the weather was going to be cold?” she continues.

Utterly done with all the people-talk tonight, you hiss, “Focus on yourself. I’ll focus on me.”

She seems startled at your outburst. Her already crossed arms tighten as she turns away from you. Her muttered “bitch” doesn’t go unnoticed, but you don’t say anything about it. There’s no point in arguing with a stranger.

The sound of the bus calls your attention, and you mentally thank the universe for the great timing. After people leave and all the new patrons enter, you finally take a step up the bus’ steps. Before you can climb all the way, you hear your name being called. You look past the bus doors to see Seungcheol running toward you.

Just what you need.

You disregard him and step farther up the steps of the bus.

The bus driver looks expectantly at you, and it dawns on you that you need to provide payment before you can board fully.

“Card?” you wonder. The bus driver nods and gestures to a device to the right.

As you unzip your purse, you feel a hand grip your arm.

“Where are you going?” Seungcheol asks, slightly breathless. His hair is disheveled from running, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“Home, idiot,” you huff and pull your arm out of his grasp so you can retrieve your card.

“Just come with me. We can talk somewhere else,” he pleads, a hand stopping your movements again.

“I’m not going anywhere with you, Seungcheol,” you hiss. “Now, let go of me.”

He hesitates but slowly releases your arm. He doesn’t leave, though. “I’ll take you home. You don’t need to take the bus. Come on.”

“Go with him or get on! We have places to be,” a passenger exclaims, clearly annoyed with your drama.

You raise your head to the person, narrowing your eyes in a glare that tells them to pipe down. It has no effect on them. They shoot a fierce look back.

“I know you don’t want to take the bus,” Seungcheol comments quietly.

He’s right. Not only do you not want to sit next to a lady whose arms are filled with shopping bags—the only available seat—you really don’t want to add time to your trip home.

Seungcheol reaches out again and carefully takes your hand in his. This time, you don’t fight him as he guides you off the bus. Once you’re both off, the bus doors shut and begin its trip down the road.

You watch it silently, not knowing Seungcheol is discarding his jacket until you feel the warm material cover your shoulders. Your eyes snap back to him as if remembering who you’re with.

“I’m sorry they said all that stuff. I told them not to do that tonight,” he says remorsefully.

“Oh, so you’ll let them talk shit about me another day?” you chide and start walking away from him. Thankfully for Seungcheol, it’s in the direction of his car.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” he replies as he hurries to catch up, which doesn’t take much effort as you aren’t walking too fast due to your cold, stiff legs.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll do that whenever they want to. They wouldn’t be the first,” you scoff.

“It doesn’t make it right regardless,” he says. You halt in your steps, causing Seungcheol to stop and turn to look at you.

“I talk shit about people behind their backs, too. Does that make me a bad person?” you question. Perhaps if he sees you as one he’ll leave you alone.

He exhales a deep breath. “Let’s just get in the car, okay?”

“You can admit it,” you challenge and walk closer to him. “Does talking shit about someone make me a bad person, Seungcheol?”

He stares down at you, soft gaze turning dark with annoyance.

“To the car, Yn,” he demands slowly just in case you won’t understand; his tone is sharp in a way you haven’t heard before. You don’t let that scare you away. Maybe if you weren’t so fired up, you would have been a little intimidated.

You laugh darkly and roll your eyes at his command. “You want me to sit next? Bark, too?”

“Now, you’re just being dramatic.”

Dramatic, he says.

“Woof?” you reply, dramatically giving him the best puppy-dog eyes you can muster.

Seungcheol’s jaw clenches at your response—not pleased with your sarcasm. However, instead of replying in an annoyed tone, he takes a step forward. His head draws closer to your face to ensure your eyes are glued to his.

“Wanna be a good girl and go to the car, Cherry?” he murmurs lowly, an eyebrow quirking up for a second.

His sudden change in tone has you stiffening. You want to bite back—figuratively or literately… you aren’t sure yet—but you can’t even remember what you are mad about in the first place.

“Hm?” he croons when you don't reply quickly.

Rather than a sarcastic reply, you simply grumble, “whatever,” before pushing past him to get to his car.

You stand next to the passenger side like before, waiting for him to unlock it. Seungcheol comes beside you and swiftly unlocks the vehicle. Although you aren’t arguing at the moment, you can sense some irritation lingering from him.

You get the feeling he'll always hold the door open no matter how annoyed he is with you.

You feel suffocated.

The air in the car is too hot. The weight of his jacket has you overheating. The tension is unbearable.

Seungcheol keeps his eyes on the road, not throwing you a single glance as he drives. Every once in a while he will tighten his hold on the steering wheel. One time you even catch the way his muscles flex at the motion—now exposed from not wearing his jacket. You never realized how fit he is. This isn’t the first time you have seen him sleeveless, but you just never stared long enough to notice. Or if you did, you simply didn’t care. Regardless, you notice now, and you have to force your eyes away before he catches you staring.

You want to ask for music so you don’t have to sit in this insufferable silence, but your mouth feels dry. You decide to just deal with the quietness, shifting in the seat so you’re facing the window more. Your eyes drift close as you let the hum of the car distract you. 

Seungcheol’s jacket is snuggled around you, and his woodsy cologne fills your senses. It’s pleasant, and you don’t mind if you smell more of it in the future.

By the time you arrive home, you are on the verge of sleep. You stumble out of the car and shut the door without saying a word to Seungcheol. You expect him to drive off, but the sound of his tires moving never comes. Instead, you hear his car door opening and closing.

“You don’t have to walk me to the door,” you say while you glance behind you. Seungcheol is following you languidly.

“No, I don’t,” he says and pauses at the bottom of your porch steps. He places a foot on the first step while a hand holds onto the rail. You have your keys out, ready to slide them into the keyhole when you speak.

“Then don’t,” you reply sternly.

He chuckles lowly but doesn’t say anything about it.

“You can go now,” you say when he doesn't move.

“You have something of mine.”

Puzzled, you stare at him for a second. Seungcheol gestures to your body, and you quickly remember you’re wearing his jacket. You tug it off and toss it to him. He grabs it from the air with ease. The loss of heat makes you wish he didn’t say anything.

“Goodnight, Cherry,” he murmurs as soon as you click open your door. You step inside before turning to face him.

The nickname you used earlier forms on your tongue, yet you can’t find the courage to say it consciously.

“Night,” you answer, then shut the door before either of you can say anything else.

With your head bowed, you turn the lock slowly while you exhale deeply. His nickname falls from your lips under your breath—unable to keep the desire at bay.

previous chapter \\ series masterpost // next chapter

A/N: Can't believe the first chapter is actually published 😭 I sat and stared at this for a few before hitting "post" because I'm so anxious! dfl;kbjdvs. Please feel free to share your thoughts on it so far!

For my “shy/silent” readers, I’ve created a feedback form where you can share your thoughts on my fics in a more anonymous and private way. ^-^

taglist: @iammisstora, @christinewithluv, @lithelust, @musingsofananxiouspotato, @yoozuku, @lockburn-castle, @mystikhal-blog, @oncloudvii23 (couldn't tag :c), @cheolcherries (tysm!!!)

©️hongcherry // DO NOT REPOST OR MODIFY Please consider reblogging if you liked this work to show your support. Feedback/commentary is always welcomed.

#svt fanfic #svt angst #svt fluff #scoups fanfic #scoups angst #scoups fluff #scoups x reader #svt series #seungcheol fanfic #seungcheol angst #seungcheol fluff #svt slice of life #seungcheol x reader #scoups x you #s coups fluff #s coups angst #s coups fanfic #seventeen fanfic #scoups x y/n #seungcheol x y/n #scoups series #kvanity #kdiarynet

[gh0stlyfixation]

Perfect

Part one of the Better Together series. Based off this fic.

Summary: Simon and reader joined the army and are nervous to tell one another. After finally revealing the secret, Simon has one more thing to tell you, he’s ready to lose his virginity with you. Flower is reader nickname used by mostly everyone. I’m a little nervous to post this 🥺

Paring: young!Simon Riley x young fem!reader (like 18 years old)

2.9k words

Warnings: virgin simon, virginity loss, oral (f receiving), begging kink? uses She/Her instead of you, Grammar issues, probably poorly written smut.

View the full smut version here

It was eerily quiet during dinner that night. Flower had been uncharacteristically quiet when Simon came home from the butchers, but he decided to let it go as he too realized he was being quiet as well, but, Flower and Simon had news for both of them, news they didn’t know how they’d take. So Simon went to the shower and washed off the stench of raw meat and changed into comfier clothing and made his way to the kitchen to hug her from behind, “what are you making Flower?” He asked her quietly.

“Chili with a grilled cheese.” She says to him leaning back on him. Flower places the spoon down and rolls her head on his shoulder giving him a kiss on the edge of his jaw, “missed you today.” She says with a hum.

“Yeah? I missed you too love.” He says.

The past six months living with Simon had been good, to say the least. It was weird at first adjusting from friends to lovers, he slept in his own room, didn’t kiss all that much and both hadn’t had sex yet. Slowly things started to become normal, the occasional sleepover in one another’s room, kissing nearly every second of the day, saying I love you and hugging, but both haven’t had sex yet and that was okay to Flower. He wasn’t ready and she wouldn’t push him.

The trust issues he held due to his father caused him to never be in a relationship besides having his friendship with her. He’s never experienced dating, kissing, or sex and she was taking it at his pace. He trusted Flower with his whole heart and taking things slowly made him love her even more, she respected him and his limits.

Everyone knew of the relationship, including his father who was still the awful man he was. His father berated him and told him how Flower would leave the second she had a chance but so far, she hadn’t and he knew she wouldn’t hurt him like that, but she was about to tell him that she had joined the military and were due to leave him soon, but little did she know he had too.

“What’s wrong love?” He finally asked her after she had fallen silent. Instead of asking how his day was or telling him about hers, Flower didn’t speak after kissing his jaw and saying how she missed him. She was too quiet for his liking. Something was wrong.

Flower noticed it in him too, when she turned around and looked at him, and his usually sparkly brown eyes and smile that was always on his face, weren’t present at this moment. “What’s wrong with you Si?” She retorted back, feeling him tense against her.

She sighs and moves out of his grip and puts the bowls of chili on the table. She’s slowly losing her appetite before she’s even sitting at the table. Simon sits on his side of the table and Flower sits on hers, both looking at each other but saying nothing. Flower eats her chili slowly as Simon plays with his food, constantly stirring it before finally both speak, but at the same time, “I have something to tell you.”

“Oh,” Flower says quietly and Simon shuts his mouth, his lips in a thin line waiting for you to go first. “Um,” she gets nervous as he looks at you expectingly, thinking the absolute worse. 'Maybe my father was right, she'll leave me, I'm not good enough,' Simon thinks.

“You're breaking up with me?” He asked, the look in his eyes shows how worried he is, his body tensing back up.

“What? No! No Simon I’m not!” Flower quickly shut down his thought and his shoulders seem to relax, “no, I just-, I went down to the office and I signed up for the military.” Flower finally uttered but it was quiet. Simon’s eyes are wide and it’s the last thing he expected. In a way, he’s relieved but now he’s worried for you.

“You did?” He asked. She nods gently now playing with her bowl of chili losing all of her appetites. The next words he speaks make her heart stop, “I did too.” Flowers eyes widen when she looks back up at him, unable to form a sentence.

Flower does let a sigh of relief out of her mouth, “we’re going to be okay.” She eventually says to give him some sort of reassurance. Flower finally stands up and sits on his lap. He wraps his arms tightly around her waist resting his chin on her shoulder.

“I was afraid you’d be upset,” he says, nuzzling his face into the crock of her neck, his hot breath breathing on her.

“I was too. I was afraid you’d think I was leaving you, I don’t want to leave you, I just-, I didn’t know what to do with my life and I thought the military would be good. Follow in my father's footsteps.” She tells him.

“I thought the same, didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to be a butcher for the rest of my life.” He sighs. It’s quiet for a moment before he speaks again, “There’s something else,” he shyly says pushing his face deeper into her neck wanting to avoid saying what he’s been wanting to bring up for weeks.

Flower can tell he’s hesitant, “you can tell me anything. You know that love.” she says softly stroking his cheek.

“I think I’m ready-,” he starts looking up at her, “for you.” He finishes, clearing his throat quietly. He wasn’t a shy man by any means but he was new to this part of a relationship.

Flower look into his brown eyes and smiles down at him, “really?” she asks to be sure, giving him one more chance to back away.

He nods, “I’m just worried I won’t be like the rest of them.” He says ashamed of his thoughts but he knows he can tell her anything and she wouldn’t mock him.

“Hey, no Si. You shouldn’t compare yourself to any other men out there. I'm with you. Don’t you remember all those times I’ve complained about those few men?” Flower smiles down at him and kisses his lips after caressing his cheek. She stands to reposition herself so she straddles his legs. He sighs in the kiss, pulling her flush against his chest. “Take me to the bedroom,” She whispers in his ear while kissing it. He doesn’t hesitate to lift her up keeping her in his arms while she wraps her legs around his waist.

Flower seems to always forget how tall he is until he picks her up. She giggles when he attacks her lips while walking down the hall to her bedroom. He sets her down on the floor as his cheeks turn red from the embarrassment of not knowing what to do next, “don’t be embarrassed love.” Flower smile sweetly walking up to his tall hunching frame taking both his cheeks in her hold. “If I do or say something that makes you uncomfortable, don’t hesitate to tell me to stop okay?” she says to him

“Okay,” he breathes as she pushes him down on the edge of the bed.

“Why don’t we get comfortable.” She speaks wiggling her eyebrows making him chuckle at her silliness, trying to relax his nervous mind. Flower pulls off his shirt and his toned stomach is on display, something she has seen plenty of times before but it makes you go feral for him each time.

He’s perfect, she thinks. With his messy blonde hair and brown eyes, his freckles on the bridge of his nose, and his toned abs which were just a bonus of having him, “can never get enough of this body.” Flower tells him with a smile running her index finger up and down his chest. She sees his face turn red at her admission. “Why don’t you take off what you want on me.” She speaks to him, her voice just above a whisper.

Read the full smut version here.

#simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley imagine #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost x you #ghost fanfiction #ghost x reader #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod x reader #cod mw2 x reader

[frenziedslashers]

You Drive Me Crazy

A/N: Self-indulgent Rick fic, whaat-- @joelsgeetar tagging you because I brought it up to you while we were chatting lmao

Pairing: Rick Grimes x GN!Reader

Warnings: Jealousy, Language, Spencer is a DickheadTM, Alludes to sexual themes but it's really only making out and slight grinding/dry humping whoowhoo, lmk if I need to add anything else

REQUESTING INFO || TWD MASTERLIST

Alexandria. A place of new, a place of light. This was your new home now - much to Rick Grimes' disapproval - everyone felt so much safer behind these walls. There were other people. People who were clean and neat. People who had friendly smiles. People who were old and young. Women, Men, Children. This had to be your new start. It had to. If it wasn't, you weren't sure if you even had faith in any other community. In the future.

Rick was the only one who seemed on edge with the whole situation. Everyone else was enjoying the scenery. The kindness of everyone within the walls. The safety. The house.

"I don't trust 'em," Rick spat, fingers pushing the curtains back so he could peak out the window. "Rick," you sighed, reaching out to rub his shoulder blade. Standing beside him while peaking through the blinds yourself. Just you didn't pry them open like he did.

You felt his muscles tense and then relax under your touch. A soft sigh left his lips before looking down and over at you. Waiting for you to continue. "Let's just give them a chance, okay?" He scoffed, shaking his head while looking back to the window before pulling his hand away. Crossing his arms over his chest. "What if they turn out like with the Governor. Or Terminus? What if we get hurt?" You shrugged, you had thought about that. That crossed all of your minds. "We're too tired to keep running, Rick. Just a couple days? That's all we ask, okay?" He sighed, looking back down at you. He hated how you could convince him to say anything with just that look in your eyes.

"Isn't it your turn? For the interview," you nodded with a sigh at his words. You knew he was just trying to get you to leave him be for a little while. He needed a moment to think. You didn't blame him. You watched as Carol walked up the steps to welcome herself into the house. "Yeah, guess it is." You muttered, letting your hand fall to your side.

Rick reached his hand out in order to brush his fingers against yours. The both of you stare with a needy glint in both of your eyes. "Don't let me lose you, I can't," He nearly whispered, and you chuckled, reaching up to give his shoulder a light punch. "Mr. Grimes, you ain't losin' me anytime soon. Who else is going to make sure you don't do anything stupid?" You snickered, and he laughed back. Light and breathy while his head dipped down to look at the floor. "Yeah," you hummed, patting his bicep with a sigh. "I'll meet you here after I'm done. Maybe we can check the place out together, yeah?" He nodded, "Yeah, I'd like that." And with that, you were heading for the door. Walking off to the building you were instructed to go to in order to speak with Deanna.

The interview wouldn't take too long, and Rick knew that. You weren't the most open person when it came to discussing your past or present. Hell, Rick still had a lot that he didn't know about you. He opened up to you like a book, telling you all about his past. Yet, you didn't. It worried him that something may have happened to you, but truthfully. It was just due to the fact that you would rather focus on the present rather than the past.

Rick took the time that you were away to tidy up. Taking a shower, shaving. It was like looking at a whole new man when he looked in the mirror. He was excited to see your reaction when you got back. See how you would react to seeing him without his unruly beard. He loved it when you seemed to notice a change in him. It always seemed to ignite this flame deep within him. A flame that he thought died with Lori, but you proved that to be wrong.

The knock on the door is what grabbed him from his thoughts. Stealing him away from memories and fantasies with you. Nothing sexual, not right now anyways. Just thoughts of you and him, being together.

He opened the door with a cautious gaze. A hand resting where his knife was tucked into his holster. He could never be too sure these days. A friendly-sounding knock could turn into a shit show in no time flat. Yet, to his surprise, once he opened the door, he was met with a friendly face... A woman that he recognized from the streets when he left the interview with Deanna.

"Hi," She spoke. Voice light and sweet - nothing like yours, though. All that he offered was a low "Can I help you?" Which only seemed to make the woman smile more. She continued her spill. She offered hospitality and a haircut, and he turned it down. Shaking his head with a sigh. "Look, you don't know me," "But I'd like to," she spoke, "I just want to cut your hair. We don't have to talk." He hummed, thinking. "Just a trim, nothin' too short." He muttered before allowing her to enter the house.

"So, anyone special in your life?" Rick didn't answer, only shooting her a glare before sitting in the chair. "Right, just the cut.."

The door opened and his head lifted, eyes scanning the doorway until you slipped through the frame. "Honey, I'm home," You called out in a sing-song voice, and he smiled, a small chuckle escaping his throat. He knew the term of endearment was only a joke, but he couldn't help but ponder if you meant it. It was sure to fuel his fantasies later. "In the kitchen," he called back out to you. Jessie was thankfully finished, running her fingers through Rick's hair once more before pulling the apron off of him. "All done." She smiled, and he nodded, standing to his feet while thanking her. "What do I owe you?" He asked, and she shrugged, peeking over at you as you stepped into the kitchen. Looking her over with weary eyes. "Nothing, I told you, Rick, it's my welcome gift." She added, cleaning up her workspace before leaving. Shutting the door behind her with a 'click'.

You watched her leave, but your attention was quickly drawn back to Rick. A soft smile graced your lips. "You clean up nice," he smiled back, feeling that familiar warmth within himself. "Yeah, ya think so?" You nodded, leaning against the frame of the entrance to the kitchen. "Yeah, now you don't look old enough to be my dad." He scoffed, rolling his eyes with a sigh. "Oh shut it, I'm only eight years older than you." You snickered, shoving his shoulder playfully as he approached you. "Uh-huh, anyways, you ready for that walk around town, Mr. Clean?" He sighed once more, nodding his head. You were always so mouthy, but he wouldn't have it any other way.

The two of you left the house together. Rick followed close behind until the both of you were down off the porch and on the sidewalk. The man towering next to you, sturdy frame walking close beside you. Both of your steps are in sync with one another. As if he were still protecting you from whatever monsters could lurk around the corner. You always felt safe next to him.

"Deanna told me about a party they're throwing for us." Rick's knuckles brushed the back of your hand, electricity shooting through the both of you. "Oh yeah?" He asked, looking over at you with a brow raised. "Yeah, I think it'd be nice if we went. For a bit at least. Maybe we could get to know the people better." You commented, and Rick nodded with a hum.

He licked his lips as he thought. Sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. Chewing it a little before allowing it to slide back out. "Maybe," you let out a soft grunt at his words, Rick smiling a little at your noise. "Come on, it won't be that bad. You could be my date, and we could get to know them. Maybe if they have anything worth taking if we do leave." He liked every word that fell from your mouth, but hearing you talk about being his date? God, he felt sick to his stomach, but in the best way possible. A nervous and giddy way. Like the words excited him more than your fingers that would ever so lightly brush his.

"Fine, I'll go," he said, and you cheered. "Sweet! I hate drinking alone anyways," he raised a quizzical brow once more. "You? Drink? Please, I don't think you'd last a shot." You scoffed, "I'd like you to know that I could drink you under the table any day, Rick." You spoke, and the way you hissed out his name in such a teasing manner had the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. A light flush crept up the sides of his neck that he would definitely blame on the heat if you questioned it. He despised how you affected him, yet, he couldn't get enough of you. He never could and probably never would be able to.

The days that passed weren't as horrible as Rick thought they would be. Everyone seemed to get along well, or so he hoped. He was trying, but he just couldn't feel like he fit in. If it weren't for you and his kids, he'd feel like a total outsider. Plus, Spencer Monroe was slowly pissing him off the more he saw him, especially the way he looked at you.

He hated to admit it, but he was jealous. He didn't worry about you going out with the guy. He could tell you only interacted with him to be nice, but he hated the way he still seemed to try and get closer to you. The closer he got, the more of an urge Rick had to throw him up against a wall and tell him to leave you alone. He didn't have the authority to do that, though. You weren't his to make that decision for. His luck, he'd be reading your emotions and body language wrong, and you would have liked Spencer if he did something so stupid.

He didn't dare take his jealousy out on you, though. If anything, it only made him clingier.

The night of the party he tried his best to look decent. Wearing a nice outfit with his hair styled like it used to be. Before the apocalypse hit. His ring was still snug on his finger, but it meant nothing to him. Other than a reminder of the man he used to be.

When you came out of the bathroom, his reaction was priceless. He glanced over at you, looking back to the door, before turning his head to quickly look back at you and what you were wearing. You looked so... "Gorgeous," he murmured, and you tilted your head, unable to hear what he said. "What was that?" you hummed, approaching him. "Shit, uhm, nothin', I was just sayin' you look nice. You clean up nice, too." He muttered, wetting his lips again before his eyes wandered down your body. Taking in everything that he saw. Before they reeled back up to your own. You smiled, but before you could say anything Rick was quick to intrude. "We should get goin', we're gonna be the last ones there," he chuckled, and you nodded, motioning to the door with his head before the both of you left.

Rick couldn't explain how nervous he felt walking beside you. He wasn't used to the formality of this all. It was weird, unusual, and intimidating for the former sheriff's Deputy. He was so used to being covered in dirt and blood, being unshaven while wearing week-old clothes, and you looking just as disheveled and homeless. He had completely forgotten what dates were like. He forgot what feeling clean and nice felt like. What it looked like, even.

"Rick," you called out, noticing how he stared off into the distance as the both of you walked closer and closer to the house. He was so good at getting lost in that head of his that you often had to call him back to earth. "Rick," you spoke, voice more stern. Finally drawing him out of his trance. "Yeah, I'm here," he sighed, and you frowned, "If you don't want to go, we can go back to the house." You added, stopping in front of the porch with the man that you grew to love. He shook his head, reaching out to grab your hand with his fingertips. "I want to go, though." He assured you with a gentle grin, motioning to the door. "Now come on, before I do decide to take you back to the house," He spoke, eyes darting down your figure with a hungry gaze before tugging you towards the door. You didn't even have time to react to his statement before the door was opened and people were greeting you from all around.

It was easy to get separated from Rick. People pulled you left and right in order to get to know more about you. How you survived that long, where you were from... If you and Rick were dating. The last question was only asked by one individual. The man standing in front of you that seemed to have you blocked from the door and Rick. "Why does it matter?" You asked, trying to keep up a friendly demeanor, but it was running short with the Monroe. "Just curious is all, trying to figure out who all is on the playing field." The analogy he used had you scoffing. Your eyebrows furrow while crossing your arms. "Excuse me?" He opened his mouth to explain, but quickly closed it, chuckling before holding his hands up to show he meant no harm. You hardly took it that way, though. The way he seemed to stare at your body more than he did you. It made you sick.

"I just meant you're very intriguing. I'd love to get to know you more." You nodded your head reluctantly, giving him a cautious gaze. You hardly doubted that, but you hated being rude when his parents were so kind to you all. "I may not be dating Rick, but I don't want a relationship with you, I know nothing about you. Why would I trust you?"

Even if you were blocked from Rick, he could still see parts of you past Spencer. Your crossed arms and defensive posture. It had him clenching the glass in his hands. Staring at the both of you with a clenched jaw. The conversation he was holding with Spencer's father was long gone, and Reg could tell. He wasn't about to interfere though. If anything, he was rooting for Rick when he saw the way his son continued to pester you. Maybe the former cop could teach a lesson or two to his son. He was an adult now, he could care for himself without his father's help.

"See, I want you to trust me. I wouldn't hurt you, I could take care of you. We all could," He spoke, reaching out to place a hand on your shoulder, to which you flinched away. "Don't fucking touch me," you snapped, going to shove past the man. A hiss left your throat when he grabbed your arm. Slight panic settled into your eyes as you jerked back towards him. "Wait!" "Let go of me you asshole!" You snapped, people turning heads to look towards the two of you. "I just want to talk," he started, but he was quickly shoved away from you.

"They said don't touch 'em!" Rick snapped, pressing Spencer up against the wall. Breathing down the man's face with his chest puffed out. A hand gripping tightly at the collar of his shirt. He'd been wanting to do this to him since he met the guy. His ego only infuriated him more and more with each passing day he saw him. You watched, unsure whether to feel amused and honored that Rick was still protecting you. Or worried and scared with the way he clenched onto Spencer and the murderous intent you caught in his eye before he had the man pinned.

"Hey! I wasn't doing anything wrong!" "You grabbed 'em, they wanted to leave, don't do that shit," He snarled, "They say leave 'em be, you leave 'em be," He snapped, and Spencer only glared. "Who gave you the right to come into my house and tell me what to do?" "Spencer!" Deanna was quick to interrupt the quarrel between the two men. "I didn't-" "Spencer, you need to respect the newcomer's boundaries just as well as they need to respect ours. I raised you better than this. If someone asks you to leave them alone, you leave them alone." Spencer was quick to look back to Rick. Glaring while waiting to be let go, but Rick wasn't backing down. Hands lightly trembling out of frustration.

"Rick," God, the things he could do to this guy right now. All he could see was red. What gave him the right to be touching you in the first place?

"Rick..." He could snap his neck just as easily as a baby. Bite out a chunk of his throat, dig his fingers into his eyes so he couldn't even look at you.

"Rick," You raised your voice a little, but not too much. Hands gently settling on his broad shoulders. He flinched, head jerking around before he caught sight of you. His gaze softened and his grip released from Spencer's shirt. "Sorry," he spoke to you, but his gaze was quick to land back on Spencer. Hardening once more. "If I so much as catch ya lookin' at them. I'll make ya wish ya never did," he snarled, and Spencer didn't move. Only falling more against the wall when Rick let him go.

Rick was quick to grab your hand, looking you over with worrisome eyes. "Are you?" "Rick, I'm fine, thank you." You smiled warmly, and he did the same. Motioning to the door before looking around at the others. Everyone's eyes were on both of you. "We're gonna head back to the house. I apologize for the scene," Reg shook his head, smiling over at Rick as he approached the both of you. "No need to apologize, Rick. I'd do the same for my Deanna too if some other guy was making her uncomfortable." His eyes drifted over to his son with a disappointed scowl.

You and Rick felt your bodies go warm at what he was inferring. His hand squeezed yours while parting his lips. "Oh, we're not-" "Sure you aren't, Rick," Reg added, motioning for the door. "How 'bout you both leave now? Get some rest, we can finish our conversation tomorrow." You both nodded, thanking the family before departing out the door.

Spencer didn't seem to be done with what he started with you and Rick, though. Moving for the door after everyone went back to what they were doing. No one was watching him - or so he thought. "I'd reckon you stay back unless you really wanna find out how elastic those balls of yours are. They gotta be pretty big, at least, if ya think you'd get away with a go at Ricky." A voice chimed, and Spencer looked up at the ginger that blocked his path. "From now on, you got a problem with Rick, you come to me, yer ol' pal Abraham, at your service," he muttered, leaning down a little in order to get more in the brunette's face. Spencer was definitely nervous now.

Rick's hand didn't leave yours the whole walk back to the house. The both of you walking in silence once more. It wasn't unusual for the man to grab your hand, or keep you this close when he was worried, but it felt so different right now. Like the tension between the both of you was stronger than ever. Able to cut it with a knife if either of you really wanted to try.

You finally let out a sigh, breaking the tension between the both of you. "So, what do you wanna do when we get back? I think Daryl's with Aaron and Eric." You added with a light shrug, and Rick smiled, giving your hand a light squeeze before glancing over at you. "Are you suggesting something?" It was your turn to feel flustered, looking over at Rick with raised brows before furrowing them. "What? No! Of course not, I wouldn't suggest sleeping with you like that," you scoffed, and he smiled even more in amusement. He'd blame his overly flirty attitude on the whiskey coursing his veins at the moment.

"How would you initiate it, then?" He asked, climbing up the porch with you. Not letting go of your hand even as he opened the door and led you inside. "Not like that," you added, eyes avoiding his icy blue stare. "Too shy to say, huh? Y've never been this bashful before." He added with a light chuckle, and you gulped. Keeping your gaze away from his. Until you couldn't help but peek at him when he moved his body directly in front of yours once the door was shut behind you two. "You wanna talk big games, Grimes, how would you initiate it?" You asked with a lopsided smirk, and it only caused his mischief to grow. He was just happy you were playing back with his flirting. Glad he was receiving back what he was giving you.

You took a step back towards the couch when he stalked towards you. Noticing the way his pupils dilated the closer he got to you. One of his hands held at your waist when the backs of your legs hit the sofa. "Like this," he muttered, letting go of your hand in order to grab the side of your face.

You held your breath the moment his lips met your own. He was soft at first, testing the waters before he cocked his head to deepen the kiss. You both felt like you were on fire. Bodies heated up as his hand on your hip pushed you down to the couch. Maneuvering you so he could climb on top of you. "Rick," you muttered against his lips and he let out a soft grunt. His tongue ran against the bottom of your lip before sucking it in his mouth to bite on your lower lip. "Rick, what if someone walks in," you spoke. You wanted to move him to the bedroom, but your hands portrayed a different story. Your fingers hooking on his belt loops, pulling his crotch down to meet your own. Soft hums leave both of your throats. "Shit, no one's coming'," He muttered, head dipping down to kiss your neck. Slowly making your worries leave as he hungrily continued his action.

His hips continued to rut against yours here and there. Soft noises escaped your lips as Rick ran his hands under the dress shirt you wore that was now untucked from your pants. Calloused hands mapped out every inch of skin he could feel. A low chuckle left his throat when you scrambled to undo the buttons of his shirt. "Need help with that?" He asked, kissing over a mark he left under your ear. A shudder running down your body at the feelings. "Please? I can't get these damn buttons," you breathed, and he nodded, leaning back after pressing a chaste kiss to your lips once more.

He took his time undoing the buttons on his shirt, until there was only four left.

Three... Your breathing sped up as you watched his body expose.

Two... You'd seen it so many times before, but it left you in awe each time.

One... Then it was shrugging off his shoulders. Rick smiled as he leaned back down to pull you in for another, loving, kiss. His hands roaming, your hands roaming. You were both so lost in each other, it was intoxicating.

His hips lurched forward once your fingers danced closer to his buckle. He was aching for you more than he ever had, and he prayed that you would undo his belt fast, or else he might have to do it for you. "Dad?" Carls voice caught you both out of your act. Rick shooting up from the couch, you doing the same.

Both of you were disheveled and it was obvious what both of you were up to. The boy's smile only grew as he looked between the both of you with a raised brow. "I was wondering when the two of you were going to do something," Carl added, Judith cooing in his arms. "Next time, maybe go to the bedroom though. I support this, but I don't want to see it.." He added with a cringe before walking past the both of you to head up the stairs to Judith's room to get her ready for bed. The little girl was already nearly asleep on his shoulder.

Rick stood there, dumbfounded. Staring where Carl used to be. "I told you the couch wasn't a good idea," you muttered, fixing your shirt to look more presentable if anyone else came home, but with Rick standing beside you shirtless. Anyone could put two and two together. "Yeah, I know you did," he muttered with a sigh. Leaning down to pick his shirt up before slipping it back over his shoulders, looking over at you with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, I was just... Happy you reciprocated the kiss and all." He added with a light chuckle, and you chuckled back. "Rick, I'm not mad at you. I wouldn't button up your shirt if I was you, either." He furrowed his brow, watching as you stepped closer to him. Your hands resting on his chest. "We've still got the room option if you're willing to be quiet," you muttered, kissing the side of his throat. His eyes fluttered shut as he leaned his head back a little. "God, you drive me crazy, you know it?" "Rick, you've driven me crazy from the moment I met you back in Atlanta." You mumbled against his skin, and he smiled. "Now, room?" He nodded, "Room," grabbing your hand before leading you up to his bedroom. Both of you smiling like idiots.

#rick x reader #rick grimes #x reader #the walking dead #twd

[ghl-osty]

fanfiction

i’d like to talk about fanfiction real quick because there are some issues really frequently that can make or break a story. and they’re avoidable!! and it makes me so sad when i’m trying to read a good fanfic and there’s so many errors that i have to stop.

NAMES

so this is one i see surprisingly often… please make sure you know how to spell a character’s name when writing a fanfiction. it’s usually something small like damian vs. damien or lucas vs. lukas but to me it’s so distracting and disappointing when there’s a beautifully written story with a character’s name spelled wrong.

SPELLING

this is a big one, too. when writing, some people don’t always have a spell check or an editor built in to their platform. if that’s you, please triple check your work! and here are a few frequent ones i see-

-shook vs. shock

i shook his hand

i was in shock that she did such a horrible thing

-peaked vs. piqued

-he looked like he peaked in high school

-they piqued my interest

blonde vs blond

-she had blonde hair

-he had blond hair

blonde is a gendered word. i’m not actually sure how it’s used with nonbinary people, let me know!

their, there, and they’re

-it was theirs

-she’s over there

-they were scared, and now they’re not

remember that they’re is a contraction of they are!

quite vs. quiet

she tried to be quiet, not making any noise.

they were quite bored with this whole event.

(thank you to @nathaaaan for the suggestion)

SERIES VS. SERIE

i watched a really good series yesterday

serie isn’t actually a word…

BILINGUAL CHARACTERS

please, please, please do some research if you write a character who speaks another language. even if it’s reading other fanfictions to figure out how your character’s language fits in with the language you’re writing with.

-having a character to say that it’s ’hard to switch back’ is… unrealistic at best. i wouldn’t recommend using it.

-please gender the words correctly! in most of the romance languages, words are gendered. make sure to add that in!

REPETITION

unless you’re going for a gimmick, i’d be careful with repetition. having a character say something more than once, especially in the same sentence, can be annoying and makes the dialogue sound forced.

especially the word antics…. i literally had to put a fic down because ‘antics’ was in every other sentence.

ex: “Lily sighed, annoyed. She was so annoyed!”

(yes this is a real actual example with the character name changed. don’t let this be you.)

FORMATTING

i think this can be overlooked a lot but format is important!!!

-paragraph breaks!! seeing a huge chunk of words with absolutely no breaks is overwhelming. add some space!

-“the punctuation goes inside the quotations.” he said

-i know i’m being a bit of a hypocrite, but capitalization! names, beginning of sentences, and places!! if you don’t capitalize, at least be consistent with it!

“This is how fanfiction, or really any writing, should be formatted.” Eli said with a smile

“And every new sentence should be a paragraph break,” interjected Alex, “Unless you’re going for a certain style. In which case, you do you.”

Eli sighed. “That’s true, Alex. What OP didn’t know was that tumblr has a formatting issue, so that when she posts this, the paragraph breaks won’t show! She hopes she fixed it. But it might not work!”

“We can always imagine the bullet points as paragraph breaks.”

-friendly neighborhood reminder that paragraph breaks happen when introducing a new idea as well!

-bolds and italics are important.

“I told him not to go,” acceptable, a bit dry.

“I told him not to go,” exquisite, flavorful.

and as always. please make sure they’re talking like people. not disney sitcom characters.

PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE TENSE

you would not believe how much i see this messed up. and it’s easy to get wrong. remember, you can always look something up if you aren’t sure. but stay consistent with your tenses!

past tense

She walked up to the drab, grey building, trembling. As she pulled the door open, a bell rang, signaling her arrival.

this one’s probably the most used. notice that it’s almost like we’re retelling the story, after it’s already happened (hence past tense)

present tense

She walks up to the drab, grey building, trembling. She pulls the door open, and a bell rings to signal her arrival.

we have to change quite a few words for the same sentence to make sense in present tense.

future tense

She’ll walk up to the drab, grey building, trembling. She’ll pull the door open, and a bell will ring to signal her arrival.

i honestly don’t think i’ve ever seen future tense used in a novel unless it’s used in dialogue. but it’s almost as if you’re speaking hypothetically about an event.

but please make sure you’re consistent with these! don’t use one and then switch to another!!

but all in all just double check your writing, always!!! there are so many good works out there that could be great.,… if you don’t have someone to beta read you can always send it to me or put it in word <3

#writing #creative writing #fanfic #fanficiton #fanfiction writer #ao3 fanfic #archive of our own #ao3 #ao3 writer #wattpad #look i’m tagging wattpad to not leave anyone out #but i don’t use wattpad #just to clarify #writers on tumblr #writers and poets #writerscommunity #writeblr #writer stuff #writer on tumblr #writer on ao3 #fanfiction tips #fanfic tips #too many tags #long post #writing is hard #but you can do it #pinky promise you can #please let me know if you see any errors #i know i act like i know everything but i’m wrong #so often

[sequinsmile-x]

Waiting Room - Chapter 2

Everything had changed so quickly, her life torn out from under her in a matter of seconds, the trajectory of what it would look like going forward permanently altered. 

Emily's life changes forever when her parents are killed. Aaron just needs a job after his marriage breaks down and he answers an ad for a private security guard. If only the young woman he'd been hired to look after wasn't entirely resistant to his presence.

A Young Hotchniss AU

-x-

Hi friends!!

I am blown away by the reaction to chapter one - I love you guys so much and cannot wait to know what you think of this chapter.

And something that I am sure will surprise no one, this fic is now 5 chapters instead of four.

Please let me know what you think!

-x-

Warnings: Full list of warnings on the Master List, but this chapter does have smut

Words: 5.1k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

She doesn’t understand it. 

She’s spent years avoiding making genuine connections out of fear of getting hurt, something she’s done her whole life if she was honest with herself, but she finds herself drawn to him after their conversation in the kitchen. She was fascinated by him, wanting to know more than the few bits and pieces she’d learned about him last month. She has a desire she doesn’t quite understand to mess with him, to ruffle his feathers and to make him smile, the dimples in his something she quickly learned made her stomach flip. 

She looks up from her book, bored of studying and research and smiles to herself as she watches him. He was sitting at the table with her, occasionally looking around the library, always focused on the lookout for potential threats. She knew he had a gun on him, ever present on his hip just in case he needed to use it. The thought of it made her shiver, and not with the anxiety guns had always caused her since that fateful night in the alley. 

She had to pull herself together. 

She tenses when he looks at her and their eyes meet, and she clears her throat, looking back down at the same page she’d read countless times, the information never quite registering. 

“What?” He asks, a half smile carving out one of his irresistible dimples in his left cheek. She looks back up at him, attempting to look nonchalant as she shrugs. 

“Nothing,” she replies, tapping her pen against the edge of the table. A moment of silence passes between them as she tries to get back to her studying, but curiosity wins out and she looks at him, “Can I ask you a question?” 

He smiles, “As long as I can ask you one afterwards.” 

It was a game of sorts that they’d started to play ever since their conversation in her kitchen. It was a way to get to know each other, to learn more about each other. They’d stuck to simple, unimportant things so far. He’d laughed when she told him her favourite artist was Siouxsie and the Banshees, and she’d done the same when he admitted that his was The Beatles. He’d smiled when she said her favourite colour was green and he told her that his was red.

Ever since he’d told her she’d found herself wearing more red clothing, a sense of pride rushing through her whenever he’d stare at her a beat too long.

She wanted to know more. Wanted more than the tiny inconsequentia facts they’d shared, or what she’d picked up on just by observing him. She wanted to know more, even if it came at the expense of revealing a little more about herself. 

“Of course,” she replies, waiting for him to nod in agreement, “Why did you take this job?” 

He tenses, his smile slipping off his face as he clears his throat. They’d stayed away from anything serious so far, purposely keeping it surface level, and he wonders what has changed that, what has made her break their unwritten rule. She tilts her head at him, curiosity painted across her beautiful face, and he sighs, finding the answer slipping past his lips, the taste almost bitter on his tongue as he speaks. 

“I got divorced,” he says simply, his hands clasped in front of him, “I needed a new start,” he smiles humourlessly, “And somewhere to live.” 

She curses herself internally, blowing out a harsh breath, “Shit, Aaron I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-”

He shakes his head, finding her so far uncharacteristic embarrassment endearing, “It’s fine, Emily,” he says, “Her name is Haley. We were childhood sweethearts, we got married young. It didn’t work out.” 

He hoped that one day he’d be able to think of Haley without being sad. That he’d remember the good times they had, how they helped each other escape the lives they’d once felt trapped in, without it all being marred by what they’d become. He’d always love her, but they’d grown apart. Growing sideways as well as forward, destined to drift away from each other, pushed apart by the things that had once brought them together. 

“I’m sorry,” she says again, smiling softly at him, “If it helps, from everything I know so far it’s her loss,” her smile gets wider as he smiles too, shaking his head softly at her, “Even if your taste in music sucks.” 

He laughs properly for the first time since they’d met, the sound loud, different to what she’d expected. Suddenly his dimples are her second favourite thing about him, and she resolves to hear it as much as she can. 

“Says you,” he replies, raising an eyebrow at her, and she bites the inside of her cheek, desperate to try to hold her smile back as much as she can. 

“Your turn,” she says, “And feel free to ask whatever you want.” 

He waits as he tries to pick what question to ask, to figure out what part of her mystery he wants to unravel first. He looks down at the books in front of her and then back up, “What made you decide to do a PhD in linguistics? I would have thought you were as good as a person could get at other languages.” 

She nods and clears her throat, “Well, for a start, linguistics is more than just being able to speak other languages,” she says, her smile fading as she sighs, “And it just felt like the easiest thing to do. When my parents…” she trails off, her gaze shifting back down to the book in front of her, “I was still doing my masters. After they were gone and everything changed I hung onto the one thing that felt familiar.” 

“School?” He asks and she nods, her teeth sinking into her lower lip. 

“Yeah,” she replies, “That and making Dave age prematurely.” 

He laughs again and she feels her stomach flip, her cheeks warm as he calms down, his expression turning serious, “Thank you for telling me that.” 

She shrugs as if it’s nothing, as if she hasn’t just admitted to something her therapist had taken years to get out of her, “Thank you for telling me about Haley.” 

Aaron smiles politely and looks at his watch before he looks back at her, “If you’re done with studying, I wanted to show you something.” 

She furrows her brows, already closing her books, making no attempt to pretend she had any intention of doing any more work, “Show me what?” 

He winks at her as he stands up, “C'est la surprise.”

She swallows thickly at the way he speaks French, his accent a little clunkier than hers but still good enough to make her body tense, everything so tightly wound she thinks she might explode. 

“I hate surprises.” 

___

He doubts himself the moment they arrive at the gun range. 

She freezes outside, her shoulders tight as she looks at him, her eyebrows knitting together as she swallows thickly, “What are we doing here?” 

Aaron steps towards her, concern and something close to guilt churning in his gut when he can practically feel the nervous energy flowing off of her, “When we met you told me you wished you knew how to protect yourself,” he says, nodding towards the gun range, “I thought, if you wanted me too, I could show you how to shoot,” he suggests, feeling nervous in a way he doesn’t entirely understand. The silence that follows drags out, every second feeling like an eternity as she goes back and forth between looking at him and where he’d brought her, and he eventually can’t stand it anymore, “If this was a bad idea, I can just take you home.”

“No,” she says suddenly, hardly waiting for him to finish before she looks at him, familiar determination in her eyes, “I’d like to learn how to.”

He places his hands on his hips and looks at her, waiting for any sign that she was just saying it to please him, even though nothing he’d learnt about her so far would indicate that she would do so. 

“Are you sure?” 

She nods, clearing her throat and forcing out some of the tension that had gathered in her chest, any fear replaced by amazement that he’d remembered her saying anything about this at all.

“I’m sure.” 

He leads her inside, his hand hovering behind her back as she steps into the otherwise empty gun range. She frowns as she turns to look at him, the lack of other patrons confusing her, and he smiles softly. 

“I know the owner, they agreed to let us have the place to ourselves for a couple of hours,” he explains, “I thought the less sudden noises we can’t control the better.” 

“Oh,” she says, nodding, her chest warm with the knowledge of how much he’d thought about this, how much he’d thought about her and a throwaway comment she’d made the first time she was nice to him. “Thanks.” 

Any response is cut off when a tall skinny guy, whom Emily thinks looks no older than a teenager, greets Aaron with a nervous smile and a handshake. He tells them the space is theirs and leaves them to it disappearing back into the office where he came from. Emily watches him curiously as they walk past the desk and back to where the range is, her eyebrows furrowed as she looks at Aaron.

“Is that kid old enough to own a gun, let alone work here?”

Aaron chuckles and hands her some ear defenders, removing his gun from his holster before he puts defenders on his own ears, “Spence’s parents own this place,” he says, smiling at her, “When I was still in the FBI he was arrested for card counting at a casino the age of 16, I helped him strike a deal. His parents told me they owed me.” 

She doesn’t know how to feel about the fact he’d traded in an offer like that just to help her, so she does what she does best - she ignores it. Pushing the emotion down with the growing feelings she had for him, hiding them in a box she didn’t dare open, afraid he’d somehow get hurt in the long run.

Everyone who got close to her did eventually. 

She nods towards his gun, “Show me what you’re made of then Agent Hotchner.”

He turns and points his gun at the target in the distance, firing off two shots in a row, both of them going through the same spot on the bullseye. She jumps despite the ear defenders, her body tense in a way she feels ridiculous for. She shakes it off before he can turn back around, not wanting him to worry he was doing the wrong thing. 

“Impressive,” she says, stepping towards him, “My turn?” 

He nods and hands her the gun, stepping behind her as she points the gun towards the target, “Now you want to make sure-”

“It’s shooting a gun Aaron, how hard can it be?” She says, hesitating for a moment before she pulls the trigger, the pushback of the gun stronger than she expected it to be. She frowns as she misses the target entirely and she turns to see Aaron trying to hide a smile, “What are you laughing at?”

He steps towards her, “I think you’ve seen one too many movies, Em.”

She barely has time to register the nickname before he places his hands on her hips, straightening her stance with palms so warm she can feel them through her clothes. Her breath catches in her chest as his hands trail up her back, resting on her shoulders to help get them into position. She can feel his breath on her cheek as he leans forward to talk to her. 

“You’ve got to have both hands on it,” he says, reaching for the one still by her side and raising it to steady the gun, “It gives you more control.” 

She turns her head to look at him, and her breath skipping over his skin is what makes him realise how close he is to her. His eyes go wide, and his senses are immediately overwhelmed by her. The smell of her perfume, how soft her skin felt beneath his palms, the scatter of freckles across her nose that he’d never noticed before. 

He steps back and clears his throat, “Try now.” 

She nods, her tongue sticking out to wetten her lower lip, and she looks back at the target. She pulls the trigger again, with less hesitation this time, and she hits the outer ring of the target. She huffs out a laugh, a sound of disbelief caught in her chest, and she turns back to look at him. 

“You’re a fast student,” he says, clearly impressed. 

“Maybe I’ve just got a good teacher.”

They stare at each other for a beat too long, and they both wonder if the other realises how much trouble they are in.

___

“We’re late.” 

“Emily,” Elizabeth sighs as she climbs out of the car, smiling her polite thanks at the driver before she looks back at her daughter, her frown slipping back into place, “You’ve seen this movie a hundred times. You know what happens.” 

“That’s not the point,” Emily says, her fingers digging into her own arms so she doesn’t start a fight, not wanting to argue with her mother when she’d come into town to celebrate her birthday, albeit a week early.

“I had important work to do,” Elizabeth says, stepping past her daughter, “Everything doesn’t just stop because you come into town.” 

Emily clenches her teeth and tries to settle herself down, raising her eyebrow as she looks over at her father. He smiles at her, squeezing her shoulder as he steps past her. 

“Don’t mind her pumpkin,” he says, winking at her, “She’ll settle down once the show starts.” 

Emily blows out a breath and carries on walking, “Come on, I know a shortcut.” 

She leads her parents through an alley that leads to the theatre, hiding a smile as she hears her mother complaining about the smell. 

“Ambassador Prentiss?” 

Everything slows down when a stranger's voice follows them down the alley, purposeful and familiar, an edge of assurance and curiosity to it. 

Her father has barely turned around when the first bullet fires, knocking him off his feet, his eyes glazed over as he hits the ground, the resounding thud quickly followed by her mother’s scream. Emily stands frozen in place, unable to move, unable to make a sound, as she hears another shot, barely flinching this time. She looks at the two men standing a few feet away from her, one of them staring right at her, his eye piercing as she shivers. 

She waits for another shot, but it never comes, a commotion drawing the men away as soon as they’d appeared. 

“Emily.”

She’s on the floor, her eyes wide as she shifts towards her mother, the same dark eyes she looked at in the mirror every day staring up at her. 

“Emily, you’re okay. I’m here.”

“Mom,” she chokes, reaching out, her hands sticky before she even touches her mother’s chest. 

“Emily wake up.” 

___

She sits bolt upright, gasping as she desperately tries to suck in air, her lungs stuffed full of grief and fear as she struggles to breathe.

“Emily.”

She snaps her head towards him so quickly it hurts her neck, and she jumps, not entirely aware that she isn’t alone until she finds Aaron sitting on the edge of her bed. “Aaron?” 

The croak in her voice, the pain laced in his name, makes him ache, and he has to clench his fists not to reach out for her, “It’s me,” he says, smiling in a way he hopes she finds reassuring, “You were having a nightmare I think.” 

She nods, wiping a stray tear from her cheek as she laughs bitterly, “Yeah,” she says, clearing her throat, “I was. I didn’t wake you up did I?”

He shakes his head, “I was going to get a drink from the kitchen and I heard you yelling,” he says, hating how she looks embarrassed, like her past and her trauma were things to be ashamed of, “I wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

She stares through him, a shuddering breath escaping her as she closes her eyes and sees it all again. Bright red against a satin jacket she knew the cost of, a grim pattern she’d never stop seeing. The glassiness to her father’s eyes, the spark in them that she’d loved but also hated, a cheekiness he never used to stop her mother from berating her, gone forever. 

“I was there when it happened,” she says her gaze fixed on the wall behind him. He knows she was, it was part of the brief for this job, and he remembered seeing it in the news at the time, but he simply lets her carry on, lets her open up in a way he assumes she hasn’t in years, “My dad he…he died straight away. I could tell he was gone, he just…was there one second and wasn’t the next,” she swallows thickly and looks down at her hands, her right thumb rubbing firmly at the heel of her left palm, as if she was wiping away blood that wasn’t there, “But my mom…” 

She drifts off, the words heavy in her chest as they refuse to come out, stuck somewhere in between her ribs, making each breath painful. 

He clenches his hands to stop himself from reaching out for her, his need to comfort her a pull he doesn’t quite understand something that he ignores, well aware he came far too close in the gun range, “Emily, you don’t have to-”

“I want to,” she says, smiling tightly at him as she cuts him off, “I’ve just never told anyone this,” her smile turns sad as she looks back down at her hands, “Even Dave,” she says, her eyes flicking back up to him as he nods in response, “My mom was still alive, the men who cornered us aimed their guns at me and then a group of people entered the street and they ran. I remember trying to stop the bleeding. I had my hands on my mother’s chest. I…I felt it when she stopped breathing,” she looks up at him, tears shining in her eyes, “I felt it when she died.” She shakes her head at herself and wipes away a stray tear that had fallen onto her cheek, “My mother and I were never close, we were never what each other wanted, but part of me always hoped one day we could be. Now that can never happen,” she sighs at the look on his face, the sympathy she can see painted across it, and anger she knows he doesn’t deserve flickers in her chest, “I don’t need you feeling sorry for me.” 

Aaron finally reaches out for her, no longer able to hold it back as his hand lands on her shoulder, touching her for the first time since the gun range that morning, and he squeezes tightly, “I don’t feel sorry for you,” he assures her, wondering how someone could be so beautiful even in their grief, “I was just thinking that you must be the bravest person I’ve ever met.” 

Her expression softens, and she feels her cheeks go warm, feelings she’s been trying to stuff into a box since she’d first met him cracking through its exterior. She presses her lips together and averts her eyes to break their contact with his.

“Well,” she says, clearing her throat, “I don’t think that says a lot for the agents you used to work with at the FBI.” 

He smiles, “I guess not,” he says, “Do you have nightmares a lot?” 

She shrugs, shifting so she hugs her legs to her chest, her arms tight around them as she rests her chin on her knee, “Less than I used to. I think the gunshots today triggered it.”

His eyes go wide, and he immediately feels guilty, any assurance he’d given himself that he’d done the right thing gone, “Em, I’m so-”

She reaches out and grabs his hand, wrapping hers tightly around his as she squeezes, “Please don’t apologise for the nicest thing anyone has done for me in years,” she says, smiling softly at him, “Do I strike you as someone who would do something she didn’t want to do?” 

He feels some of the tension in his chest ease and he shakes his head, all of his focus on her warm hand around his, how soft her skin is, “I guess not.”

“Exactly,” she says, squeezing his hand again, “I want to learn to look after myself. Sometimes I feel like I’m still stuck in that fucking alley, and I think if I ever want to find my way out I’m going to need to start somewhere.” 

“I’d like to help you with that,” he says, his eyes locking with hers when she looks at him, “If you’d like me to.”

She doesn’t think she can tell him that he’s already helping, that she feels more herself than she has in years when he’s around, so she simply nods. She swallows thickly, her breath still shaky, the images of her nightmare still vivid every time she so much as blinks. 

“This is going to sound stupid, but can I have a hug?” She asks, hating how her voice shakes. She waits for him to say something, but he doesn’t, he simply shifts toward her, tugging her into his arms as she unfolds her arms from around herself and wraps them around him.

“You never have to ask,” he says, ignoring how good it feels to have her against him like this, how right it feels. He makes sure to keep his hands in a respectable place on her back paying close attention so they don’t drift, “I have it under good authority I give good hugs.” 

She huffs out a laugh against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him - a cologne she doesn’t know the name of and something she knows is distinctly him. It relaxes her, helps the last of the tension seep out of her body, and she pulls back to look at him. He’s close, his nose bumping against hers as she withdraws from his embrace just enough to meet his eyes, and she nods. 

“Very good hugs.”

Her breath skips across his face, the taste of her so close to his lips that he feels his heart stutter in his chest. He’s not sure who leans in first, who closes the tiny gap between them, but he sighs as soon as her lips are pressed against his. 

She loses herself in him, letting the feel of him pressed against her distract her from everything other than him. She holds him close, her fingers tight in his hair as she deepens the kiss, her tongue pressing into his mouth. 

He pulls back, his eyes glazed as he clears his throat, desperately trying to come to his senses, “Em…”

“You called me that earlier,” she says, her eyes fixed on his lower lip as she presses her thumb into it, testing the plushness of it, every part of her itching to taste it again, “No one’s called me that in years.” 

“This…this isn’t a good idea,” he says, grasping onto her sides, unable to let her go despite his words, his protest sounding weak even to him.

“Probably not,” she says, shifting closer, pressing her chest against his, looping her arms around his neck, “But that’s never stopped me before.” 

He half-growls, his hands tighter on her hips, “Are you sure?” 

She smiles, leaning in to stamp her lips against his, “What was it we were just saying about me not being someone who does things she doesn’t want to do?”

He’s silent for a few seconds, moments that feel like they last an eternity to her, want thrumming her skin that he’d ignited with nothing more than a kiss, but then he leans forward his lips against hers as he gathers her against him. She groans, immediately deepening the kiss as she straddles his lap, letting herself get lost in him. 

Despite her desperation and the desperation she can feel in his touch, they take it slow. Stripping each other of the clothes they are wearing, his hold on her bruising as he lays her down on the bed, his gaze nothing short of intense as he pulls back to look at her. He takes his time with her, his fingers and lips and tongue tracing her edges, committing them to memory in case this is the only time they do this.

He knows this should be the only time they do, that this in itself was foolish, but as she moans his name, the sound catching in her throat as he licks across her nipple, he knows he doesn’t want to stop. He works his way down her body, planting soft kisses as he goes, smiling into her skin as he reaches her thighs and her hips jerk towards him. 

“You’re so beautiful, Em,” he says, kissing her thigh before he pushes them apart, looking up at her from his place between her legs, “So fucking beautiful.” 

She feels frozen in place as he takes her apart, his fingers inside her and tongue against her clit working in tandem, pushing her towards the edge so quickly it was almost as if they’d done this before. She barely has to direct him, she merely encourages him, the pitch of her moans and groans enough to let him know that he was doing the right thing. 

When she comes, she feels like she’s broken free, finally out of the prison she’d trapped herself in, too afraid to step out of it. Even when her vision goes black, every nerve ending on fire, she knows it’s not just the sex, the best she’d had in a long time by a mile, not just the orgasm that was still tearing through her, but it was him. It was because he cared enough about her to let her be herself again.

She blows out a breath, not wanting to think too much about it, to talk herself out of something she doesn’t want to end. She lifts her head and smiles at him, chuckling as she reaches for him and she tugs at his hair, encouraging him upwards, sighing contentedly as he lays over her. 

“Okay,” she says, rolling her hips against his, smirking when he groans and rests his forehead against her collarbone, “An excellent marksman and you’re incredible at foreplay,” she jokes, wrapping her leg around his hips, matching groans leaving them as he notches against her, “Is there anything you can’t do?” 

He smirks as he kisses her, the taste of her on his tongue as he swipes it through her mouth, “I suck at baking.” 

She laughs and pushes his hair from his forehead, “I’ll teach you. It’s the one skill I have in the kitchen.” 

“Deal,” he says, stamping his lips against hers again, “You ready?” 

She nods, her nose bumping against his, and he pushes forward, his teeth clenching at the tight heat of her, his groan pressed into her skin as he rests his forehead against her neck. She moans at the delicious stretch of him, the pleasurable sting as he seats himself completely inside of her, and for the first time in years she’s completely unaware of everything other than this exact moment. 

“Holy shit,” she grits out, her head falling back against the pillow, “You feel so fucking good.” 

“You’re perfect,” he says, kissing her neck, nipping at her skin in a way she knows will leave marks in the morning, a souvenir from something she knows should never have happened, “So fucking perfect.” 

It’s slow and gentle, and everything sex had never been for her but had always been for him. He links their hands next to her head and rests his forehead against hers, both of them too breathless to kiss. When she eventually feels her hips start to stutter, her orgasm just out of reach, she doesn’t have to say anything. He reaches between them, unlinking one of his hands from hers, and he gently circles her clit, whispering words of encouragement against her cheek as she comes for a second time, her nails digging into his back. 

He starts to lose his rhythm, his hips slightly rougher against hers, losing his control now he’d looked after her, “Where?” He grunts out, and she wraps her still shaking legs tightly around his waist. 

“In…in me,” she says, gasping as he does just that, the heat of him inside of her enough to make her sigh happily.

They lay like that for a moment, his head against her collarbone and her limbs wrapped around him, the air cooling in the room before he pulls back to look at her, a tender look in his eyes she doesn’t want to name. 

“Is this a good idea?” He asks, pushing hair out of her face, and she smiles, the irony of the repetition of his question from earlier not lost on her as he leaked out of her onto her bed. 

“Probably not,” she says, repeating her earlier answer as she makes no attempt to let him go. 

“Do you want to forget this ever happened?” He asks, his tone steady and even. 

“No,” she replies, her smile soft as he is unable to cover his relief, “No I don’t want to do that.” 

He leans down and kisses her, the action strangely more intimate now they’d already had sex, his arms tight around her as he rolls off of her, pulling her into his side, “You want me to stay?” 

She rests her head on his shoulder and reaches for his hand, linking her fingers through his, admiring the strength in them, the power he could wield but chose not to. She swallows thickly before she gives him the only answer that seems right, the only one she wants to give. 

“Yes. I want you to stay.” 

-x-

Tag List:

@ssa-sparks, @lukeclvez, @lyds102, @glockleveledatyourcrotch, @hotchnissenthusiast, @danadeservesadrink, @ssamorganhotchner, @emilyprentissisgod, @notagentprentiss, @freesiasandfics, @emilyshotchniss, @thecharmingart, @paulitalblond, @gravyfan, @camille093, @whitecrossgirl, @moonlight-2-6, @rawr-jess, @florenceremingtonthethird, @jareauswife, @ms-black-a, @beebeelank, @aubreyprc, @zipzapboingg, @psychopath-at-heart, @criminalmindsgonewrong, @fionaloover, @kinqslcys, @prentissinred, @ccmattis-22, @denvivale317, @thrindis, @hotchsguccitie, @cmfouatslota77, @alexblakegf, @aliensaurusrex, @prentissxhotch, @emobabeyy, @victoiregranger, @stormyweatherth, @wanderingdreamer009, @ssablackbird, @luhwithah, @lex13cm, @prentiss-theorem, @itsmytimetoodream, @hotchnissgroupie, @controversialpooh, @capsshinyshield, @canuck-eh

Join my tag list here!

#hotchniss #hotchniss fanfiction #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #hotchniss fanfic #aaron hotchner #hotchniss fan fic #emily prentiss fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfiction #emily prentiss #aaron x emily #Young hotchniss #hotchniss smut #aaron hotchner smut #emily prentiss smut

[branmuffins22]

3, 6, 13, 22 from this ask game

Oooh, that's a lotta good ones. Thanks for the ask!

3. a snippet that encompasses my style

Now, this one's tough, since I tend to write in 3rd-person limited perspective, so the style changes somewhat with the voice of the focus character. Some characters think almost in staccato, some are long-winded and rambly, some are really observant, some are just there for the ride, etc.

That said, I did find something pretty indicative of my overall style in my ragefic twist on the ending of Thanks to Them:

She finally spared a glance away from the monster, at Hunter, now cradled by Willow and Camila, tears in both their eyes. Hunter, whose mouth was just slightly parted, but whose shallow breaths, hissing through the gap in his teeth, were nowhere to be heard. Hunter, whose hands laid open at his sides, rather than balled into familiar, tense fists. Hunter, whose whole body remained limp, both perfectly lax and perfectly still. …Perhaps not Hunter, then, if she was willing to jump to conclusions. Hunter's corpse. She couldn't help the wet gasp that escaped her at the sight of her lifeless brother, nor the whimpering, growling groan that came out with her next breath. Like pouring a can of soup into an already-hot pan, shock and dread popped, sputtered, sizzled, and spat, loud enough to make her flinch, until the grief finally sunk in, the excess heat ran its course, and a burnt residue was left caked onto the bottom. A crusty, sludgy layer of loss, fear, and indignity now tainted the dish, and Belos just wouldn't stop talking, scraping it up and stirring it in. The heat rose, and the whole pot soon grew dark and acrid, until all that was left was a dubious sludge of smoldering heartbreak, seething rage. Her whole body shook, her mind raced, her defiant expression broke, and her heart hammered away in her chest. She was vaguely aware that she should put out the fire, take the pot off the stove, open a window, plug her nose, just do something about it. Gus looked back and forth, up and down, from the monster to his victim, so quickly he almost seemed to be nodding, the only one still standing who seemed to notice Hunter's current state. Flapjack kept twittering, desperate and pained, trying to tell Luz something only Hunter would've been able to understand. Vee whined at her failing phonecall as Camila shakily stood to get in front of her, between her daughter and the hijo de puta who'd made her, locked her up, and tortured her. Willow muttered stilted apologies under her breath, Amity hissed furious and terrified breaths between clenched teeth, and Belos kept rambling and ranting and raving. Luz, however, parsed none of it, nothing at all, every voice and every sound drowned out by her own blood, thrumming ceaselessly in her ears. But then, clarity. White-hot clarity.

Sentences with more clauses than a legal document? Check! Long-winded, convoluted metaphors/similes? Check! One or more descriptors for almost every noun and verb? Check! Dynamic pacing? Check! A cliffhanger in the snippet? Of course! Can't spoil too much.

6. a snippet that I struggled with, but triumphed over

Here's an easy answer, from earlier in the same fic:

"No, no, no, no—!" Luz tried to tuck Flapjack into her fanny pack, planning to jump into the water to save his witch, but she barely got his legs in before she was unceremoniously shoved aside. "Move." Camila's tone left no room for argument. Without any hesitation, she dove into the surely-icy abyss after the boy who'd come to be her son, a smaller-than-expected splash revealing remarkable skill for the task. Luz let out half of a tense breath. See, he'll be fine! Mamá's got him! The rest of the kids rushed after her, to the side of the bridge, leaning over its frozen precipice. They all strained their eyes to watch as bubbles, barely visible in the dark, broke the surface of the pitch-black gravewater. Amity proved to be more present than the rest, the first and only to cast a witchlight over the bridge, searchlight and lighthouse in one. Still, they couldn't see Camila or Hunter. They'll be fine… right? Seconds passed like hours, and the quiet chorus of bubbles turned from a steady drone into almost-distinct beats. Whatever was happening in the murky depths, Camila had changed her stroke. Was she growing desperate, unable to find Hunter without reliable sight to guide her? Had she finally gotten a hold of him, and was dragging him up to the surface in uneasy strokes? Was Belos fighting her underwater? C'mon, please come back, please be okay… The bubbles changed again, now murmuring in a barely-pulsing rumble. Her stroke may have changed again, or perhaps she was just panicking, running out of air. Please, please, PLEASE! Even if she wasn't panicking, her kids definitely were. Trembling, with bated breath, they desperately waited for some other change, anything more concrete than bubbles to tell them what might be happening. I can't lose them, I CAN'T lose them! Then, moments later, a murky silhouette came into focus. At last, Camila began to surface beside the bridge, and to their enormous relief, she was holding an unconscious Hunter to her chest with one arm. As she finally broke the surface, she took one deep gasp of air, and in the same motion, deftly heaved the boy over and up onto the bridge. Only once he was secure did she let Luz and Vee help her up. Camila once again counted herself lucky to have spent some time in college working as a lifeguard, so that she could at least do this right tonight, if nothing else. But her job wasn't done yet. After taking another deep breath to steady her nerves, she started with some delegation. "Vee, call an ambulance; Willow, set him flat on his back," she ordered, already crawling to be level with his head. Once she was there, she turned her ear just above his mouth, eyes facing his chest to look for any signs of breathing, and reached two fingers to his neck to find his pulse. Unfortunately, she was interrupted before she could feel even a single beat or breath. Hunter twitched once, startling Camila off of him, and then began to convulse, as the black-green rot infesting his body expelled itself in flowing tendrils. His spasms slowly petered out as the goop coalesced at the end of the bridge, into the monstrous, roaring form of the once-emperor; the vial of titan's blood, briefly forgotten, now held in his grotesque claws. Belos then loomed into a kneel before them, pounded his empty fist into the ground, and berated the boy who had been his unwilling host, "CALEB! You would stab me in the back?!"

Hey, it even incorporates a few other common elements of my style: made-up portmanteaus (like "gravewater"), and action or description in place of dialog-claiming verbs such as "said" (like "Camila's tone left no room for argument.")

You might wonder why this one was so hard. It's a pretty straightforward retelling of events that happened on-screen (though not necessarily in the same way they happened), so I didn't exactly have to do much imagining for it. Should've been dead-simple, right?

Nah. The hard part came from the fact that the last paragraph of that snippet was the very first thing I wrote for the whole fic, and that I wrote the whole rest of this snippet backwards, after I had written the rest of the scene (including the first snippet).

It was a massive pain in the ass, lmao. Definitely one of the dumber things I've done.

13. a snippet that helped me understand a character better

Ooooh, I've got a couple of fun ones for under-explored characters, like Masha, Principal Bump, Camila, or Morton, but I think the one that really got me into their head the most was a segment I wrote for The Bat Queen in Something Like a Bible:

The human was strange to The Bat Queen. She was reckless, stubborn, but also caring, empathetic. Completely out of her depth, but still tried and tried until she eventually succeeded. Her magic was familiar, too, yet the Bat Queen couldn't place it. Perhaps something she had known millenia ago, lost to time. The human offered to help her if she wanted to learn about her past again. That is how she had somehow found herself indebted to a human. Or, perhaps the human was indebted to her? Unclear. But the babies liked her, and her dedication to young Owlbert had impressed several of the palismen, so she would be welcomed back into their grove again in time. Perhaps there was no debt at all, between herself and the human, her only loose ends being her forgotten past and what she still owed Eda. Speaking of which, it appeared they were all neighbors, if the human really lived with the Owl Lady. While she was not quite set in her opinion of the human, the youngest Clawthorne was something like a family friend. She hoped to remain on good terms with her, and with all her neighbors in these woods, as they would surely see eachother again in due time, especially with debts involved. Then, as usual, they would meet again, and again, and again, until the generation's close, when the woods would be left empty once more. Or, perhaps, the woods wouldn't become empty this time. The human was young, much younger than the Owl Lady, and seemed to get along quite well with Eda's palisman, despite the lack of a true bond. Perhaps she would inherit the Owl House when Eda passed. Perhaps it would become home to more than just a person, to a family. She would like that. Her own babies would grow up someday as well, though she might never pass to leave her grove behind to them. As for the palismen, their numbers were already dwindling, palistrom becoming critically endangered, and they would all move on or be captured eventually. No doubt the grove would grow lonely, in time. It would be nice to have good neighbors.

She may be odd, and abrasive, and furiously protective of her charges, but beyond all that, the Bat Queen is also very, very old. She holds no inherent malice for others, despite her self-enforced isolation, but she's seen it all before. She knows it's best not to get too attached to the short-lived people around her, but by her nature as a palisman, she simply can't help it. In the events of Escape of the Palisman, Luz and Owlbert even brought out a somewhat wistful side of her.

She's super interesting.

and finally, 22. a snippet that is so blissfully self-indulgent

Now, you could argue that all fanfic is self-indulgent (in fact, I'd argue it should be), but somehow, all my most indulgent ideas either haven't made it to page, were explored in Theseus Who?, or are steeped in spoilers for my other stories.

Finding a balance between self-indulgence and plot irrelevance, I suppose I can reveal some of the premise for Intermission: In the Making, via a segment of Eda's note to Luz:

Hey kiddo. From the moment you popped through my portal door, you've been a wonderful student, a wonderful friend, and just a wonderful kid. It took me less time than I aughtta be comfortable with to start thinking of you as my kid, and the way you brought the rest of us together certainly didn't help. King calls you his sister, Lily calls you her niece, even Mom and Dad have started calling you one of "the grandkids". Dang old people :P Like it or not, you've wormed your way into this family, but with the whole 'Day of Unity' thing being what it is, I've gotta acknowledge the fact that there might not be many of us left after this. You, King, and Lily are gonna be the only ones without sigils, after all, hence the note. I hope to heck that when you find it, you can just ask me about it, instead of having to read it all yourself, and I hope if you can't, that I at least hid it well enough to give you some time to grieve first, but dang if I'm not gonna be thorough about this, for once in my life, so I'm sorry if that isn't the case. We Clawthornes have a few traditions; you may already know we were a long line of palisman carvers by trade, especially before the shortage, but we've also got a few secret family recipes here and there. Some stews that'd probably kill a human, some unique woodstains and such, but the one I'd most like to pass your way is a special potion. You remember the day you pulled my mom out of that phony cure scam, when you mentioned hoping that your hair could one day be big enough to store whole bottles in it? Well, that trick of ours isn't just a matter of having great hair, it's a Clawthorne specialty. Hardly anyone knows it, especially now with the shortage, but palistrom trees are a treasure trove of material magic, good for way more than just carving palismen. Case and point, the bark is a key ingredient for a potion to turn just about anything with enough loose keratin into a hammerspace, and a head of hair works beautifully for that. (Lily's busy writing a footnote encyclopedia about all the other things palistrom trees can be used for, so you can look forward to that.) I got my treatment when I was around your age, King got his before he was talking in complete sentences, and Lily got hers when she went back to live with our folks a few months ago, so now, it's your turn.

Yeah, I'm giving Luz the hair hammerspace. Eventually. Why not? It's got the potential for both fluff and angst, it doesn't change the way her character is written in the vast majority of cases, and it's a fun little character gimmick that ties her to her found family in the Demon Realm! Dang, I really did get immediately defensive about giving a character a non-canon ability, huh? I've gotta work on that. Especially for [SPOILERS] and [SPOILERS]. And probably [SPOILERS] too, now that I think of it.

#thanks for the ask! #ask games #Something Like a Bible #Intermission: In the Making #my writing

[bundrops-n-fluffytops]

Welcome Home Agere Fic - Baby’s Instinct Ch. 2

Characters: Little!Wally Darling, CG! Poppy Partridge, CG!Missy McBee (OC), CG! Eddie Dear, CG! Barnaby B. Beagle

Chapters: 2-4(?)

Setting: Poppy’s Barn (living room, kitchen), Missy’s Hive (restaurant, upstairs apartment), Eddie’s Post Office (front desk, upstairs apartment), Barnaby’s Dog House (living room, bathroom, guest bedroom)

Premise: Just the various little things that Wally calls his caregivers.

Author’s Note: First fic with an oc!! Figured I would practice writing my own characters and this is a good way to practice! Hope you guys like Missy :>>

Also she does speak Spanish momentarily in this fic, I used an AI to help translate so do let me know if it is accurate cjvjvj

—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—

Chapter 2: MISSY

McBee’s was a fairly new restaurant that had opened nearby Welcome Home, but it had quickly become a town landmark for being a nice change of pace for the townsfolk. The owner - Missy McBee - and a whole heaping amount of coworkers had moved from the lovely South in order to further pursue her dream of cooking for others, and with the opening of her restaurant it wad pushed further.

With that, she also connected well with the townsfolk; gossiping and laughing with Julie and Poppy, sharing her woes in with with Eddie and Howdy, and - most importantly - meeting the ever so mysterious Wally Darling.

Wally was a case of being so friendly yet ever so secretive. Those eyes had something to hide, yet she wasn’t sure what. Maybe it was how he spoke, how robotic his laughter was, or maybe the way he was almost never alone, usually accompanying a friend of his by hand or by ride.

Missy was curious, but didn’t want to push. Running her business was more important than focusing on one single resident of the town, so there wasn’t much of a point to focus on him.

However, it soon made itself apparent that she should’ve been attentive.

It was a regular day at work, half of her worker bees taking orders left and right, and the other half cooking the orders given. The smell of fresh food filled the air, motivating Missy to work even more as she buzzed around the restaurant, looking for a customer.

The first customer that had caught her eye was none other than the aforementioned Wally Darling, sitting tensely at his spot on one of the checkered tables fiddling with his red ascot. Missy straightened her back and cleared her throat, before quickly making her way towards the bluenette.

“Well good morning, dear! Welcome to McBee’s, where every meal is buzzing with flavor for the whole family! My name is Missy, and I will be your waitress for today. What can I get started for you, hun?” A phrase she had no problem memorizing for every customer, she waited patiently for the bluenette to answer. It took… a concerning amount of time for him to answer.

She figured he didn’t hear her.

*snap snap*

“You awake, hun?”

She saw how he flinched harshly at the sound of her fingers snapping together, his closed fists clenching tighter. She began to notice little details about his demeanor, most of them concerning her.

His shoulders were hunched and curled around his chest, his hands clasped together tightly, and his head hovering over the table. He was shaking as well, and that tell-tale grin was wavering ever so slightly. Even then, he seemed to keep his posture to the best of his ability, presenting himself as stable.

This concerned Missy greatly. She needed to do something.

“Hun… do you need a minute? Is everything alright?”, she questioned him. Wally jerked a bit from his seat, his startled gaze meeting hers. He stared for a moment, before swallowing hard and muttering a small ‘no.’ Missy frowned at that shaking her head.

“Cariño, you look about as nervous as a fly in a glue factory, are you sure you don’t need a minute?” Missy rested her lower hands on her hips, bending forward to the smaller one’s level. The aforementioned puppet wrapped his arms around his body slowly, squeezing tightly. He exhaled, his breath wavering.

Missy furrowed her brow, thinking hard, before snapping her fingers as an idea struck. She turned behind herself towards the nearest waiter bee, quickly speeding towards him.

“¡Oye, puedes encargarte de la cocina por un rato? Tengo un cliente que necesita ayuda y parece tenso, necesito que alguien seencargue,” she quickly said to him. The waiter bee nodded, before zooming towards the kitchen. Missy then hurried back to where the bluenette had been sitting, then crouched to his level.

“Hey, amiguito,” she started, “do you want to go out back to take a breather? You look like a balloon just ‘bout to deflate, hm?”

Wally stared up at her, still slightly shaking, then nodding hesitantly. They took each other’s hands before walking out of the swinging front doors, the cool outside air hitting them as the doors closed behind them. Almost as soon as they knew they were outside, Wally’s breathing hitched as tears streamed down their face. They fell onto their bottom and curled up into a ball, crying uncontrollably and startling Missy greatly.

“Ah- Wally?!,” she exclaimed, “are you alright? Oh dear-“ Missy quickly fell to her knees and propped herself in front of the sobbing man. He continued to cry, his head in his knees and his hands clamped around his ears and head. Missy then noticed that she could make something out of his inelegant blubbering.

“It- it woud…” he cried, “it too woud in der’, it huwt-“ It was all she could manage to hear before he went back to sobbing into himself. His words were slurred and were that of a young child’s. She wasn’t sure why exactly, but clearly he was in a very vulnerable state.

“It’s too loud in there, honey?” she questioned him gently. Wally scrubbed his face with his sleeve, sniffling and nodding. Missy ‘aww’ed at that, shaking her head.

“I know you must be very upset, mi chiquitín,” she said, her voice low and soft, “but would you like a hug? Hugs usually make me feel better.” The bee held out her upper and lower arms wide around herself, offering the chance for him to take. Thankfully, Wally nodded slowly, before scooting towards and resting himself against her. She wrapped her arms tightly around his tiny body, enveloping him in a loving and comforting embrace as he continued to cry into her chest. She spent the moment rubbing his hair and back slowly, gently shushing him and whispering “it’s okay” and “it’ll be alright” and “I’m here”.

Wally’s crying died down a little bit not too long after, only the occasional hiccup and whimper. Missy took this to tilt his head towards her, his gaze fitting hers.

“There… all better, now?” she asked him, the baby bluenette nodding tiredly. The waitress slowly unraveled her arms from his body, though hesitantly, and sat back. The tiny painter rubbed his eyes and sniffled, his breathing wavering but stable.

“I sowwy…” Wally whimpered, wiping his arms over his eyes. One hand was close to his mouth, the thumb tracing his lips.

“You have nothing to be sorry about, honey,” she reassured, rubbing his shoulder, “I promise you.” She took notice of how close his thumb was to his mouth, but ignored it.

The two fell into a momentary silence, filled only with Wally’s sniffling and Missy’s comforting words. They let themselves fall into each other’s presence, feeling a sense of trust between the two. The quiet and chilly air juxtaposed from the busy, loud interior of the hive was a calming feeling, not as overwhelming as it was before. It felt much nicer, much better.

Missy soon broke the silence between the two after a short while.

“You want to go back inside now, hun?” She asked gently, referring to his spot inside the restaurant. Wally jumped at that and furiously shook his head no. Missy frowned at that, before she smiled once more at a new idea. She looked to her right and… yep, outside tables. Perfect.

“Would you like to eat outside instead?”, she suggested, “I have some tables out here if you would like to sit here.” The little bluenette looked over to her side, staring at the tables for a bit. She could tell he was thinking about it. He soon looked back at her and nodded slowly.

Missy smiled back. She slowly stood from her spot in front of him, holding out a hand to pull him up. Once the two were standing once more, she led the bluenette to one of the small hexagon tables near them, before sitting him down at one of the bench chairs surrounding it.

“Now, I’m gonna go back inside and get you a menu, okay? While I’m gone, stay right here. I’ll be back, okay amiguito?” The waitress kept her voice soft and gentle. Wally tussled at his ascot timidly, before nodding.

“Otay, mom- mm, ma’am,” he responded. Her eyes widened slightly, taken aback for a second.

Did he just call her… no, he couldn’t. There’s no way. She isn’t mom material.

Well, no time to worry about it. She had to feed this kid. She cleared her throat, straightening her back and brushing off her apron.

“Alrighty. Stay really still while I get your menu, hun,” she said with a buzz in her step. She turned back to the front doors of the hive and quickly made her way inside, that response still buzzing in her mind. It felt.. fitting, almost.

Well, if that was the case, as well have Mom feed her baby.

—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—

#GRAAAAAAAAA IT’S FINALLY DONE #this took so long augh #but heyyyyyy missy!!! #i hope you like how i wrote her teehee #Also do critique me on the Spanish lol #if needed ofc #welcome home #welcome home arg #welcome home puppet show #welcome home agere #sfw agere #age regressor #sfw age regression #welcome home wally #wally darling #welcome home poppy #poppy partridge #welcome home oc #missy mcbee #welcome home eddie #eddie dear #welcome home barnaby #barnaby b beagle #gummunity fics

[thatastrobae]

Ｗａｉｔｉｎｇ ｔｏ Ｅｘｈａｌｅ (Beta) 🌻🪻

I wrote this fic back in September, but I refuse to post on a03 until I have ch 2 written. This might be my next multi-chapter flowerbyte fic after 'Into You' is completed

“I’ve just got so much on my mind y’know…” the sixteen year old mumbled as he carefully steered the car. From the passenger seat, Captain Jeff Morales let out an understanding hum. He peeped that Miles was a bit tense that morning so he extended a listening ear. He always wanted a chance to bond with his son more and the second Miles turned sixteen back in August, he took him to the DMV to get his permit. Driving lessons commenced as soon as the kid got the piece of plastic. They drove around every Saturday and Sunday at 7 a.m. when the streets of Brooklyn 1610B were quiet and empty and neither Jeff or Miles had to put on their uniform/mask to protect the city.  At this specific time, they could simply be Miles and Jeff: father and son. Not Spiderman and Captain Morales. Neither Jeff or Rio were shocked to discover Miles’ secret identity, in fact, it was a missing piece to the intricate puzzle that was their son. They had many discussions regarding their meta human child and ultimately decided two things: Number one being that they’ll continue to love and support him through his dangerous job and number two was that they’ll do everything in their power to keep him grounded (not that kind of grounded). Rio, being the fiercely protective mother she was, would be damned if Miles’ responsibilities as Spiderman stripped him of every ounce of normalcy in his life, so Jeff thought of this because what’s more conventional than a father teaching his son an important life skill such as driving? 

“I hear that, yeah. So tell me what’s going on?” Jeff urged calmly.

“It’s just like…homework, girls…well one girl.” He looked to Miles and smirked. 

‘A girl huh?’  Jeff thought, but then he felt a sense of dêja vu wash over him when he saw a blush coloring the top of Miles’ ears. He remembered having this same conversation over a year ago; back when Miles was falling behind in school and he couldn’t figure out why, back when the then fifteen year old was battling some inner demons and hiding a whole other part of his life from them. It was crazy how so much could change in a year. 

“Another girl, son? I remember the one from last year.” The police chief joked. Miles’ jaw tightened and his Adam’s apple bobbed at the mention. Upon seeing this, Jeff masked his laughter with coughs. It may come off as insensitive, but he knew straight off the back things weren’t gonna last with the previous girl. Jeff knew all too well that at Miles’ age, romantic feelings for someone are strong but fleeting. Him being Spiderman didn’t except from this rule. Obviously ‘Gwanda’ was still a touchy subject. He wasn’t sure if Miles still kept in touch with the girl- last time he saw her was that catastrophic day after he got sworn in as captain. While Jeff wasn’t a fan of the emo? Alt? whatever; Miles seemed to care a lot about her and he felt bad that his son’s first love broke his heart- even though Miles has yet to tell him how. But that was in the past and the only way to help the boy heal was by bringing him to the present and instilling hope for a better future so Jeff opened the conversation again.

“Anyway, this new girl…what’s her name?” 

Miles hesitated at first, the way someone with conflicting thoughts would hesitate. Truth be told, Miles was feeling conflicted, it was just recently that he decided to acknowledge his not-so platonic feelings for the fellow spider person. 

“Margo.” he said, his ears still a deep shade of red.

It’s almost as if she was a genie because every time he says her name out loud, she makes an appearance. As soon as Miles got home from his driving lesson, he began to pack his bag for the week ahead. He shook the habit of waiting til last minute a while ago. It was only a thirty minute task and he was able to spend the rest of his Sunday’s not worrying about. As he gathered his clean laundry and art supplies, the topic of discussion from his earlier talk with Jeff began to materialize from a collection of pixels. The way her avatar was dressed- in a Minecraft midriff t-shirt and cargo pants-indicated that her physical self was dressed in the same attire. The intricate bubble braids on the other hand was most likely CC, still she looked cute as always. Miles smirked at his blue and purple friend.

“Y’know, one of these days you might end up catching me butt ass naked.” he joked.

“With the amount of times I pop up unannounced, I’m surprised that day hasn’t come already. It’s all good though, I’m very patient .” she gave Miles a smirk of her own as she sat knees-crossed on his chair. Upon seeing the pile of clean clothes on his bed, Margo rolled herself closer.

“Mind if I help?” 

Miles gave her a grateful smile and nodded. He hated folding clothes with a passion. Not only was it tedious, but he was never good at it, unlike Margo who folded his white Oxford shirts with precision and ease. 

“So…did you get it?” Margo asked cryptically. He knew what she meant by ‘it’ but the way she whispered her sentence made it sound like he was to obtain a bag of drugs or something so he decided to mess with her. 

“Hmmm..get what?” was his clueless response as he sloppily folded a pair of slacks. When placing them down, he lifted his gaze towards Margo and almost busted out laughing at her narrowed eyes and pursed blue lips. She snatched up the khakis and refolded them.

“The Gotham Nights Deluxe Edition game. Y’know the one I cashapp'd you forty-five dollars for? Ring a bell?”

“Oh you mean this?” He asked reaching into his nightstand and pulling out the mint condition, unwrapped video game case. The gapped tooth grin that always warmed Miles from the inside-out split across her face. 

“Also, I keep tryna send that forty-five back. You really didn’t need to go half with me, I was gonna buy it anyway.”

Even if he wasn’t gonna purchase the game anyway, he probably still would have gotten it for her to enjoy. One of her many favorite things to do in his dimension was play video games with him and Ganke on their shared PS5. Miles thought it adorable and began to chuckle, earning a playfully suspicious glance from her.

“What’s funny?” 

“It’s just that…you come from this super advanced dimension where you have access to a whole entire virtual world…”

“Mhmm..” she urged him to continue, picking up a polo and folding that as well.

“…but you’re geeked about a mundane video game. And not only that, do you not realize that you’re playing a video game through the lens of another video game?”

“That last part is where you’re wrong, Miles.” she said breezily. He raised his an eyebrow, interested in what she would say to correct his perception. 

“Yeah?”

“The VR in my dimension is a whole nother type beat. By putting on our headset, it’s more like we’re…extending our realities. People earn their living, build their craft, fall in love, etc. via virtual reality.”  Even when she was correcting him and being informative, Margo was mellow and soft-spoken. He found himself never missing a word she uttered because as soon as she began speaking, his attention was like a moth to her flame. No one else (especially by voice alone), could put him in a trance like this. 

“Take me being Spider Woman for example. I wish that I had the option to just turn off my system and turn it back on again if I ever screw up, but I can’t. I mean don’t get me wrong, I can’t really die while in avatar form which is pretty sweet. Still though, the safety of my cyberspace depends on Spiderbyte. You feel me?” 

“No…yeah…I feel you. What I said before sounds really dumb now that I think about.” he awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, a habit of his that Margo clocked when they first started hanging out. Normally she’d tell him to stop being so self deprecating, but she couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her.

“Not at all. Even I have trouble wrapping my head around our way of life. It’s definitely not a grounding experience and sometimes I’m scared that…” Margo trailed off. She’d never shared this deep, irrational fear with with anyone, but Miles was intrigued so he used his foot to nudge her into finishing the thought.

“I’m scared that one day we won’t even have the option to go outside and experience real life. Movie theaters and arcades aren’t a thing anymore, game stores will probably be next to go. Our basic needs can be met without even leaving the house and everyone seems ok with that…?” she looked down at her blue, holographic hands.

“I guess I feel like a weirdo for finding an issue with our remote way of living.”

“Nah, I bet there are tons of people in your dimension who feel the same way. Still though, I know how depressing it is to feel so disconnected from everyone so if you ever wanna talk more about it without being judged, I’m always here to listen.” 

The grin returned to Margo’s face and Miles’ gave himself a pat on the back for being the one to put it there. Margo’s voice was timid, but tender as she uttered her next sentence 

“Being able to come and see you is probably the best thing to come from this technology takeover.”  

Her words caused his brain to short circuit. This isn’t anything new though. Margo would often say little things that had him blushing and kicking his feet- internally of course.  They’d gotten close over the past nine months and it all started one random Tuesday evening as Miles attempted to complete an essay. 

There was a sharp rap on his dormitory door, briefly drawing his attention from his laptop. 

“It’s open!” Miles hollered out, not wanting to break focus on the paper due tomorrow afternoon. A few seconds of silence passed and he assumed whoever it was didn’t need anything for real. Then there was another hesitant knock. Miles let out a sigh of frustration before getting up and aggressively opening the door. The breath was immediately knocked out of him for two reasons. Reason number one being that Spiderbyte (who resided in whole other dimension) was one of the last people he expected to pop up out of the blue and speaking of ‘blue’, she wasn’t. She wasn’t glowing or pixilated either, in fact she blended in as a Visions student in this dimension so seamlessly. Dressed in a navy blue sweatshirt with the school’s name across the chest, leggings, and some sneakers — she looked like a classmate visiting another classmate to ask for some Ramen. So instead of pulling her into the privacy of his room as he probably would if she was in her spider suit, he just stared- astounded. 

“Hey.” Margo said casually- too casually if you asked him. She peered behind him into his shared dorm room. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Miles quickly gathered himself and moved to the side, allowing her to enter before closing his door. 

“N-nah…it’s just…you’re actually here right now. In the flesh.”

With his essay almost forgotten, Miles couldn’t take his eyes off of her deep chestnut complexion and neatly plaited hair.  Perplexity flashed across her face before realization took over. 

“Oh no no. I made sure to turn my graphics card up before projecting myself here. I’m still very much…

Margo glitched and a pixelated bubble appeared in thin air in front of him, revealing the teen girl with her VR headset firmly placed on her head, dressed in the same attire as her avatar.

“At home, chilling in my gaming chair and eating Fritos.”

He saw her actual person pop a crunchy corn chip in her mouth before the projection disappeared, allowing her avatar to stand before him once again. A slight smile appeared on Miles’ face, for the similarities between their first meeting and now wasn’t missed upon him. Only difference was that her parent’s weren’t screaming at each other in the background. 

“Oh. It’s just that you look so…” stunning was what the word that instantly came to Miles’ head, but he refused to go down that road. Instead he finished his sentence with “…natural.” An odd save, but a save nonetheless. 

“You’re dimension has Visons Academy too? And you go there?” He asked oh so intelligently. Miles didn’t know why he went with that when there were way more important questions to ask such as why she was here? How was she?  Did they blow anther hole in the multiverse?

“Yes, but it’s nothing like this.” Margo responded, gesturing to his entire room “Once upon time, there were dorms and in-person classes. Now everything is-

“Online.” He finished for her. While Miles would love to attend school virtually, he refrained from voicing his sentiment. Something about the way Margo looked longingly at his and Ganke’s decorations made him feel like she would trade places with him in a heart beat. After a minute, Margo collected herself and focused solely and the boy she came to visit.

“Yeah. But it seems like your style and your roommate’s style don’t clash which is good.”

Now that they got the ‘how’ out of the way, Miles was trying to gather some words together to politely ask ‘why’ she was here- in his dimension- in his dorm. As if she read his mind, Margo chuckled and casted him a look of understanding. 

“I was a little bit hesitant to come, but I really wanted to see how you were.” 

“Are you sure that’s all?” He didn’t mean to sound so wary, but the last time a girl from an alternate universe ‘stopped by to say hey’ she was also on a top secret mission to capture a mephistophelian villain who got more powerful as time progressed. If something similar was happening here, he didn’t wanna waste any precious time. Miles eyed his spider suit hanging from his top drawer, preparing to gear up if need be.

“Aye chill, we not gettin’ active tonight.” she assured placing her hand on his shoulder to refocus his attention on her “It’s just that…it’s been three months since any of us last heard from you. Hobie said to give you your space...so we did. I guess I just came to relay the message that we’re thinking about you and whenever you’re ready, you can put your watch to good use.” 

“All of you still keep in touch.” it wasn’t a question.

“Well it’s not like we host group meetings every week, but I tend check in on Hobie, Pav, or Peni often. Maybe they pop in on each other as well, but that’s about it.”  She also spoke to Gwen before the blonde got super busy a month ago, but she refrained from saying so. 

“That’s very kind of you to do.”

“Look man, you already know how lonely life get's for people like us- especially in an isolating society like mine. And now that we aren’t apart of the task-force any more, we need each other. As allies, supports, friends. My reasons for keeping them close aren’t unselfish.” 

“I still respect you for it and for coming here.” Miles’ leather colored eyes were locked onto her ebony ones, both were unmindful to the fact that they’d inched a bit closer together. The young Spiderman meant what he said, he hadn’t known Margo Kess for long, but taking that kind of initiative aligned with the basis of her character. He didn’t need to know her for long to see that she a was a remarkable individual; who else would defy their psycho boss and extend their loyalty to someone they met for fifteen seconds? It wasn’t Miles’ intentions to neglect his friends/allies though. He and his family needed those three months to recuperate so he locked the watch Hobie had gifted him in a drawer and somewhere over those twelve weeks his friends: Peter, Pav, Hobie, Peni, Ham, even Gwen were stored in the back of his mind. Margo was interesting though, she was the most surreal out of the bunch so she snuck her way into his dreams once in a while. There were times where he would be tempted to draw her and as much as he tried to refrain, he failed. He had a few sketches of the virtual girl, but he told himself repeatedly that as an aspiring artist he had every right to want to draw such an aesthetically pleasing avatar with a bomb ass color scheme. Miles raised his eyebrow curiously when Margo began laughing.

“I was a bit scared coming here, i'm not gonna lie. I felt like I was pushing a boundary by showing up here uninvited... so thank you for that sentiment.”

A thought popped into his head and while he could have internalized it, he wanted to share it with her so she knew how much her being here meant to him . 

“Around this time a year ago, I prayed for one of my cross-dimensional spider friends to show up. Hell, I would’ve even been ecstatic to see Ham.” 

That last part caused them both to chuckle. He thought briefly about how different it would’ve been if Spiderbyte was also displaced to his dimension all those months ago. Would she have come to see him? Probably so, considering that she didn’t need Miguel’s tech to travel dimensions nor did she ever take his theory of canon events with a grain of salt.

“So it actually means a lot..you coming here, helping me out the way you did after the Spider Society…” Miles trailed off and peered out his window, the blatant rejection he experienced at the hands of all those other spider people still stung even after the apology and olive branch was extended. 

“I’d do it again in a heart beat.” The conviction in her tone forced him to look back at her “..for you at least.” 

Her sheer devotion to him had Miles melting like butter on a tender steak straight off the grill. ‘Why am I like this?’ He thought to himself. 

Margo- aware of the serious atmosphere she created- attempted to shift the mood by gesturing to the open document on his laptop. 

“I see I was interrupting something.” She joked “When is this due?” 

Miles blew a raspberry, surprised at himself for allowing the paper to completely slip his mind, even if it was just for a few minutes. 

“Tomorrow afternoon. It’s for AP Psych and I’m short nine pages.”  

Margo sharply inhaled at how stretched thin on time her friend was. Despite being a genius, the girl was no stranger to finishing assignments on a time crunch. Being Spider-woman ensured that would be her new normal. She glanced at the title that was written in bolded sans serif font letters.

“Anxiety and Sleep Paralysis: How Individuals with Anxiety Are Likely to Experience Sleep Disorders” Margo read out loud.  “That’s an interesting topic. I’m sure we can knock this out by midnight.” 

“We?” Miles regarded her with a perplexed look to which she tapped her index finger on her chin as she pretended to think. 

“If only I had the ability to locate and synthesize relevant sources via the internet in less than a minute.” she stated sarcastically before fixing him with a sly grin. 

She did in fact stay with him until 11 p.m., feeding him information that he could stuff his essay with to come up with the required ten pages. He expressed that he wanted to see her again and sure enough, she kept coming back. Now nine months later she still managed to have him wrapped around her virtual finger whenever she said something sweet or flirty and looked at him through those long, feminine eyelashes like she was doing right now. When she says these things, he knows she means them and it’s a clear indication of her not-so platonic feelings for him. It made Miles feel like they could actually fall in love with each other.

And that was a problem. 

Miles wasn’t the same man he was last year or the year before that. His hopeless romantic fourteen year old self would’ve been so receptive to this beautiful girl’s subtle displays of affection, but after everything he went through, he didn’t know if he had it in him to love anyone the same way he loved Gwen Stacy. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to. He knew that hurting him wasn’t Gwen’s intentions and that she was going through a lot personally, but it didn’t soften the sting. His best friend banded together a whole force to save him and apologized within an inch of her life so of course Miles forgave her. He low-key blamed himself as well because in hindsight, he idealized her for a whole year- basically falling in love with a memory of this awesome GhostSpider who understood him. Drawing her every day and getting lost in fantasies was the perfect way to set himself up heartbreak. Miles hadn’t seen her in a year—not because he held any ill will, but because despite all his good memories of her, he couldn’t stop reliving the embarrassing moment that was their last interaction.  It was only thanks to Hobie and Margo— who actually visited her on the regular — did he know that Gwen was safe back at home with her father, taking a hiatus from being Spiderwoman.  Back to the beguiling, blue baddie that was currently flipping through one of his sketchbooks from the eighth grade that he’d granted her access to. Miles was a naïve little boy who lacked self control when Gwen was the object of his affection, but now he knew better. Despite Margo being nothing but loyal to him since he met her, Miles refused to instill all of his trust into the girl. He refused to fall in love with her, giving her the opportunity to break his heart (unintentionally or not). If there was one thing in his life that he could control it was this. Once Miles realized the pure contentment he felt watching her doing something as simple as lounge in his room and look through his art- he knew he had to put an end to it.

“Yo i’m actually heading to the store with my mom in a bit so you should probably…”

Margo’s blue cheeks flushed violet as she shut the book. 

“Oh yeah! Of course. My bad.” 

He felt immense guilt at her innocent response to his frankness. Margo was so precious and he was usually relaxed around her, but lately it’d been getting more difficult  being in her presence without wanting to hold and caress her. She got up from her sitting position and placed his old sketchbook neatly back in the spot she’d retrieved it from. 

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow night?” Margo asked gesturing toward the video game case. 

“6 p.m. sharp, girl. That is if I don’t run into too much trouble during my patrol, of course.” 

Margo gave him a closed-mouthed smile of mild contentment before turning away to leave, but Miles didn’t want to part ways on such a lukewarm note. Worried that his previous abruptness offended her more than she was letting on, Miles called out to the avatar before she could depart.

“Margo, hold up.” he rushed the words out causing her to look back at him with slightly raised eyebrows. 

“Yeah?”

“Your hair looks really good. I didn’t get a chance to tell you earlier.”

“Thanks! I actually did it myself…with some help from my mom, but still.” She proudly fiddled with one of the silver cuff decorated strands. 

“Either way it’s fire.” 

Finally, her gapped tooth grin made its appearance at his compliment. Miles considered it a mission completed and pat himself on the back. 

“I’ll see you later.” And with that, she was gone in a blink of an eye. Miles let out a sigh, but it wasn’t one of relief. Quite the opposite actually. You know the feeling pure bliss as the late spring sun shines down on you, providing you with a pleasant warmth and vitality? Then eventually a cloud looms over to block the sun, causing you to feel…deprived and you have no choice but to wait until the cloud passes so you can experience the beaming sunlight again. That’s probably the best way to describe Miles’ discontentment at Margo’s departure. Although to be fair, he did basically shoo her away.

‘I need to get goddamn grip.’ the lovelorn boy scolded himself as he plopped down on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands. With his laundry already folded and his plans to go to the store with Rio not til this afternoon, Miles decided to pass some time by sketching a little. He unlocked his nightstand and hidden in plain sight amongst a bunch of miscellaneous objects were the dimensional travel watch Hobie had given him and a sketchbook he’d gotten at Marshals. Miles plucked the sketchbook from the drawer and went to sit at his drafting table. This particular sketchbook was different than his others. It had a silvery, rainbowish holographic cover and when opening the book, one can expect to be met with a portrait of a smiling Margo Kess with her low afro puffs and blue skin. If you turn the page there was another sketch of the avatar…then another…then another and so forth. Miles flipped to the last few pages of the sketch book and picked up his navy blue colored pencil to create the outline of intricate bubble braids. His tendency to put people- specifically girls- on pedestals contributed to his downfall last year and he was too grown to make the same mistakes, but old habits die hard and Miles shamelessly sketched his avatar friend with the rationalization that 

‘As an artist, it’s my right to capture what I find aesthetically pleasing.’

#miles morales #margo kess #miles/margo #flowerbyte #across the spiderverse #spiderman atsv #spider man: across the spider verse #cyberflower #jefferson morales

[maaxverstappen]

I’ve been asking ppl cus im nosy. What’s your writing process like if any? Do u have a preferred place or time. Preferred device. Do u write rough drafts then edit or is it much more considered. How do u decide that an idea is worth fleshing out or pursuing if it looks like it’s plotty. Pls yap at length if u so wish — wiz

i love this question!! and would love to know other answers so if you want to reblog them i shall be on the lookout 👀.

i answered partly here so will just like build on that!!

the process is that i’ll have an idea and depending on how large it is write out some sort of outline. my preference for all planning in life is on paper so i have a little journal that ill write out some ideas in. kind of brainstorm / mind map style of just jotting down random ideas that come to mind.

however, with longer fics like my current post-as-i-go wip i have to do it digital bc so much changes and it’s too long (see pics in previous ask). that one i actually started planning in my notes app on a plane bc the idea had to come out of me someway and i was really excited about it. i then transferred it to a google doc and added onto my chapter per chapter outline (1st pic in previous ask). i felt like that was a bit overwhelming for understanding the overall plot so then i went and made a simple overview of the key plot points per chapter (the 2nd pic in previous ask) just so i felt like i had a better understanding of the goal per chapter.

now when i sit down to write a chapter ill get both the detailed notes and the main plot points and just write whatever i feel like in order to get to the goal of the chapter.

for shorter one shot fics i’ll either have no full outline or a one page idea list kind of thing. for instance, for worth the trouble i knew that it would start and end in the present time and then everything in between would be a flashback, but i didn’t know the flashbacks would be non chronological until i was writing it. same for the chewing gum aspect that ends up being quite an important part of the symbolism and that almost weaves the parts together, that wasn’t a *thing* until i was almost finished with the rough draft and i then went to add it in to previous scenes.

for my long fic i have to be a bit more calculated with the hidden messages/foreshadowing as i can’t go back and edit published chapters lmao so that is a little more thought out + i keep track of loose ends to tie together at some point.

editing is a bit of a harder one. for my long fic my overal editing is per chapter, but i do tend to go back and edit per section too. like right now I’m writing a texting scene and first i wrote the plain texting dialogue, then i went back to add the bits in between from characters’ pov. then i’ll read over it fully and edit where needed. finally when the whole chapter is done ill read over it and edit again, but at that point it’s mainly grammar and punctuation.

my main writing issues i’ve noticed so far is that i tend to switch tenses without realising so that’s something i look out for when editing. i also am always worried they don’t *do* enough so i like to think “hmm what action can i add in here to make them more human” when editing.

so far only worth the trouble has been beta read, the rest i do myself. if I’m stuck i will talk through a lot of it with my partner who will give me some ideas and just like help lmao (she’s also the one that beta read wtt!). but she’s not in the f1 fandom so it’s a little hard to have her beta read for characterisation and specific plot points so i do that myself. like when she beta read wtt she gave a few points of feedback that weren’t too relevant bc the average f1 fic reader would understand (like the significance of spa21, there is no need to explain it).

I’m a baby fic writer so a lot of my process will be redefined and refined as i go I’m sure.

as for deciding what to write, it’s really whatever captures my attention. the prompt for help me hold onto you is one i really liked and a trope i love reading myself. i was also ready to challenge myself to a longer plot fic and i was really excited about the idea so i just went for it! my main consideration is really just how excited i am for it.

i will say that i am currently really struggling with perfectionism / imposter syndrome. I’m having a hard time getting the words onto paper bc it feels like it’ll never be as good as my favourite authors anyway so what’s the point. (which is now also impacting the way i read fics bc it makes me sad that ill never write anything as good as what I’m reading lol)

i generally write on my laptop! in a google doc with grammarly activated and the word count on screen (which pisses me off bc i have to turn it back on after every refresh). i wrote my latest crafty!oscar on my phone (bc i was too excited to wait till i got to my laptop) but wouldn’t ever do that for anything much longer or plot-ier than that.

i fear this has gotten very long. i know u said yap away but …. i perhaps have yapped too close to the sun.

#really liked answering this :-) and the fic writer asks from the weekend too. so fun #she says as she still has unanswered asks from that game in her inbox #anyway #thanks wiz <3 a community gem as always #m answers #about me

[ndrayton]

Ghost Stories Postmortem!!!

It’s me, FieryGaze!!! Now that Chapter 13 is out and posted and my brain has freed up about 75% of its RAM, I wanted to make a post just to reflect on the journey, drop some fun facts, & explain the intent behind some of my choices. Here they are in no particular order.

Spoilers beware, obviously. I'm going to be talking about the whole fic here.

Episode Titles

Each episode title refers to two things at once – the monster or challenge the group is facing, plus one other important thematic element. “The Demon King” is the simplest one, referring both to the actual Demon King and then to Kim Dokja gaining that power for himself. The others are a little more open to interpretation, but were chosen with the intention of referring to 2 specific things.

Constant reappearance of the number “Thirteen”?

I’d like to say there was a lot of thought behind this, but there wasn’t. I just went “ooo, unlucky number” and ended up repeating it as often as possible. 13 years since KDJ and HSY met; 13 years spent in the spirit world chasing the Endless Cycle; 13 loops before KDJ met YJH. It was a lucky coincidence that the chapter count also happened to be 13 (I’d initially planned for twelve, and everything that happened in Unseen World was supposed to be squished into the end of Infinite Loop Part II. When I realized that was absolutely NOT going to give me enough space to resolve everything, I was delighted to realize that I could make the chapter count 13 and have it be thematically relevant and Not just a case of poor planning).

Lee Seolhwa also states that the number 7 is significant for certain spirits. I just think it’s fun that the total chapter count ended up as 13 and the total Episode count as 7.

Perspective and Tense Changes

From the beginning, the use of first person was actually a bit of a false flag—it’s meant to represent the ghost of Kim Dokja, trapped in the loop, imagining himself as the living version of himself going on these adventures. Kim Dokja as the narrator states this outright.

It was about time I stopped pretending that “I” was really this person called Kim Dokja. (Ch. 11)

Maybe I pretended for a while, for a long while, that it was really “me” who was fighting at your side. (Ch. 13)

The first person narration also tends to flip between present and past tense, especially in later chapters when Ghost!KDJ begins using second person to refer to Han Sooyoung and Yoo Joonghyuk, but also when he’s making general observations about the world. It’s not technically grammatically correct, but I was trying to grant a small step of separation between him and the other characters, whose perspectives are written more strictly in third person past tense.

The final monologue is also in present tense, unmooring it from the sequence of events of the story, hopefully making it feel a little more dreamlike/internal. I feel like I’m allowed to mess with tenses this much only because it’s an orv fic and I’m not afraid to get meta.

I also used present tense during almost all of chapter 10. I wanted it to feel like a whole separate fic-within-a-fic, and a lot of fanfic is written in present tense, so I was deliberately evoking that (including See You Yesterday, undeniably a MAJOR inspiration for this chapter). I also wanted to provide a sense of immediacy—Yoo Joonghyuk truly believes that what he’s experiencing in the dream is really happening to him, right now—that I could pull back on once he realized he was dreaming, returning to past tense and the main flow of the larger story.

As a side note, by the time I finally finished chipping away at chapter 10 I thought it was awful, so I was surprised and delighted when it became everyone’s favourite chapter, lmao. This is probably why people have beta readers, to get a little bit out of their own heads. Anyway, the positive response to that chapter really brightened my week.

… My favourite scenes 😊

The first scene I really had a blast with was probably the possession scene—what can I say, you don’t make a “Paranormal investigation AU” without wanting to play with a few of its standard tropes. That’s when I realized I could happily keep writing this fic for as long as it took to finish it (I initially planned for 2 months. It became 4.)

I also had such a fun time writing all of “Blank Message”, from the kids bullying poor Dokja to what amounts to me basically just drawing hearts around Yoo Joonghyuk’s name as he fails to use technology but also gets to be the most specialest boy in the world. That episode practically wrote itself, honestly. I accidentally wrote like 12,000 words of it in my phone notes app because I kept having ideas at work and had little else to do during our slow season.

My actual favourite scene, though, might be Yoo Joonghyuk cooking in Han Sooyoung’s kitchen in Ch. 12? I just thought it was sweet. Maneuvering those two into a position where they could be emotionally vulnerable with each other was a challenge. My notes for that section are funny to me, I’m just struggling to get to the heart of the scene and yelling at them to please be emotionally vulnerable.

... There was like 500 more words of this.

I can’t help but feel the yoohan corner of yoohankim got a little neglected in this fic, but it’s because they had so many unresolved issues that I couldn’t just leap ahead to the romance angle without first addressing them… and by then the fic was kinda over. Please understand, however, that they love and understand each other deeply despite (because of??) being the way they are. Maybe I’ll explore that more in future stories. Who could say.

Most challenging part to write?

Wrong Room Part II, Forgotten Boy Part II, and the first bit of Devourer of Dreams Part II before Kim Dokja showed up (it was way easier to write once he was there because the joongdok dynamic really pulled the plot along).

All three of these had significant rewrites and Forgotten Boy Part II took me like… an entire week to figure out. The Part II’s tended to be tricky because that’s when I was making all the setup from Part I pay off, but I wanted it to be engaging and exciting and not feel too paint-by-numbers. I learned a lot writing these!

What was Yoo Joonghyuk saying at the end of Blank Message that got censored?

“▪▪ ▪▪▪ ▪▪▪▪▪▪ ▪▪▪ ▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪ ▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪ ▪▪ ▪▪▪▪▪”

“Do you really not remember…”

Well, maybe you can intuit the rest from context clues (what Mia was saying just beforehand).

There was a bunch of other censoring when Kim Dokja was trying to explain to Yoo Joonghyuk where all his special knowledge of the time loop came from, but I didn’t actually note it down as it was all pretty much able to be inferred, like “the loop is actually based on a book series”.

There’s certainly more to find, but that’s all I have to say for now!

I fun with foreshadowing, but I’m not going to call out anything specific, because I think it adds to reread value. There’s an especially mean bit of “foreshadowing” in one part that had me absolutely cackling. Let me know if you find it.

Anyway!

I had no plans to put so much time and effort into writing fanfic this year, and yet here I am with 120,000 words in four months, which is… FAR AND ABOVE my normal writing pace, especially lately. What can I say? Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint is a really special story and I don’t have any friends who have read it, which put my brain into an absolute pressure-cooker for which the only release could be writing orv a novel-length love letter.

I’m seriously thankful for everyone who read the story and left so many emphatic, excited, and kind comments. The readers absolutely transformed this experience from something I was plodding away at by myself just to see if I could do it into something I was really excited to share with others, and as a result I put a lot more effort and care into the story.

I do have a few other ideas for this AU—for which the seeds are actually already planted in the story—but, as I mentioned in my author’s note, I desperately need to take a fanfic break for a while. I can’t promise if/when I’ll get back to it, but I would definitely like to at some point.

IN ANY CASE, FOR THE LAST TIME ON THIS ADVENTURE….

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#Ghost Stories AU #orv fic #Fire's rambling

[seyaryminamoto]

I apologise if this question may lead to a massive spoiler, but I wish to know the answer all the same; What do you think will be the dynamic between Azula and Ursa in the future of this fic? I believe that they may reconcile, but will Azula accept the former princess in her new family? What may be the dynamic between the two? Will Sokka be the glue in their relationship? All I would like to know in my rambling is how Ursa's and Azula's relationship may develop into the future.

Ooookay, that answer goes under the break 🤣 read at your own risk, people!

God I kinda don't wanna talk too much because so many Ursa-related things have been some of my best kept secrets throughout Gladiator's process... but I also wanna talk so much about it because I'm very hyped over this and I love to see people who are also interested in how this will play out!

So... let's get cracking:

What will their dynamic be? Azula and Ursa's dynamic will start tense, for sure. Even when neither of them actively wants to antagonize the other, the years of trouble between them, the unresolved issues, are still very much present between them. Ursa is now much more aware of the awful effect she had on her daughter during her younger years, she has been punished harshly for it by the swamp, which absolutely drove home the point that she was already starting to understand, at the time when she left the Fire Nation: she wasn't the best mother she could have been to her daughter. Azula, on the other hand, has been through soooooooo much that her early issues with Ursa, while not meaningless because they never could be, certainly appear a lot less awful now that she can see them from a distance, so to speak. Therefore, initial tension, cordiality, and then... ... And then they'll find one point in common. The one thing only the two of them would EVER understand. One thing that basically bonds them in ways that they can't bond with anyone else. Ursa can't have that dynamic with Zuko. Azula could never have it with anyone else either. It's very specifically something very important for them, so important that these two would be the ONLY people who would ever understand each other when it comes to this... And that basically breaks the dam and changes things for the better :'D they become a lot more open with each other, their relationship begins to heal, and things get a lot better quite quickly for their restored parent-child relationship. While obviously it's too late to make things perfect, they absolutely can them better, and both Ursa and Azula will be ready to make those efforts for each other.

Will Azula accept Ursa in her family? As you may guess after reading the previous answer? Yes, haha. Azula will work towards fixing one very serious problem Ursa needs solving, and after that, Ursa's basically going to be like Persephone and spend half a year with one of her hids and half the year with the other one. At least, that's my current plan for her future 😂

Will Sokka be the glue in their relationship? ... Actually? No 🤣 someone else will be the glue, so to speak, but Sokka certainly will help and he will be the one who tells Azula what's up with her mother. He'll give her the chance to decide what she wants to do, when to meet her, and how to manage the whole situation. Of course, he will tell her everything he's learned from Ursa and how affected she has been by the things she's been through, but all in all, he steps back and allows them to build their bond themselves rather than being their facilitator. But he will definitely help, and Ursa will be stoked to see those two together once she finally does... though Azula, of course, will be very awkward about it because it's Azula. Poor girl won't know how to handle having a supportive mother in some regards, and if Ursa spots any PDA, Azula will most likely be embarrassed to death by it... but a little embarrassment over this is definitely a step-up compared to the awful things she's had to deal with as of late :'D so I'm sure Azula will be very happy to trade her current problems with: "I can't kiss you in front of my MOM that's awkward" "Azula we're literally forty years old..." "Your point???"

Soooo... as you can see, it will develop. Quite a bit. It will become healthier than it has ever been. No doubt the scars can't be erased completely, but Azula can gain a better understanding of her mother and her circumstances, just as much as Ursa has come to accept that she absolutely fucked up in many regards and could have/should have done better for her daughter.

Hope that's a good answer without being... too spoilery 😂

#metallic-lighght #gladiator spoilers #thanks for asking! #... I love talking about Gladiator Ursa #how the fuck I ever went from 'ugh poor Azula her mother sucks' #to simping the hell out of that woman #I'll never know #but honestly I'm so glad #the potential of this character is just so solid once you see it #and I'm glad I did #I'll be so happy to explore this dynamic once I can! #*rubs hands*