#what can i say except that sometimes i just write whatever comes to mind

[hua-fei-hua]

infinitely

forevermore

cunty

#花話 #what can i say except that sometimes i just write whatever comes to mind

[honeypiehotchner]

kiss her, you fool (Hotch x fem!Reader) -- one shot

Anyway I'm back in the fucking building again!!!! Listened to "Kiss Her You Fool" by Kids That Fly and had this one shot written in like an hour. The love for Aaron Hotchner never dies apparently

Summary: You're in the middle of spring cleaning when Aaron calls and says he forgot something at your place (he didn't).

Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff! I just wanted to write some romance

It’s the middle of the day and you’re in the middle of a cleaning frenzy when your phone rings for what looks like the third time. It’s Aaron.

“Hey! Sorry,” you laugh, grabbing the TV remote to pause your music, phone pressed to your ear with your shoulder. “I’m spring cleaning and clearly way too far in the zone. What’s up?”

“That’s okay,” you can hear him smiling as you readjust your phone in your hand. “Would it be alright if I stopped by? I think I left something there last night.”

You furrowed your brows, spinning around the living room. You definitely would’ve noticed if he left something here last night. You’ve practically turned your entire apartment upside down to clean it.

“Are you sure?” you ask, moving to lift the couch cushions for a third time. “What was it?”

“I’m not sure,” he says, which totally isn’t suspicious at all. “Can I just come look?”

“I mean,” you let out an awkward laugh. “I guess you can. I’ve been cleaning since this morning, though, so I think I would’ve spotted it, but—”

“I’ll be there in fifteen,” he says. “If that’s okay?”

You sigh, selfishly glad you’re getting to see him again, two days in a row. It feels like you’ve hit the jackpot. “Yeah, of course it’s okay.”

“Great, see you in a few.”

“See you,” you bite back your grin, ending the call. You turn the music back on, a little lower so you’ll hear him when he knocks.

You have no earthly idea what he could’ve forgotten. He had his phone and jacket in hand when he left. He never took his wallet or keys out of his jacket pockets, so they must’ve stayed there. Unless either of them fell out, but again, you feel like you would’ve noticed.

Whatever it is, he’ll either find it or realize it isn’t here. Regardless, you’re getting to see him again, so you’ll take it.

With his job, the days that you do see Aaron are typically one long day spent together here and there. Yesterday was an exception, a rare dinner mid-work week because he happened to be done at the office early and you were free, so obviously the opportunity was taken advantage of. It’s only been a few weeks of seeing one another, so you both take any chance you can get. 

Despite this, though, things have moved…slow. Slower than you expected because, to be frank, every guy you’ve been with has been quick and to the point. Not that you always minded that. Sometimes you wanted the same thing — quick, hot, heavy. But those days have since left you, and you went through a period of seeing no one, aside from one guy who left as soon as you said you were interested in moving slowly. 

It’s nothing against Aaron, but when he first introduced himself at your local coffee shop, you kind of assumed he’d be the same. It’s hard not to assume when everyone acted that way, and when the men who frequent said coffee shop don’t exactly have the best track record for being polite and respectful.

Aaron, though, took weeks to ask for your number, let alone to join your table one morning to sip his coffee — and even then, you offered him the seat; he didn’t invite himself. That alone was enough for you to agree to give him your number, and then to an official first date.

He kissed your cheek after the first date, your forehead after the second, and kept to those areas alone. You found yourself wondering if something was wrong with you somehow, but he wasn’t disinterested. Quite the opposite, actually, from how he held your hand and kept his arms around you, how he made sure you were safely inside your apartment before heading off, how he still texted when he arrived home to ask you if you were still safely inside.

Or when he had to cancel a date last minute, and sent flowers to your apartment in lieu of his presence. He apologized over the phone, but the flowers had an apology note attached too. And another apology when he arrived at your door four days later, fresh off the plane, with a real explanation of his job and why he didn’t have time to explain it all to you before he left.

Your friends think it’s a little crazy, that it’s been almost a month of dating and there hasn’t been a single kiss — “On the cheek doesn’t count!” they argue. You think it does. If anything, you’re just happy there’s no pressure.

The underlying anxiety is there, sure, of what if it never happens? But you can’t bring yourself to entertain the thought. Mainly because you want to kiss him so bad, you’re practically going to leap onto him one of these days.

You’re mid-dance when a knock sounds on your door and you jump, having forgotten Aaron said he would be here soon. You turn the music down as you head for the door, unlocking it to let him in.

He stands there in his usual dark suit, sans tie this time so the top buttons are undone, bouquet of flowers in hand and dumb smile on his face.

“What are these for?” you ask when he hands them to you. 

He steps inside and shuts the door, pausing to press a kiss to your forehead. “Because I wanted to.”

You give him a look, cheeks feeling warm. “If you keep doing this ‘because you want to,’ I’m gonna need to open a flower truck,” you joke, gesturing to the other vase of flowers sitting in your window. And there’s another in the bathroom. And one in your bedroom. 

“Just let me know what kind of truck you want,” he teases.

You press the flowers to your nose to hide your smile. “Oh, what did you forget? You’re welcome to look for it, but—”

He lets out a laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, I might have lied.”

“I knew you were, you idiot,” you swat playfully at his arm. You turn to head into the kitchen in search of another vase. “I got off the phone and paced around like what did he possibly leave here? I figured maybe your wallet or something, but I definitely would’ve found it earlier. You should’ve seen the living room this morning — I had the couch on its side and the coffee table in the middle of the hallway—”

You’re in the middle of rambling, digging around under the sink for a vase, when Aaron pulls you up by your hand, spinning you to face him.

“—it was a disaster trying to vacuum. Remind me never to do that unless you’re over here to lift all of it. I think I nearly—”

He’s smiling at you, and you don’t have a single moment to spare to register that he’s leaning in before his lips are on yours. 

You sigh into the kiss, pleasantly surprised to be interrupted in this way, and glad your hands are free so you can hold onto him. Maybe this is why it’s good he hadn’t kissed you yet — one second of it and you’re ready to collapse under the sweet weight of it all. His arms circle your waist to lift you up, and your arms circle his neck, keeping him close. As close as you’ve really wanted him.

When you finally break for air, it’s only to press your foreheads against one another’s, not wanting to move too far.

“Well,” you laugh.

“Technically,” he says, pausing to peck your nose, “that’s what I forgot last night.”

You roll your eyes. “You are so stupid.”

“Mm, just because it makes you smile,” he says, kissing your lips again, and again. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Ideally,” you pause, letting him kiss you again, “ordering dinner in and making out with my boyfriend until the sun rises. You?”

“You know, I was thinking about taking someone special out to dinner,” he pauses, pulling you closer again, “and then kissing her until she tells me to stop.”

“That could be forever, for all you know.”

“That’s fine with me.”

You grin and he kisses you again, pausing to say, “Sorry, I can’t help myself—”

“Trust me,” you move even closer, your eyelashes practically touching his cheeks when you blink, “you don’t need to apologize.”

He responds by kissing you some more, and more, until he’s lifting you into his arms and placing you on the kitchen counter. 

“Aaron!” you squeal, nearly crushing the bouquet. “Let me move the flowers at least!”

“I’ll buy you another,” he says, just a whisper away from kissing you again. 

“You know—” You have to pause in between words as he presses his lips to yours. “—I still have—cleaning—Aaron,” you giggle. “I need to put my apartment back together.”

“Do you?” he asks, relenting only slightly, his fingertips pressing into your lower back, keeping you against him. “Do you need help?”

“I do actually,” you chuckle, running your fingers through his hair. “The couch isn’t back where it was.”

He smirked. “I noticed.”

You tug on his hair slightly to tease him for that jab, only it lights a new spark behind his eyes. Your cheeks grow even warmer. “No, seriously,” you say. “It’ll stress me out if it’s not back in its spot, but then…”

He nods, kissing your lips. “Then we’ll get ready for dinner.”

“And then come back here for a movie?”

“We’ll see how much of the movie we actually pay attention to,” he smirks, eyes traveling all over your face. 

The urge to let him ravish you right now against the kitchen counter is so strong it nearly makes you lightheaded. But soon Aaron is helping you down, pressing another kiss to your forehead. 

“Did you get to vacuum under the couch all the way?”

“…kind of.”

“Come on,” he chuckles, pulling on your hand, leading you back into the living room. “Call me next time?”

“If I get kissed like that during spring cleaning then I’m doing it every day,” you reply, mostly joking. Kind of. “Fuck I forgot the vase for the flowers—”

Aaron kisses you to interrupt you once again. “One thing at a time,” he says.

The kissing doesn’t stop, and you never do get to vacuum under the couch. It can wait.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fluff #hotch x fem!reader #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotch fluff #i clearly just needed some romance in my life idk #kiss her you fool #big fan of hotch buying you flowers constantly bc he simply wants to #bigger fan of him not being able to help himself around you #back in the fucking BUILDING AGAIN #criminal minds #fluff

[physalian]

What No One Tells you about Writing #3

Opening this up to writing as a whole, because it turns out I have a lot more to say!

Part 1

Part 2

1. You don’t fall in love with your characters immediately

But when you do, it’s a hit of serotonin like no other. I’d been writing a tight cast of characters for my sci-fi series since 2016 and switched over in a bout of writer’s block this year to my new fantasy book. I made it about ⅓ through writing the book going through the motions, unable to visualize what these new characters look like, sound like, or would behave like without a ‘camera’ on them.

Then, all of a sudden, I opened my document to keep on chugging with the first draft, and it clicked. They were no longer faceless elements of my plot, they were my characters and I was excited to see what they could accomplish, rooting for them to succeed. Sometimes, it takes a while, but it does come.

2. Sometimes a smaller edit is better than a massive rewrite

Unless you’re changing the trajectory of your entire plot, or a character’s arc really is unrecoverable, sometimes even a single line of dialogue, a single paragraph of introspection, or a quick exchange between two characters can change everything. If something isn’t working, or your beta readers consistently aren’t jiving with a character you yourself love, try taking a step back, looking at who they are as a person, and boil down what your feedback is telling you and it might demand a simpler fix than you expect.

Tiny details inserted at the right moment can move mountains. Fan theories stand on the backs of these minutiae. One sentence can turn a platonic relationship romantic. One sentence can unravel a fair and just argument. One sentence can fill or open a massive plot hole.

3. Outline? What outline?

Not every book demands weeks upon weeks of prep and worldbuilding. I would argue that jumping right in with only a vague direction in mind gives you a massive advantage: You can’t infodump research you haven’t done. Exposition is forced to come as the plot demands it, because you haven’t designed it yet.

Not every story is simple and straightforward, but even penning the first draft with your vague plan, *then* going back and adding in deeper worldbuilding elements, more thematic details, richer character development, can get you over the writer’s block hurdle and make it far less intimidating to just shut up and write the book.

4. It’s okay to let your characters take the wheel

I’ve seen writing advice that chastises authors who let their characters run wild, off the plan the story has for them. Yeah, doing this can harm your pacing and muddy a strong and consistent arc, but refusing to leave the box of your outline greatly limits your creativity. I do this particularly when writing romantic relationships (and end up like Captain Crunch going Oops! All Gays!).

Did I plan for these two to get together? No, it just happened organically as I wrote them talking, getting closer, getting to know each other better in the circumstances they find themselves in. Was this character meant to be gay? Well, he wasn’t meant to be straight, but you know what, he’d work really well with this other boy over here. None of that would have happened if I was bound and determined to follow my original plan, because my original plan didn’t account for how the story that I want to tell evolves. You aren’t clairvoyant—it’s okay if it didn’t end up where you thought it would.

5. Fight. Scenes. Suck.

Which is crazy because I love fantasy and sci-fi, the actiony-est genres. Some authors love battle scenes and fistfights. It comes naturally to them and I will forever be jealous. I hate fight scenes. I hate blocking and choreographing them. I hate how it doesn’t read like I’m watching a movie. I hate how it could take me hours to write a scene I can read in 5 minutes. I hate that there’s no way around it except to just not write them, or put in the elbow grease and practice.

Whatever your writing kryptonite is, don’t be too hard on yourself. It won’t ever replicate the movie in your head, but our audience isn’t privy to that movie and will be none the wiser of how this didn’t fit your expectations, because it’s probably awesome on its own. It could be a fight scene, sex scene, epic battle, cavalry charge, courtroom argument, car chase—whatever. Be patient, and kind to yourself and it will all come together.

6. Write the scenes you want to write first

And then be prepared to never use them. It can be mighty difficult working backwards from a climax and figuring out how to write the story around it, but if you’re sitting at your laptop staring at your cursor and watching it blink, stuck on a tedious moment that’s necessary but frustrating, go write something exciting. Even if that amazing scene ends up no longer working in the book your story becomes, you still get practice by writing it. Particularly if you hate beginnings or the pressure of a perfect first page is too high, you’re allowed to write any other moment in the book first.

And with that, be prepared to kill your darlings. Not your characters, I mean that one badass line of dialogue living rent free in your head. That epic monologue. That whump scenario for your favorite character. Sometimes it just doesn’t work out anymore, but even if it ends up in the trash, you can always salvage something from it, even if that’s only the knowledge of what not to do in the future.

7. “This is clearly an author insert.” … Yes. It is. Point?

No one likes Mary Sues, because a character who doesn’t struggle or learn to get everything they want in life is uncompelling. The most flagrant author inserts I see aren’t Mary Sues, they’re nerdy, awkward, boring white guys whose world changes to fit their perspective, instead of the other way around—they don’t have anything to say. I’m not the intended audience to relate to these characters and I accept that, but I don’t empathize with the so-called “strong female character” who also doesn’t have flaws or an arc either.

A good author insert? When the author gives their characters pieces of themselves. When the “author insert” struggles and learns and grows and it’s a therapeutic experience just writing these characters thrown into such horrible situations. They feel human when they’re given pieces of a human’s soul. They have real human flaws and idiosyncrasies. I don’t care if the author wrote themselves as the protagonist. I care that this protagonist is entertaining. So if you want to make yourself the hero of your book, go for it! But make sure you look in the mirror and write in your flaws, as much as your strengths.

#writing advice #writing resources #writing tips #writing tools #writing a book #writing #writeblr #fantasy #scifi

[steddielations]

nsfw text, bdsm, sub eddie

Eddie’s always the more dominant one running the show with his hookups. It’s nice but it’s been so long since someone put him down, cleared his mind of everything except pleasing and being pleased.

He doesn’t know why he complains about it to Steve, who’s as golden vanilla as they come, who only offers a snort as he passes the joint back, “Eddie Munson can’t find someone who wants to slap him around? I can’t believe it.”

Eddie takes a disgruntled puff as Steve suggests he looks through their old high school yearbook, call up some of those guys that would gladly take a swing at him.

Eddie tries to tell him it’s not just about getting slapped around, it’s the whole mentality of it. The weed must be getting to his head, he can’t find the right words, but Eddie being Eddie, nerdy about anything that piques his interest, from dnd to submission, he’s got it all written down in his journal.

He’s not even all that high, doesn’t know why he willingly hands it over to Steve beside him on the couch, or why his neck prickles with heat even though few things truly embarrass him, or why it feels kinda good.

Steve almost teases him again but Eddie already looks strangely timid about showing him. It’s Eddie, so writing a guide for his weird sex is a very Eddie thing, and maybe Steve’s a little endeared by it, whatever. So he doesn’t joke, he blinks the glaze from his eyes and scans the page.

He doesn’t know a ton about this stuff, nothing beyond a couple girls asking him to spank them a little or rest a hand on their throat, it gave him a rush too but he tried not to think too hard about why. He expects to see things like that in Eddie’s journal and yeah there’s some, but also, Eddie’s written out why he wants what he wants.

His mind is loud. That riot of energy that surrounds Eddie, it’s hectic inside too, buzzing next to Steve even now. Almost a magnetic pull, sometimes Steve gives in, touches Eddie’s shoulder or his knee, just to feel his static, how it flutters and then calms under his hand. To be settled, Eddie’s journal says, to let his mind float, to feel nothing but intensely good, to trust someone else to think for him.

Steve’s seen Eddie parading around, the way he basks in any kind of attention and clearly enjoys having his way, but Steve can see the thrill of having that taken away from him. To be put down, the journal says, made to feel small with words, some mean and some sweet, with hands, both rough and soft. Eddie wants to be held down and fucked, overwhelmed to tears and praised for taking it, to be told he’s a good boy despite himself.

Steve’s face heats, doesn’t know why he’s thinking about what it’s like to make Eddie Munson feel small, to turn all his big fancy words to mush in that loud mouth that drives Steve crazy sometimes, to be the one this absolute hell of a boy wants to be good for.

Eddie suddenly reaches out, “Okay I think that’s—”

“Wait, I wasn’t done,” Steve holds onto the journal, but doesn’t keep reading, seeing how Eddie looks more flustered than Steve’s ever seen him.

“Harrington, this is getting kinda humiliating, man.”

Steve smirks before he can stop himself. “Thought that’s what you wanted.”

Eddie’s eyes go wide, sinking back against the couch. His face flushes slightly red in a way that puts a strange flutter in Steve’s stomach, seeing how he affected Eddie like that. His hand lands on Eddie’s thigh before he realizes he’s reaching out, feeling how he tenses then relaxes under the touch, looking as silently shocked as Steve feels.

“Not judging, Eddie, I swear. Just let me finish reading, okay?”

Eddie scoffs a nervous laugh, fidgeting and covering his mouth as he nods.

Steve goes back to the journal and his hand tightens just a bit when he sees what’s there. Eddie mutters something, biting down on his knuckles but he doesn’t pull away. It all makes Steve‘s palm heat up against his thigh, reading the next thing Eddie wants.

To be spanked, just hard enough, it’s more about the shame of the sting, the rush that comes from being a little helpless, the release that comes when his body accepts it all as pleasure. Steve pictures it, Eddie Munson, who treats life like a stage only he was meant to walk on, bent over and taking each hit. The way he’d writhe and bask in the humiliation, finally getting treated like the little star of the freakshow he loves to be.

The flutter in Steve’s stomach twists tight and hot because in his weed-hazy mind, it’s his lap that Eddie is lying across, it’s his palm stinging and making Eddie whimper, it’s him that Eddie’s looking up at with watery eyes begging to be ruined.

Steve swallows thickly when he comes to the next thing. The handcuffs. He’s always been transfixed by Eddie’s hands, how nice they look in all his bulky silver rings and chain bracelets.

He wonders if Eddie would look even better in handcuffs.

His eyes wander over to Eddie’s hands again, where he still happens to have two fingers bitten between his teeth, cheeks flushed and eyes widened at Steve. It’s a sight Steve doesn’t have time to really revel in how it makes him feel because Eddie darts forward, snatching the journal.

“Alright okay, I think you get it, the freak is into freaky shit, big surprise.”

Steve drags a hand through his hair, plays it cool even though he’s hot all over for some reason. “Yeah, you’re pretty freaky, but it doesn’t seem like much you’re asking for. I mean, nothing I couldn’t see myself doing.”

And Steve didn’t mean it like that, did he? Eddie seems to think so, he starts floundering to put the journal away, nervously laughing and muttering again. Steve watches him, trying to figure out why he likes seeing Eddie so flustered, then Eddie suddenly stops.

His eyes flick down to Steve’s lap and—

Oh.

“Steve… why do you have a boner right now?”

#this one’s from twt hehe #steddie #steddie smut #eddie munson #rueswriting #steve harrington #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #mp

[cheeseceli]

Sides of SKZ they only show around their s/o

Pairing: ot8!skz × gn!reader (individually)

Genre: fluff and maybe a little bit of angst

A/n: idk if that makes sense and I'm sorry if it happens to be repetitive but ! I liked to write it so yeah. As always, not proofread

Bang Chan - He's Reckless

Being the eldest sibling, eldest member and the leader of stray kids, Chan became pretty much a parental figure for many. He's always looking out for everybody, making sure everything is okay and dealing with any problem. Don't get him wrong, he loves his job and the people in his life, but sometimes it's exhausting to take care of everything. When he met you though, everything changed. He feels that he can let go. He can be reckless and ask for attention some times. Because, for once, there's someone taking care of him.

Lee Know - He's scared

Usually, he is a confident and even cocky guy. With you though, he is scared. Scared that he might lose you. Scared that his job or personality might scare you. Scared that someone out there is better than him and you'd soon find out. He can't bear to lose you, he doesn't want to imagine a life without you in it. So he'll fight each one of his fears if that means you'll be with him till the very end.

Changbin - He doesn't care

I feel like he always wants to give people the right impression. He wants to say the right thing, behave the right way and hope people will be always satisfied. But suddenly he doesn't care that much anymore. Because he already managed to impress you and you're more than satisfied. Above all of that, you love him. People's opinions are not that important after all.

Hyunjin - He's aware

Always an artist, he knew how to appreciate the beauty in the world since a young age. But since he fell for you every moment seems like an epiphany. The autumn leaves are beautiful, falling with grace. The old lady talking to a kid brings tears to his eyes for an unknown reason. He realises how the breeze is refreshing and how he loves you dearly. He thinks for a second that maybe you're the one who brought life to this world, and he is so happy that he can see all this beauty when he's with you.

Han - He doesn't think

Most of the time, he's too self conscious about his actions and his words, like he needs to be super cautious with everything. Self doubt and overthinking is part of his routine at this point, except when you're with him. You're his safe place. Whenever you're with him, he just does or says whatever he thinks and is never scared you'll judge him, because he knows you never would.

Felix - He's protective

He has a kind nature. He usually doesn't look up for confrontation and is always gentle. But then you came to his life as the most precious treasure he ever saw and now he wants to protect it. Because you're the light of his life and he'll fight anything and anyone if that means you'll be safe. He would happily be your knight in a shining armour if you asked him.

Seungmin - He's vulnerable

Most people only see his "mean" personality or how he doesn't show a lot of affection towards others. We all know he actually is really caring but when it comes to you he's also vulnerable. He doesn't care if one can perceive him as "weak", and he's not scared of oversharing by accident. When he's with you, he's made of glass, but he doesn't mind as he knows you'd never break him.

I.N - He's perfeccionist

You're the best thing to ever happen to him and he is aware of that. He wants to give his all to you and he wants you to be treated like royalty. So he is always trying his best to make sure you're treated like one. He always wants everything to be perfect, because he believes that perfect is still so little compared to what you truly deserve.

Feedbacks and reblogs are always appreciated!

Dividers by @cafekitsune

#totally self indulged btw lmao #celi headcanon #skz fluff #stray kids soft thoughts #stray kids #stray kids soft hours #skz x reader #stray kids fluff #skz x you #stray kids x reader #skz #bang chan × reader #bang chan fluff #bang chan #lee know fluff #lee know #changbin fluff #changbin #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin #han fluff #han #felix fluff #felix #seungmin fluff #seungmin #i.n #i.n fluff #jeongin #jeongin fluff

[leclercings]

Crush | Charles Leclerc x Reader | Part 2

Genre: Angst, Pining

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: You're in love with your best friend, Charles Leclerc, and he finally knows it…

A/N: Unrequited love sucks. It inspired me to write this though. Here's part two. What started off as a one shot has become a three part mini series, hope y'all enjoy it.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Masterlist

He kisses you again. And again.

You lightly trace his jawline with your fingers. He pulls you in closer, his heart beating against yours.

You finally pull away.

You both keep staring at each other, unable to speak.

You've always been super impulsive. Sometimes you don't think things through.

Like today. Like this moment.

Even though you'll be moving to Milan soon, you want Charles to know how you feel. Except you forgot the fact that he has a girlfriend.

There's shock in the atmosphere. You don't know what to say.

His hair is disheveled and your lipstick is smeared across his lips.

“Charles, I-”

You hear footsteps.

Charles immediately goes inside his room and locks his door while you stand outside, acting casual.

You take out a tissue from your pocket and wipe off your lipstick.

“All okay?” Pascale asks you. “Where's Charles?”

Your mom stands behind Pascale, a smirk on her ageing face.

“H-he’s inside. He isn't opening the door.” You stutter, still shaken up by the turn of events. You run a hand through your hair.

“Oh this boy will be the death of me.” Pascale knocks. “Charles, come on.”

“Leave him be,” your mom replies. “He needs time.”

Pascale looks utterly confused. She can sense that something is brewing in your mom's mind, but right now she is unable to figure it out.

You go downstairs where your family is waiting.

“Y/N,” your mom says, “Why don't you drop me home?”

You look at her. You definitely need to get out of this headspace you're in- having done something you deeply regret.

“Sure mom, I'll bring the car out.”

You're both sitting in the car. Your mom has switched the radio on and is jamming to the music.

There's too much going in your head so you're quiet.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You shake your head. She insists further.

“Why didn't you tell Charles about your interview? I thought he would've been the first person to know.”

“I didn't know how to. He's been busy with work and I never thought I'd make it.”

She nods in understanding.

“What did you talk about?”

“I kissed him.” You let it out, tears forming in your eyes. It was wild and unexpected.

And surprisingly, reciprocated.

“Y/N, love, don't cry. You do know that he has a girlfriend?” Your mom switches the radio off.

“Oh come on Mom, you encouraged it! I wasn't even willing to go after him.”

“Did I?” Your mom chuckles. “You've loved him for a long time, darling. Anybody can see it, except the idiot himself.”

“It's one sided, Mom.”

“Is it, really?”

You wonder what she means by that. You sigh.

“I think I ruined our friendship.”

Your mom gives you a soft smile, gently stroking your face as you park the car at your family's home.

“Just wait and see. He'll come back to you. As I said before, give him time.” She says, before hugging you goodbye.

“I love you, always.”

“Love you too, Mom.”

It's been a few hours since the inchident. You're worried. Charles hasn't responded to any of your texts.

You feel heartbroken and so disappointed. There is a heaviness inside your chest- a feeling of hopelessness and helplessness.

You kissed Charles. And he kissed you back. The thought makes you smile.

But you don't know if it was an instinct or is it because he likes you too.

Your mom told you to give him time. And that's what you're going to do.

*****

You're busy packing stuff. It's been a hectic week so far.

Whatever happened replays in your mind again and again, but you haven't heard from him.

He hasn't even read your messages.

You feel embarrassed.

You're leaving by the end of this month, and you don't want to leave things on a bad note.

Your room looks cleaner than before. More sorted. Although it doesn't reflect what conflict you are going through internally.

You check the time. It's almost midnight. Your stomach growls, as if on cue. You think of ordering something.

You're going through the options in your phone just as the bell rings.

You open the door to see Charles standing.

“Charles?”

“Can I come in?” He asks.

“You don't need to ask,” you respond, opening the door a little wider.

He enters your home. Everything has been packed in little boxes.

He smells a little funny. Staggering to the sofa, he plops down.

"Charles, are you drunk?” You ask him, sitting opposite to him.

He doesn't respond except by giving you a glare.

“I broke up with Alexandra.”

“What?”

“I told her we kissed.”

You feel guilty. You're the reason he broke up with Alexandra. You know how much she meant to him.

It was selfish of you to do this. But there's a certain happiness inside of you- you can't help but feel relief that maybe, just maybe there's something possible between you and Charles.

“I'm sorry, Charles.”

“I'm not. We need to talk about what happened.”

He looks drowsy, almost stressed.

“You're not in the right frame of mind right now, Charles.”

He bangs his hand against the arm of the sofa, scaring you. You've never seen him this angry and conflicted.

“Why did you kiss me, Y/N?”

“Why do you think so?”

Charles yawns. You know he's not going to remember this conversation in the morning.

“Why don't we,” you get up, helping him up as well, “tuck you in bed and we can talk in the morning?”

He nods. You help him up, stumbling across boxes, leading him to the guest bedroom.

You make him lie down on the bed. He sighs.

You gently kiss his forehead.

“Sleep well, my love.”

You're about to leave but he holds your hand.

“Don't go, please.”

You can see how vulnerable he is. There is a storm of emotions behind his beautiful green eyes.

“I'll come back.”

He loosens his grip.

By the time you come back, he is snoring. You look at him and wonder how on earth are you going to talk to him in the morning.

Taglist - @janeholt3 @rhythmstars @missenclod

#SoundCloud #f1 #formula 1 #charles leclerc #f1 love #cl16 leclercings #leclercings #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 one shot #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 imagines #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #cl16 one shot #cl16 x you #cl16 x reader #cl16 imagine #cl16 #formula one

[nostalgebraist]

the light, and the glass

So there's this particular quality I have, as a fiction writer, and I have very little sense of how common or rare it is.

The quality is closely related to that famous Michaelangelo quip, about his sculptures being "already complete within the marble block":

The sculpture is already complete within the marble block, before I start my work. It is already there, I just have to chisel away the superfluous material.

This is how I feel, too, about my works of fiction. They feel like "real things" that "already exist," in some important sense, before I write them down -- or, indeed, before I even fully know what they contain.

So, for instance, if I haven't yet thought of an ending for a story I'm playing with in my mind, I nonetheless have a vivid sense that this particular story has an ending, and that this ending already is whatever it happens to be. It's only that I haven't managed to "see" it yet.

To clarify the point, consider the contrast between this thing, and two relatively familiar ways of thinking about how fiction gets made:

Conscious, goal-directed craft/artifice. Intending to write a Satisfying Plot in which each character has an Arc, the Story Beats follow logically from one another and are arranged with what is called Good Pacing, the proverbial Cat is Saved, etc., and "solving for" these desiderata in a conscious manner. Or, intending to create something much more outré and unsettling than all that -- but having some specific set of (outre, unsettling) intentions in mind, at the outset, and concocting/arranging the elements of your work in a conscious way guided by these intentions.

Free-wheeling, self-expressive "creativity." Just do whatever, man! Follow your bliss. The canvas is blank and anything is possible. Whatever you feel like putting into that empty space, go ahead and put it there. (The key thing being that, after "putting something there," you'll look and recognize something with origins in you, and your own whims and feelings at a particular moment.)

For me, though, the process of writing, and even of "ideating" (plotting, etc.), feels like a kind of transcription or channeling, as opposed to either of the above.

When I say "channeling," here, I don't mean that I have some actual, mystical belief in a supernatural object revealing itself through me. Not in the woo-woo sense anyway; whatever is really going on here, I am sure it "merely" involves the mechanics of the human mind, as implemented in the physical human brain and body.

But I do mean that it feels a lot like that. Like the story -- and not just the story part of the stories, but the whole thing, the "art object" -- has some real prior existence outside of me, first.

Like I am merely doing my best to "get it right," to be a perfect transmitter for the radio signal. To "do justice" to the "real thing," in the secondary act of writing words onto a page.

To be a courier who transports a valuable object from some originary otherworld into a place which happens to be called "existence" -- and to ensure, as much as possible, that it suffers no disfiguring scrapes during the journey.

----

I should say, though, that there's a lot of the "#1" above in my process too, the conscious-artifice thing.

Except... when I do that kind of thing, the intentions all come from the "real object," and my goal is to fill in whatever I can't see of that object so that everything I can see is preserved.

So: I will come to know, surely and indefeasibly, that the story must have some particular feature. (An event, a little moment, a character feeling a certain way at a certain time, even a specific turn of phrase.) Better to say: I know the story does have this feature. I see it in the marble.

But I can't see everything that's there, already, in the marble. And sometimes these glimpses-from-the-beyond are strange, inconvenient, difficult to "fit" into the current story (or perhaps into any story) in a natural-seeming manner.

And that's my task, when I'm doing the conscious-artifice thing: to take this collection of axiomatically-present glimpses, and build a structure around them into which they can "fit," naturally and even logically, just as if they were ordinary story-building-blocks like their neighbors, being placed here and there for ordinary story-reasons.

----

This has various implications. For one, it determines which kinds of writerly anxieties I suffer from, and which types leave me alone.

Like, I have virtually no self-doubt about my "ideas." About the overall, large-scale goodness-or-badness of the thing I'm creating. At least, not when considered "in principle," in an idealized sense that abstracts away from my actual capabilities as a guy who puts words on pages.

"Was this story, as a whole, a good idea?" is a question I find difficult to ask myself. Even when applied to smaller units, like specific plot points, this kind of question simply goes nowhere when I attempt to think about it. Insofar as my mind can cough up any answer, that answer looks like:

Yes

(after a moment, with mounting bewilderment) Yes, obviously -- how strange even to ask!

(after another moment, and as an afterthought) ...but if it weren't any good, is that really my business? It's not like I came up with it. I was asked to keep it safe and bring it into reality, and I take that duty seriously, but once it has reached its destination I wipe my hands of the matter. Don't shoot the messenger!

It's not, just, that I feel like the "real thing" "already exists." I also feel, always, that the real thing is... really good.

I deeply, thoroughly trust the Muse / Higher Power responsible for originally "making" this stuff. (To speak in relatively woo-woo terms, for ease and clarity.)

The Muse / Higher Power is a seriously skilled artist, much more so than little-old-me; if She makes any errors at all, they are not really mistakes, but "are volitional and are the portals of discovery."

And what's more, there is a sacred, unearthly gleam to the artifacts She makes, perhaps having something to do with that Fairyland, that place-other-than-"existence," in which they are originally made.

It feels like an honor to be designated as a courier for these enchanted things. Perhaps not a deserved honor -- on which more below -- but it's never the nature and value of the transported goods that I doubt.

(There is a definite sense of ritual to the thing that I do, here; a sense of connecting with some other place, definitively apart from our mundane here-and-now, and likewise more important/primary/etc. than the latter. Hence, perhaps, my tendency to not-write for long stretches, and then write in long sustained bursts for many hours at a time, which need a good deal of preliminary building-up-steam before they fully get going; it takes time to pierce, and then fully cross, the veil between worlds. And the various imprints of this stuff on the works themselves are not hard to see, once you're looking for them; they are of course especially transparent in TNC.)

All that being said, I do suffer persistently from a different anxiety.

When Michaelangelo said the thing about the sculpture "already complete within the marble block," he said it as... Michaelangelo.

As a famous, incontrovertibly masterful craftsman. Not a guy likely to suffer from doubts about his ability to put the chisel to the marble block, and reveal precisely that shape which was already there, inside.

But I'm not Michaelangelo. I'm not even sure I'm a good craftsman, much less a great one.

Certainly I've never conceived of myself in this way, even aspirationally. (Well, maybe I did in childhood and adolescence, but that was a very different thing from what I'm talking about now.)

I don't do what a person would do, if they wanted to be a Writer, and strove to be the best one they could. I don't, for the most part, practice my craft. I write because there's a Real Thing that only I can see, and it's not going to make into Existence any other way.

And since I don't write by habit or as practice -- since I only write at times when a Real Thing is in need of some incarnating-work, and I'm the only one around to do it -- I'm not exactly an ideal candidate for the job.

I am like a man who never especially wanted to be a sculptor, never practiced the trade, and was never more-than-ordinarily good with his hands, even... who is then, suddenly, struck with a very literal version of the experience Michaelangelo described.

Who, suddenly and inexplicably, begins to actually see a sculptural masterpiece lurking inside, whenever he looks at a faceless marble block.

What is our protagonist to do? Naturally, he will find a chisel, and begin chipping away. He will feel that these things need to be freed from their prisons, released and revealed to all the world, so that all the world can delight in them as he already does.

But he will be very aware of the unfamiliar way the chisel sits in his hand; of the way that hand trembles, and fails to meet the mark, and sometimes shaves off precious bits of what was really and originally a beautifully formed hand -- so that the hand, in the realized artwork, forever bears some oddity of shape which was not a part of what he saw inside the block, but only a consequence of his own shameful incompetence.

He will feel that his works, such as they are, are an odd mixture of amateurish craft and direct, divine inspiration. Insofar as he is Great, it will be because he has had Greatness thrust upon him, from without. He will feel, sometimes, that his successes have been obtained through a kind of cheating, not won fair-and-square.

And he will feel, always, a particular kind of (justified) impostor syndrome: an awareness that what he is doing, when he sits down before the marble block with the chisel in hand, is a very different sort of thing than what is usually called "sculpting," and what is being practiced by careful, hard-working aspirants just down the road, at the local workshop. The students there call themselves "sculptors," and our protagonist supposes he must call himself a "sculptor" too -- but he knows that behind this coincidence of language, a vast and strange chasm is hidden.

(I worry that this metaphor sounds flattering to me -- I am divinely inspired, they are merely toiling away and following the rules -- when I don't mean it that way at all.

In particular, note that there is nothing in our story to rule out some of the "real" sculptors down the road from also being visionaries who see the finished work in the block. Indeed, I got the metaphor from Michaelangelo, who was precisely this way.

I am only saying that all the conceivable configurations of craft/inspiration are in fact possible: just as it is possible to be skilled but uninspired, it's possible for inspiration to strike someone who lacks the capacity to fully realize its content. And that is how I feel, about my own attempts to create.)

----

When I was getting near the end of Almost Nowhere, and struggling with this kind of feeling, Esther would often reassure me by saying: "you are the light, and you are the glass it shines through."

In other words: you are a transmitter, and you are the source of the transmitted signal. Remember that in actual fact, the "real thing in the marble" came from your own little brain, just as much as the rest of it did. In actual fact, if there is a Muse and a Higher Power, it is really just an additional part of the same creature that holds the chisel, and worries over its trembling hand.

I did, indeed, find this very reassuring. And that's a funny thought, in a way! I imagine that for some people -- and indeed for me, in many other endeavours -- the same sentiment could easily have the opposite effect.

"It's all on you. It's all your responsibility. If any of it is bad, there's no one else to blame. If there is any 'Higher Power' at all, it is only the one inside you at all times, and not able to save you through unexpected intervention, from some true outside."

But I already believed, thoroughly, in the magical potency of the goods I was charged with transporting. If I was (somehow!) their maker, too, then (somehow!) the root of that glimpsed, alien magic was in me.

And so, perhaps, I could trust myself to ferry them into Existence without ruining, without even much dimming, the fairy-gleam from elsewhere that made them what they were.

#blah blah blah

[mrsnancywheeler]

Sometimes when I be bored I think about Finnicks reaction to finding out his sweet girl is being forced into prostitution. Boy would be broken

no this is so real bc I also imagine the most angsty situations whenever I'm slightly bored which is why I write what I do lmao

tw talks about trafficking

but like imagine like you don't want to tell finnick about because he's already struggling and you want to comfort him without him worrying about you. so you bear the weight of it all alone until you can't anymore. you're able to say trips to the Capitol alone are for interviews with ceaser or to entertain the Captiol with whatever talent you've chosen, which is true except you're also being forced to entertain in other ways. and marks or bruises can only be explained as a fall or brushed off so many times before they become suspicious. and finnick notices that sometimes you just don't feel there anymore, like you've left your body, but the moment he brings it to you snap back into being comforting, happy, and supportive. finnick probably knows deep down before he actually comes to terms with it and when he does he's so broken up about it. why you? why didn't you want to tell him? how did he not notice ever sooner? what can he do for you?

and one night you're just laying in bed, he's been staring at the page of a book, but not focused on it. he's too busy fully realizing the truth and there you are laying down, staring at the ceiling, completely gone.

"Snow's selling you isn't he?" Finnick would ask it in the quietest tone and he's trying not to cry because you're his sweet girl, so loveable and soft, and now the Capitol is using you, breaking you down.

And he knows it's true when you just stare back at him, eyes so sad and a little shocked he figured it out. then you're both just staring at each other untill you're both bawling. and finnick is holding you like he's terrified to let go.

"why didn't you tell me?" he's mumbling out between choked sobs

"you just already have so much, I didn't want to add to your plate" and you're just so worried about him and he hates it and loves it

"I'm supposed to help you too, not just you with me. do you understand?" and you're nodding, saying you're sorry, and he's telling you it's okay

AND ON THE FLIP SIDE

finnick's girl, his sweet, gorgeous love, who recently won her games coming to finnick and telling him snow is planning on selling her

like you're all solemn and nervous, playing with your fingers and trying not to cry. finnick is so confused about the silence and what's going on so he's racking his mind to see if he did something.

and eventually with a shaky voice and tears on the brim of your eyelids you're like, "snow's going to sell me" and finnick's world comes crashing down

he's supposed to keep you safe which he already nearly failed at when you were reaped and almost died in the arena. "no, I'll talk to snow, I'll just take more, I can do it, I can handle it. not you, sweet girl, they can't have you." and he's just a wreck of tears trying to scramble for the next move in the chess game of the Captiol

"finnick, you're not going to do that." and your voice is still so soft, hands on his arm . "you can't do more, I can, and I'm popular right now"

and finnick's trying to insist, but you're hushing him as you cry until you start to really sob and crumble in his grasp so he's back in alert mode. stroking you hair, telling you he's got you, that things will turn out okay

anyways yeah a couple long thoughts I had about this, sorry lmao

#wanda 💋 #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x y/n #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair angst #finnick odair x reader fluff #finnick odair x you #finnick odair x reader angst #finnick odair fanfic #anon

[weightgainworld]

How to tease someone else, or at least try.

This is going to be a general guide for doms who are unsure what to say, subs who want to play with their dominant side, and me when I want a refresher on what works.

All of this is what I have tried and works for me. Teasing is an art form and has many different ways to approach it. No approach is right, but there are wrong ways.

1. Some do's and don'ts

-Remember that each person you tease is an individual first. Just because that one guy or girl liked it when you called her a dirty slut, doesn't mean everyone likes that.

- Don't force teasing if the other person doesn't want it. They aren't playing hard to get, and you are not sexy for being more aggressive.

- To find out what that person likes. Sometimes it takes just 10 seconds to see they enjoy pet names on their profile or in a post wherever you read it. It is even easier face-to-face since you can just ask. Even though it is awkward. It can't be weirder than saying something you read in an erotic novel and repeated in the heat of the moment.

- Don't beg for attention. There are exceptions where you can tease someone while still begging, look at tons of subs who beg for pleasure, but as a dom, you need to choose your words carefully. Aka doesn't beg for pictures, dms, etc., and tries to disguise it as shitty teasing.

2. What do you say?

I feel like this is a common question that people have when they are just starting or their brain goes blank under pressure. If you have no idea what the other person likes besides knowing they want to be degraded, try to focus on one or two things you noticed from a photo or their body in person. Take their ass for example, you could describe it as a big wobbly spanking zone, a pretty small butt that needs some red marks, or daddy's favorite body part. If you are a sub or switch, you can in most cases just imagine what you would want someone to say to you. Doesn't always work if the other person doesn't share the same kinks, but it is a starting point that you can work off of. Something is just seeing what other people say while they tease someone. Don't just copy what they say. If you don't have a dominant bone in your body and you do that, it will just be more funny than sexy. See how you can modify what they say to fit the person you are teasing or the situation. A great example is a good boy or a good girl. Both are okay on their own but can be elevated by just adding more passion to it. For example, "You are such a good fucking boy for me playing with yourself and drooling for pleasure."

3. How should you say it?

Unsure if this is helpful to address, but going to mention it anyway. In my opinion, you should say things that fall into the middle ground of sexy but expressive. I roll my eyes when I see someone say 3 or 4 words that are repeated by everyone and their mom. "Nasty slut", "cock whore", "you should be sucking my cock". There is a time and a place for more direct teasing like this though. Some people just want to hear that they are dirty girls while having their hair pulled. That's why seeing what someone likes beforehand can go a long way. However, you could also elevate what you are saying by being more descriptive. You can go from saying, "You are such a slut", to, "You can't help but act like a whore with your tits hanging out." Both ways will get the job done, but being more expressive can help you stand out or just sound sexier. No like I don't use the first example all the time. This is Aldo helpful to keep in mind when writing erotica since you can only say slut, bitch, or cunt so many times before they lose their impact.

4. You can tease without being degrading

This is something that even I forget since I am more of a fan of aggressive domination. However, teasing is more than just saying whatever rude thing you heard in a porno. You can be softer about it like saying, "Are you going to be a good girl and come hump yourself on daddy's hand?" At the end of the day, teasing should be used to push someone you are playing with down a rabbit hole of horny. It is not just so you can vent frustration about not getting that promotion at your job. Not everyone wants to be a slut and that's okay. You can still be a handsome boy who deserves butt rubs while getting pounded.

5. Mix fetishes in for more variety

Like I mentioned before, spamming the word slut every 5 minutes isn't going to impress anyone. Using that person's fetishes to tease them is a simple way to do that. Have a foot fetish? You could say, "Of course, you want to be a foot slave, just put your cock right there and let me help you out." Into bdsm? You can say, "Don't even bother trying to lie to me, you want me to tie you up like the rope bunny you are and rub my hands over your reddening body." I think I have made my point. Kinks are cool, use them to make you sound sexier.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk. Learn from other doms how to talk to sexy as well. I am just a random dude with too much time on my hands.

#teasing #bdsmkink #degredation kink #sub and dom

[shiningqueen]

Waltz

An attempt has been made to write Law. That is all. Rating: SFW / e for everyone. Notes: Fluff, pining. Not beta-read, we die like men here. Characters: Law x gn!reader.

The music is as vibrant and lively as the crew's energy, bodies flowing and dancing in a rare moment of reprieve from sailing. Most of them are drunk and that makes their attempts to dance to any sort of rhythm hilariously bad.

You arent dancing though. You're content to watch the ensuing free entertainment provided generously by the Heart Pirates. At one point, you see Penguin try to perform a headstand and promptly fall flat on his face, to the resulting guffaws of his fellows.

"You aren't going to join them, [Name]-ya?" Law's smooth tones pull your attention away, tilting your head obligingly towards the captain.

You shrug, "Probably not, I dont recognize whatever dance they are trying to do." A bemused smile tugging at your lips as you gesture to the unsteady swaying and wiggling of the crew. "What about you? Wasn't Ikaku trying to get you to dance?"

Law huffs and shrugs a shoulder, "I dont dance." He dismisses blandly and feeling bold, leans slightly into your shoulder. You definitely do not mind the casual proximity and hum in nonverbal acceptance to his excuse.

You weren't officially part of the crew, even though Law had offered you a position, but now he was sort of grateful you hadn't accepted. You were a useful ally to have on standby, not only for your skills in battle but your intel gathering had proven exceptional. Having someone with your freedom to prowl the seas and get in and out of Navy bases without stirring trouble was invaluable.

It also meant that he didnt have to worry about letting his growing attachment to you get any more serious than a passing fancy. Sometimes though, he wondered.

The music shifted into lighter, flowier melodies and that makes the gathered pirates try to hook arms together and sway messily. You laugh as Ikaku tries to coax Shachi into slow dancing with her.

"So," you say casually, "you don't dance or you can't dance?" Peering over at Law and - had he been staring at you? - there's a twitch in his brow as he swiftly glances away. Oh, was he bashful? That was really cute to see.

"Why is it of any concern to you?" He retorts dryly but lacks any kind of irritation otherwise, shoving hands into the pockets of his jeans and jostling against your shoulder from the movement.

More laughter bubbles up and you slide your arm through his, shifting your weight to tug him along with you a few steps. He stumbles with a curse at your antics, "Come on, I can show you a few steps. I took profressional lessons back home." You coax him and are delighted he doesnt really resist, especially since you're leading him a few yards out of sight from the crew. As if you knew he didnt want anyone else to see such a thing.

"[Name]," there's an attempt to complain but Law cant find it in himself to get upset, he feels a bit too warm under the collar when you reach to take his other hand in yours. "When am I going to ever need to know this?" He sighs but does not resist whatsoever when you place his hand on your waist. Was his heart starting to race? A slight quicken in his chest but he doesnt try to pull away.

You smile winsomely at him, "Dancing can help one with swordplay, dont you know?"

"I fail to see the similarities," he deadpans to try and hide the flustered squirm in his stomach.

You weren't going to tease him for getting all red faced and twitchy; there was a lot you had noticed about Law over the past few months of being acquainted with him. The tentative way he tried to get close to you, the slight touches, how he never turned you away from late visits in his office. Finding ways to disturb his calm, collected rhythm had become something of a guilty pleasure of yours.

"Just follow my lead," you reply softly, hand on his shoulder and your other clasped with his. Slowly you tug him into the first step, "I'll count, it's just a pattern. One, two, three." You go through the motions of a waltz, repeating the count under your breath to keep him on track.

Law finds the rhythm quickly enough after a dozen missteps and muttered apologies when he accidentally steps on your foot. He wont admit it outloud but it was nice to hold you a little closer than he normally allowed, circling and circling with his eyes trained on your face. His frazzled nerves werent so easily assauged though, he didnt really know what to say in the moment and just listened to how you whispered 'one, two, three' like it was a melody all of its own.

When you unwind your hands and stretch out to do a twirl, then slowly step back towards him, Law curls his arm around you and pulls you flush to his chest. Your waltz comes to a halt, with him frozen and you watching with a tender smile on your lips. If he leaned in just a bit more, he could kiss you, if he felt daring enough.

"You learn fast," you murmur and tilt your head forward just enough to touch noses with him. "What do you think of more lessons, Law?" Oh it was a lot of fun to see him blushing just from proximity and the hushed quality of your voice.

Law collects enough of his composure to release you and step away, clearing his throat and ignoring the burning of his cheeks. "Aren't you leaving tomorrow to scout ahead?" He deflects, hands back in his pockets to try and forget the warmth of holding you. (He wont forget.)

"Whenever I loop back with the gang, I can still teach you. No pressure," you answer easily with a shrug, mentally stamping down the fluttering in your own stomach. "I should probably head off to bed, gotta leave early and all that." The moment had passed and you knew better than to stick around and make things awkward.

Too many words stick themselves in Law's throat as you turn to walk away; how often you leave him speechless could be made into a damn bingo card. And you'd win that bingo over and over too.

"[Name]-ya," he manages to unstick his tongue, "I'll uh, think about it. Have a goodnight."

You glance back and salute him playfully, "Aye sir, goodnight."

#|lumi's tidbits| #|mine| #one piece scenario #law x reader #law x you #trafalgar law x reader #one piece fanfiction #fluff

[writtnbyhan]

seungmin comforting insecure reader? im feeling a bit weird rn and would rlly like some comfort writing:(( its fine if not !!

hi!! I rushed to write this as quickly as possible and I really hope it brings you some comfort, whatever little it may be. You have no idea how happy it makes me that you chose me to write your comfort writing because I understand what it feels like to need some and !! to be able to provide it !!!! I swear to you you've made me the happiest by asking this, and I hope I can give back a little bit of that happiness with my silly little words :(

also, I really hope it was what you expected ?? I didn't want to put too much focus on what makes reader insecure because I know it's something different for each one of us and I tried to keep it as generic as possible. I hope you like it and I hope you're feeling better <3

word count: 1319

You’re awfully quiet, and Seungmin is quick to notice. Normally, you joke around with him, you laugh at his jokes even when they’re really lame, you shine when you’re happy, and the difference is evident for him. Not that you’re not as beautiful as always, but the quiet and the lack of smile is noticeable, at least for him.

He decides not to comment on it for a while, assuming you’ll tell him if you want to share. But when enough time has passed, and you’re laying on the couch next to him, watching a movie, he breaks. Your attention is clearly somewhere else, you’re lost in thoughts and your face makes it evident that the thoughts on your mind are not precisely happy ones.

“Baby?” he asks, and he knows something’s wrong when that doesn’t get your attention. “y/n?” he asks again, his voice almost a whisper, worry gnawing at his chest.

You look at him, and your eyes are glossy like you’re fighting hard not to spill the tears that have gathered in your eyes.

“Oh, baby.” He sounds so sad for you, and he extends his arm, an open invitation for a hug. Usually, you’d be quick to accept and cuddle him, but today… Yeah, today is an exception.

You shake your head and the tears finally fall. You don’t intend them to, but they apparently don’t let you control them anymore. They’re spilling from your eyes, rolling down your cheeks, and leaving you naked and vulnerable in your boyfriend’s eyes. You hate crying, but you hate crying in front of him more. You know his heart is breaking by the way he looks at you like he’d gladly take all of your pain and carry it for you (he would).

He waits, his arms still open. It is evident on his face that he doesn’t know what to do. He always respects your boundaries, especially when it comes to physical touch and when or when it is not welcomed. You’re not a big fan of PDA, and neither is he, so he’s always asking before doing something, sometimes even when you’re alone. It is endearing. Today, though, you can tell he’s doubting whether he’s doing the right thing or not.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” his voice is on the verge of breaking, and you cry harder. Why, why would he worry this much? Why would he care? Why should he care? Why does he care? You surely don’t deserve a boy like him.

You shake your head again and sigh. A voice in the back of your head reminds you of the importance of communication in a relationship, and you curse at it, even when you know it’s true. You sigh again.

“Why?” You say finally, only able to voice the only word repeating in your mind. He looks confused, and the look is so endearing you almost want to laugh through the tears; you’re incapable of actually doing so, though. “Why me?” You say, voice quieter now, more weak. His eyes soften, and you think he’s beginning to understand.

He’s patient. He doesn’t push. He doesn’t answer the question because he doesn’t want to say the wrong thing. He’s waiting for you to actually ask something he can answer.

“Why choose me, when you can have anyone?” The question is whispered, but it sounds so loud in Seungmin’s head, resonating against its walls, and he wants to scream just to quiet it.

For your ears, though, he only gasps. His arms lowered when you started speaking, and his hands twitched as soon as you finished voicing the question. He wants to hold you. He wants to cry himself, but he forces himself to remain strong to provide you with that strength.

“Because I want you,” he says, like it’s obvious. “I always want you. I don’t care who I could have, as long as I have you, I don’t care about anyone else.” He’s looking directly at you, trying to get his point across.

You look down, staring into your lap while the tears fall.

“It’s just…”

He waits. He waits so patiently, even though he’s growing desperate to hug you and reassure you. He waits, because boundaries or whatever.

“It’s just that sometimes, when you’re doing promotions…” you hide your face behind your hands as your crying becomes more intense. “I just think… you deserve one of them, you know, an idol who can dance and sing and who looks so pretty and so tiny and… I can’t ever be that. No matter how hard I try, I’m me and you just deserve so much better than I can be.”

Your tears are falling freely, the waterfall has opened and it’s clear it doesn’t plan on closing soon.

“y/n,” he says, he’s worried and he’s serious, and you fear you might have made him angry because the serious look on his face is unusual. “Listen to me, and listen clearly: I want you.” He enunciates the words, pronouncing each one loud and clear. “I don’t care about them, I chose you because you’re you, and that’s exactly what I want. And I deserve exactly that: what I want. What I want is you.” He is the one to sigh now. “I can’t even look at other people, baby. You’re the prettiest person my eyes have ever laid upon – and I say this while seeing Hyunjin every day, you know.” He laughs at the last part.

You laugh a little, too, even if it’s weak. You want to believe him, even if your fears are stronger today. You know he means what he says, even if you can’t understand how he can mean it.

His touch is barely there when he reaches for your hand, trying to take them out of your face. “Let me wipe your tears, please. I’ve got you, baby, I’m right here.”

You let him lower your hands, but you still keep your gaze fixed on your lap. His touch is still featherlike when he softly caresses your chin, indicating for you to look up. You do, your glossy eyes meeting his, not as glossy as yours but almost there.

“I’m sorry. I’m being really difficult today. I’m sorry” 

You’ll never not be amazed by Seungmin’s ability to understand what’s going on around him, by his tuned senses for everyone’s needs. So, it is still a surprise when Seungmin notices you getting barely closer and extends his arm towards you. You welcome the invitation, now, and pretty much throw yourself to him, his hold so strong, like he wants to hold you tight enough that it’ll fix everything broken inside you.

“Don’t apologize for needing some help every now and then. It’s okay to need reassurance, and I’m always willing to give it to you – you make this world better. . . you make me better. So please, let me help you when you’re getting in your head like this. I’m here for you, today, tomorrow, the day after that… even in 2065 when you’re all old and wrinkly, I’ll be by your side.” He gives a small kiss on the side of your head, and you let out a small chuckle.

“I love you so much, Seungminnie,” you say, quietly, into the dark room as the credits to the movie you were watching start rolling.

“I know,” he says, rocking you slightly. “Now, I’m going to put on another movie and you lay your head on my shoulder and try to sleep. It will all be better tomorrow when you wake up next to me.” You nod, doing as he says while he puts on a Disney movie. You turn your head to give a small kiss on his shoulder, and he chuckles. “I love you too, by the way.”

He’s right. Everything's better when you’re next to him, and you hurt a lot less when in between his arms.

#✿ . . cami writes #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x you #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz comfort #seungmin x reader #seungmin x you #seungmin x y/n #seungmin comfort

[claiestve]

𝐌𝐲 𝐅𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 ꨄ Andrew

˜”* ❝𝙄'𝙢 𝙜𝙤𝙣' 𝙗𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧, 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙢𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙗𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙣𝙚.❞

⎯⎯ ୨ ୧ ⎯⎯

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʏ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴀ ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀɴᴅʀᴇᴡ

⎯୨⎯ " " ⎯୧⎯

“Andrew?” You called out into the next room waiting for an answer. There wasn’t a response so you thought to try again. You also didn’t want to text him if he was just in the next room, “Andrew?” You called out again. Again, no response. 

You sighed, standing up and walking to the bedroom, where he was. Upon reaching for the handle, you noticed something. ‘Hmm,’ you hummed to yourself and frowned. The door was closed and locked. You didn’t have a problem with that but now it sparked your curiosity. You gently knocked on the door. 

“Yes, Darling?” You heard. He sounded frantic but not in a bad way. More suspicious, he’s hiding something way. 

“Can I come in?”

You hear shuffling for about ten seconds circling the room you were standing outside of. Now, you are more curious than before. There wasn’t even a lot in that room so what the hell would he be moving around? And why was he so panicked? 

The doorknob trembles in front of you before the door slowly unfastens. There you see Andrew suspiciously standing in front of something while looking like he just ran a mile. 

“What are– never mind. I just came to ask what our exact plans were for tomorrow. I know we have everything down except for times. I don’t want it to be like…” You trail off as you focus on Andrew’s stance in front of… whatever he’s standing in front of. He looked so still and concentrated. “Okay, no.”

“What?”

“Andrew, what’s behind you?”

“It’s not important, continue, darling.”

You moved closer to him and pulled him away from the item behind him. He tried to block you from seeing it but by now you’ve already known it was some kind of surprise. 

“What is this?”

He sighs and moves the object closer to you. “I was saving this for our date tomorrow. Now that I think about it, it would’ve been difficult to carry this around without you seeing,” He makes a hand motion to you, “Open it.”

As you open the box, you can’t help but giggle a bit. You saw something that you’ve previously mentioned you wanted but you never explicitly asked for. A big bear with a giant bouquet of red roses. 

“Aw, Andrew! You didn’t have to, you know? I would’ve been fine with your presence alone.” You say feeling a tiny wave of guilt. This was the way Andrew was. He’d do things for you that you loved but it felt like a lot. Sometimes, you feel like you don’t deserve it all. Especially what you did to him. Taking his teaching career–

“Don’t. I know you’re thinking about it. I’ve already made it entirely clear that I like doing things for you just as much as you do for me. You know I don’t ever want to appear empty-handed when it comes to you.”

You catch a feeling in your heart, a good one at that. The feeling travels up to your neck, then to your face, and reaches your eyes filling them with warm tears. You didn’t like crying in front of Andrew as much as he didn’t like crying in front of you. However, you weren’t sad or angry this time. You were crying and it all stemmed from the feeling of love. Your love for him emphasized itself and caused a wave of emotion in your body. You tried turning away from him but he already noticed. 

“Darling? Are you crying?” He asks as he concerningly blanketed your body with his arms, “Did I do something?”

“No, I just– I think I fell in love with you again.”

“Ah, that happens to me with you daily, Darling.”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

eugh i dont think i could write for andrew again unless i made the reader a total badass. (cuz i partially hated this)

im so excited to finally move on from this and finish the next one

#zsakuva #asmr #sakuverse #zsakuvaxreader #andrew #andrew marston

[daidonzo]

Girls just wanna have fun

A/N: little insight on what i think Chishiya and the reader's relationship is like after the ending of As much as you want. •ᴗ•

Usagi and Arisu were getting married.

Chishiya had simply congratulated them when they announced the news. Kuina had been shocked, but had run to open a bottle of champagne to celebrate. Ann, on video call, busy because of work, had clapped and cheered, just as anyone would. Your reaction, however, had been a bit different.

"A child bride." You had gasped, eyes wide open, half-joking, half-actually-serious, your voice low so that nobody but him could hear. "What's next, teenage pregnancy?"

Chishiya silently laughed, burying his face in your hair so that nobody could see, one arm around you.

"She's your age." He pointed out, entertained by your reaction.

"And what am I? A literal child." You whispered, brows raised.

"A literal child way past her twenties."

"Three words: I. Am. Baby." You lifted a finger with each of them, and then stuck your tongue out.

The two of you had been dating for as long as Usagi and Arisu had, but clearly your relationship had a different timeline. Chishiya didn't mind. You, judging by your comments, didn't either.

"I wonder, what will I do now with the ring that I have in my pocket…?" Chishiya asked, teasing you, staring at the ceiling as if the answer to his question laid there.

"Don't you dare." You pointed your index finger at him, menacingly.

He chuckled, and lifted both arms above his head, his palms directed at you.

Things had been good. You had found a job in Japan, which meant you could stay for as long as you wanted and had moved on your own, although truth be told, Kuina pretty much lived with you, even if she didn't pay rent. The two of you had become inseparable. Ann and Usagi had later on joined your little group.

Chishiya and you also spent a lot of time together. He had got a definite workplace in a hospital close to where you lived and would come spend most nights. Or afternoons. Or mornings.

It didn't matter the time of the day, if he was available, the two of you were together.

Yeah… One could say things were better than good.

-------------------------------------------------- The night of the bachelorette party came.

Usagi had wanted something simple. To go to dinner with her best friends, maybe have a couple of drinks and call it a night.

Kuina and you had a different idea.

Ann just let you do whatever you wanted, lifting her shoulders every time Arisu or Chishiya would ask, as if saying "Well, what can I do to stop them?".

So you did go to dinner. But then you also went to a huge party in some fancy club, all of you dressed in pink except Usagi, who was forced to dress in white, wear a crown and a t-shirt saying "Here comes the bride!".

Chishiya had been working the whole time. He had a night shift, and it was about nine in the morning when he finally was done. First thing he did after changing into his normal clothes was checking his phone.

And saw he had an impressive amount of notifications. He was surprised the device hadn't blown up.

He opened his always on-going conversation with you. You never said goodbye, not even good night. You just went to sleep, and would continue where you left off the following morning. Sometimes you would write "(going to sleep, love you, tty in the morning <3)" between parenthesis, but that's as much as he would get.

Again, Chishiya didn't mind. He loved it.

He stopped to look at your photo, holding one of your parents' cats. It was from a trip you took on Christmas to your home country. You had kept saying that this particular cat reminded you of him.

He read the messages with a smile on his face:

hiiiiiii! we just had dinner and we are going to go to da club nowwww

After that, you had sent a picture of your food and another one of your outfit in what was probably the bathroom of the restaurant. You were wearing a pink dress and looked absolutely beautiful, at least in Chishiya's opinion.

hi agaiiiiiin, in the club now!!! good music today, i know every single song

i really hope i'm not bothering you and your phone's on muuuuuuuute

miss u

miss u again

miss u a third time <3

A picture of the four of you. A video of you singing one of the songs with the lyrics copypasted down below, because they said stuff about being in love and you wanted him to know you were thinking about him when they played it.

i'm having so much fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuun

wish u were here <3

A lot of pictures of Usagi. More selfies of you. Selfies with Kuina.

Your writing got worse. The messages more sappy.

i jst wished i coold go home and be with u tnight bcs i miss u

u mean evvrthing 2 meeeeeeeeeeee

bst dctor ever

go bby go!!!!!!!

A picture of you, sent by Kuina using your phone, in what seemed like a car. You were sleeping.

You had another message, from Arisu:

I went to pick the girls up. Kuina is with your girl at her appartment. Everything fine! b(＾＾)b

Thanks, Arisu.

Chishiya put his phone in the pocket of his dark jeans after replying to the text and left the hospital.

It was about an hour later when he rang your door bell using his elbow, holding three coffees in his right hand and a brown bag with breakfast buns for three in the left one.

Kuina opened up, very sleepy, wearing pyjamas. But her eyes grew wider when she saw the coffee Chishiya was holding, extending both arms to grab it and opening and closing her hands, clearly thrilled.

"You're the absolute best!" She said after taking the first sip and Chishiya simply tilted his head to one side, conceding. He left everything he was carrying on the kitchen counter.

"She's still sleeping?"

"I would be as well. She's in her room."

The woman with dreadlocks just threw herself on your sofa and turned the TV on.

Chishiya went to your room, opening the door without knocking, because you probably wouldn't have heard it, sleeping as you were. You usually slept in the weirdest positions, but now, you were on your side, both your arms below your pillow. You were still wearing the make-up from the night before. He smiled when he saw you were wearing one of his t-shirts.

Silently, he took off his shoes, and climbed to bed with you, placing himself at your back and putting an arm around you.

"Chishiya?" You whispered groggily, not even opening your eyes just moving backwards so that you could be closer to him.

"No."

"Yes you are, dummy."

He smiled and gave you a kiss on the top of your head, covering the both of you with the blanket.

"Had fun?"

"Yes, very much so. How was work? All good?"

"Boring."

"Boring means good. No accidents. No meteorites."

Chishiya laughed at that. You had met in the hospital, after being victims of a meteorite hitting Shibuya. In his opinion, a natural disaster wasn't such a bad thing.

It had brought you into his life.

"Did you bring Kuina coffee?" You asked, suddenly, opening one of your eyes and turning your face so that you could look at him.

"I did."

"I think you just moved to the number one position in her list of favorite people."

"What number am I in yours?"

"Did you bring me coffee?"

"No."

"I know you did, so you are number one."

"Because I brought you coffee?"

"No." You flashed him a lopsided grin, cheekily. You used to do it only sarcastically at first, but Chishiya had mentioned once or twice much he liked it when you started dating, so you had incorporated it to your list of smiles. This one you used when you wanted to mess with him. "Because I know you brought me a cinnamon bun."

The blonde laughed, and you ended up completely turning around in his arms so that you could be face to face. You gave him a kiss on the tip of the nose, then on the lips.

"Can we stay here a little bit longer?" You asked, feeling warm and safe.

"Yes. But only a little bit."

A small wrinkle appeared between your brows, and you squinted your eyes.

"Why?"

"Kuina will eat all the breakfast."

You laughed and cuddled up to him.

Five more minutes wouldn't hurt anyone.

#trapped in your spider web #chishiya x fem!reader #chishiya x reader #chishiya fanfic #chishiya #chishiya fluff #chishiya fic #shuntaro chishiya x reader #chishiya x you #chishiya x y/n #aib chishiya #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya alice in borderland #shuntaro chishiya #kuina #usagi #arisu

[coffeetank]

Build CHARACTERS!

Every time you write a book, you're creating a journey for your reader. Your main characters are the medium through which this journey is carried out. Your readers see the events in the book through your characters' eyes. Thus, it's very important to have characters that feel human, even though they might not be (if you're talking fantasy).

Now, of course, if your writing fantasy and your character is a dragon or some mythical fox, they won't act the way a human would. But that's the best part about making characters, you can give them layers. No matter the circumstance, every character will have a way of responding or reacting to it. That's where your characterisation comes in.

Here are a few things I do to make my characters, well characters:

1. MORAL CODE:

Your characters, regardless the genre, are the immediate connection to your readers. Fantasy or not, they'll be carrying the story. So they need to have a set of values that they follow. When you're affixing a moral code to your characters, first take an example setting. Suppose, you've created a character named A. Let's say A is a man and a detective by profession. Now let the main event of your story be a case of murder. Obviously, there's going to be an investigation. Let your detective (A) find out that the victim, who is a woman, was a sex worker. After the victim's body comes back from a forensic search, let there be signs of sexual assault. Now conventionally, as a detective, A is supposed to jump into action and go above and beyond to find the culprit and bring justice. But here is where you can add a characteristic that isn't conventional. Even though A is a detective, make him look down on sex workers. That would mean that A believes that the victim probably 'asked' for whatever happened to her. Your character needs to have a moral code so that they can ignite some sort of feelings in your readers. This moral code further also revs the whole process of character development. In a nutshell, a moral code is a set of beliefs that your character has which can either be agreeable, or questionable, or both. We call them the white zone (virtuous/agreeable), the black zone (evil/questionable) and the infamous morally grey zone (both).

2. OPPOSING QUALITIES:

This is by far the most interesting advice I have ever received. Opposing qualities are actually simple – it's one quality (that's good) and it's inverse (which is a flaw). What you do here is, you give your characters a good/admirable quality and then you give them flaws based on those specific good traits. Some of these that I have used are:-

helpful :: people-pleaser (you character helps others but at the same time seeks validation from others, thus only helps people who validate them)

confident :: cocky (you're character is confident, but they often come off as cocky in situations requiring humility)

perfectionist :: obsessive (are they a perfectionist or are they just obsessed with having things go their way only?)

supportive :: nosey (sure, they support all their friends, but they also tend to poke their nose into everything which makes them ignore or overlook people's boundaries)

straightforward :: rude (they are straightforward and don't shy away from speaking their mind which is good; however, they end up saying things which could be harsh or hurtful)

reserved :: unfriendly (character can be introverted and reserved too, but sometimes they get away with being outright hostile all in the name of their introvertism)

protective :: possessive/controlling (this is easy to confuse as both parties involve an exceptional amount of care for their loved ones, but ask yourself - are protective and possessive really the same?)

practical :: ignorant (one of my favourites; is your character just level-headed about stuff? or are they just heedless to others' emotions?)

There's so much more you can do with this one! Use as many traits and their inverses as you wish! This tip really helps a lot (speaking with experience)!

3. BACKSTORY:

Probably the most important part of making a character. Everyone has a backstory. You. Me. Most importantly, your character. Backstories as just significant events that alter the mindset of your character. It can range from something minimal to something grave. It could be a cup of coffee or it could be a traumatic experience. The experience could be personal or they could have been an observer; anything works as long as it affects them and hits their weak spot.

The following questions are important to frame a backstory:

• how does your character think?

• what is their moral code? are they in the black zone, the white zone, or the grey zone?

• what are their emotional fears? how do they deal with them?

• what is their level of emotional maturity? do they have any form of issues (trust, attachment, etc)?

• how was their childhood? how were the parents? how were the sibling, the relatives or family friends?

• was their school/college life good? did they have any life-altering experiences?

• what kind of friend circle do they have?

Answering these questions will help you get to know your character even better. Thus, making it easier for you to create your character for your readers.

4. THEIR EMOTIONAL ENVIRONMENT:

Your character has a family, or doesn't. Maybe they're an orphan, or grew up in a foster home. Evaluate what type of effect that may have on your character. Was the foster family abusive thus making your character too shy and timid? Or was life as an orphan so difficult that they learnt to be hyper-independent?

Include their friend circle in this. What type of friends do they have? Are they friends with the good kids? Or the bad kids? Or is it a mixed group? If it's a mixed group, then further focus on how the differences in opinions has an influence on your character. Use your character's emotional surrounding to build their functioning.

If you've come this far, thank you! Do let me know if these tips seem helpful/have helped you!

- Ashlee.

#books #writing prompts #writing ideas #writers #writer #writerblr #fanfiction writer #writers on tumblr #writers on ao3 #writers on writing #writerscommunity #fanfics #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #writingtips #writingtricks #writers blog #writing tips #tips and tricks #ao3feed #ao3 fanfic #write #prompts #readers #characters #tropes #writers and poets #fanfic writing #writing fanfic

[daydreaming-en-pointe]

•·.· anywhere i want, just not home ·.·•

Pairing: Gwen Stacy x fem!Reader

Type: Angst (no comfort)

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: ‘Gwen’s universe dissolves’ AU (may not make much sense but anyway), reader is dead (dissolved along with her universe), use of Y/N (sparingly), some cussing, mentions of blood, descriptions of grief(?)

A/N: hehe I think I’m starting to enjoy killing off the reader in angsty stuff 😌 hey i may not be very good at writing angst but it’s fun to write :D

I think this is set before the events of ATSV or sometime during except there’s no Miles? Idek anymore 🤷‍♀️ whatever feels right to u ig!

So I just realised I didn’t mention her dad at all 😭 just uh pretend that she’s grieving for him too

Look at how my tears ricochet

And I can go anywhere I want

Anywhere I want, just not home

(my tears ricochet by Taylor Swift)

“It’ll only be for a few weeks, at the maximum.”

You were pacing in your bedroom, occasionally pausing to make sure that the girl sitting on your bed in her spider-suit still had enough ice to soothe the sting of her injuries.

“Gwen, I…” You shook your head, throwing your hands up in the air as words failed you - a result of the maelstrom of conflicting emotions whirling around in your head at the speed of light. “I don’t know what to say. Why? Why do you need to do this? You’re putting yourself in even more danger than usual!”

Gwen set the ice pack down on your bedside table, reaching her hand out silently toward you. You sighed and took it, squeezing her fingers gently as you sat across from her and felt the mattress dip slightly under you as you got comfortable.

“Trust me, sweetheart, I don’t like this any more than you do. But Miguel said that this mission’s important and he needs all the help he can get. This anomaly is one of the most dangerous ones so we’ve ever seen so far, we can’t let it run rampant. You understand what I’m saying, right?”

You bit your lip in thought, feeling small tears prick at the corners of your eyes as she leaned over to gently tug your lip away from your teeth to stop you worrying at the skin. Your mind seemed to be spinning in lopsided circles like a broken ballet dancer; like the music box Gwen used to have before she accidentally shattered it one day while sneaking back into her room as Spider-Woman.

“I’m going to be honest with you. I’m terrified. I don’t want you to…” You vaguely gestured with your hands in front of you, catching yourself before you could say the word ‘die’ as if it could somehow jinx it and make it come true. Gwen gave you a small, reassuring smile and leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to your lips.

“I know. I know, sweets. I won’t. I’ll be fine.”

“You can’t promise that,” You mumbled under your breath, folding into her and burying your face in the junction between her neck and shoulder.

Gwen exhaled softly, rubbing your back in the most soothing way she could so that her own uncertainty couldn’t slip through the cracks of her calm façade.

“Hey, don’t think like that. Tell you what, take this. It’ll remind you of me while I’m gone, and then when I come back we’ll order in whatever junk food we want and we’ll cuddle and watch movies, okay?” She reached down into her backpack that lay sideways on the floor and took out two bracelets. Your eyes flitted toward the bracelets and you took in a surprised inhale.

“You kept them?”

“Of course I did. They’re beautiful, like everything you make for me.”

She gave you a grin as she slipped one of the bracelets over your wrist. You examined it - smooth, round crystal beads with your name spelled out in mismatched word beads of different colours.

You remembered the day you had made them, sitting on the ground in the park with your legs crossed and Gwen’s head resting comfortably in your lap as she watched you string together the beads. Giggling and talking and just enjoying each other’s company.

Now that could possibly be the last time that happened. Because despite Gwen’s well-meaning promises and reassurances, you knew. You knew she was struggling to keep herself together, and all you wanted to do was pull her close and never let her go - hell, you would gladly go beat up whoever this Miguel O’Hara was if it meant your girl could stay with you, stay out of harm’s way.

But that wasn’t possible. And she wouldn’t want it either. She didn’t ask to get bitten by a radioactive spider and become a superhero; she just had to make the most of the cards she was dealt.

“Y/N?”

You blinked, bringing yourself out of your thoughts. “Yeah, sorry. What were you saying?”

Gwen tilted her head to the side, resting her eyes on your wrist before reaching out to slip the bracelet off. You watched her curiously as she slipped the bracelet that had her own name onto your wrist, taking the bracelet with your name and nestling it right next to her multidimensional watch.

“There. Now whenever you miss me, just look at that.” She leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead, clinking your bracelets together with a smile. “Goodbye, my love. I’ll see you soon.”

“Bye, sweetheart.” You watched her zip up her backpack and put on her mask, leaping onto your windowsill and pushing the window open. Right before she tensed herself to leap out, she paused, turning to look at you. Her mask was on, but you could read her expression behind the fabric easily. She gave you a smile, the corners of the mask’s eyes scrunching slightly.

“This isn’t a permanent goodbye, not by a long shot. I love you. I’ll see you again, I promise. And when I do I’m going to give you the biggest bear hug you’ve ever had in your life.”

——————

She never did.

Never got the chance to fulfill that promise.

She had gotten the news right after finally capturing the anomaly they had been chasing for more than three weeks. She was lying utterly exhausted on a park bench, Pav leaning on her with his eyes closed as they both waited for Hobie to punch in the coordinates for the Spider-Society HQ.

She remembered hearing the little ping that usually accompanied a message from HQ, the way he had momentarily frozen in shock, his border going black and white. She remembered sitting up, ignoring Pav’s grumbles and asking what had happened, because Hobie’s ever-changing border pausing in a monochrome filter was never a good sign.

She remembered him visibly struggling to grasp at words that would soften the blow, finally realizing that he couldn’t, in any way, sugarcoat it.

“I don’t know ‘ow to say this, but uh… another ultra-powerful anomaly fell into the city an’ managed to glitch itself so badly in the process tha’ it caused a dimensional tear in the multiverse an’… your universe dissolved, Gwendy. ‘M so sorry... listen, if you need anyth-”

She didn’t hear anything more after that, didn’t hear or feel Pav’s sharp inhale and Hobie gently squeezing her shoulder; instead she focused her gaze on the bracelet on her wrist, trying to push back against the dark spots threatening to bleed into the corners of her vision like pesky, taunting watercolours.

Bullshit. That had to be false, right? There was no way…

——————

Gwen would’ve given anything for Hobie to have gotten it wrong.

But, in some strange way, she could sense that he was right. Something missing, like a family photo which had been accidentally ripped in half. A rose with half its petals missing.

Red roses, red blood. Blood that was on no one’s hands, really, but felt like it had dried on hers. Her fault, even though the causes were so much bigger than her.

She had been cleaning out her stuff, trying her best to organize her somehow even messier side of Hobie’s canal boat when a small bracelet, nestled under pins and papers and god knows what else, had fallen onto the ground with a soft clink.

It was a miracle it didn’t break, honestly, which would have been cruel but oddly fitting.

She knelt to pick it up, freezing the moment her gaze passed over it. She picked it up gingerly, smoothing her fingers over the beads, her lips forming the word spelled out in beads on the bracelet.

“Y/N.”

At that one word, a dam burst and brought forth months of stubborn denial, steady grief, and then slow acceptance. Gwen braced her back against the wall, silent sobs wracking her body and making her shoulders heave with the force of them.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I… I should’ve been there, I might have been able to do something, or at the very least… I could’ve been there with you.”

She let her forehead drop to rest on her knees, drawing into herself. “I miss you. So, so much… nothing’s the same. Hobie’s looking out for me, but… there’s only so much he can help with. Nothing seems all that happy anymore… everyday I get up and ask myself ‘why doesn’t the sun shine as bright anymore?’ ‘Why aren’t the flowers as beautiful as they used to be?’ ‘Where did all the colour go?’ And then I remember that you’re not here with me.”

Gwen held the bracelet up to the light, letting its colours - so carefully picked out by a loving hand all those months ago - shine as tears blurred her vision and fell like crystals slipping from a shaky chandelier that should’ve broken a while ago, for its own sake.

“I want to go home,” She confessed to the bracelet quietly; the empathetic ear of someone she wished - no, hoped - was listening from the other side of the fragile border between life and death. “I miss the café we used to go to, right after I had band practise. I miss our little dates in the park. I miss seeing you in the front row of all our band’s shows. You were so supportive, weren’t you? Always showing up early, cheering your lungs out, then staying late so you could be the first to hug me. Without fail.”

God, how she missed your hugs. They were ones that she could melt into; surrender herself completely without having to offer anything in return. Ones she could fold herself into while your arms wrapped around her shoulders and squeezed gently, soothing enough for her to relax and sink into the comfort of your presence. You felt like a pair of noise-cancelling headphones and a warm blanket to her - somewhere where she could let down any walls she had built around herself, tune out the world and just listen to your voice.

To her, you felt like home.

And oh, how she wanted to go home.

@l0starl @therealloopylupin2099 @hobiebrownismygod

#⋆·˚ 🌹 ༘ * — 𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗶’𝘀 𝙧𝙤𝙨𝙚𝙨! #⋆·˚ 🌺 ༘ * — 𝙝𝙞𝙗𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙪𝙨𝙚𝙨! #barely proofread #might seem kinda rushed #i didn’t intend for it to seem that way i promise #😔 #anyway #across the spiderverse #atsv #atsv x reader #atsv angst #gwen stacy #atsv gwen #spiderverse gwen #spider gwen #gwen stacy x reader #gwen stacy x fem!reader #gwen stacy x female reader #gwen stacy x you #gwen stacy x y/n #spider gwen x reader #atsv gwen angst #gwen angst #angst no comfort

[foreverinadais]

drive me home: m.k

summary: you broke up with jake lockley a couple months ago. now, he’s your cab driver and he’s taking you back to another man’s house. 

warnings: angst, angst, angst (can you tell my favourite thing to write is angst?) fluff, language, a man being gross, suggestive content 

word count: 3.5k words :)

this took me way longer than i ever envisioned but it’s finally done!! i hope you enjoy!!

"So, you wanna take this back to my place?" They were words you never thought you'd hear again, at least not from a stranger. But here you were, slightly tipsy, head swimming as you dance and grind on a random man in the club. You hesitate, freezing slightly.

It felt... wrong. Wrong to be with someone who wasn't him, wasn't them. But how else could you move on? How else could you get over him? Over his touch, rough hands over your body, but feather light in their embrace.  His distinct smell; that one cologne Steven hated, hints of cigars and leather, all intertwined with him. And his smile. That smile. So welcoming, sometimes menacing, always handsome as ever.

But this wasn't him. This was a body promising a single night of possibility. A way out for a single moment from the lovelorn and the heartache.

So, you nod, trying to lose yourself in the music, the haze of the alcohol, the lights. Try to focus on the feeling of the hands on your waist, desperate and confident, but not the hands you needed.

And then you were outside. There was a scurry of limbs as the guy from the pub kissed you, and it felt good, but not in the way you craved. "Gonna call a taxi, yeah?" You found yourself nodding again as he stepped away and sent a quick message to your friends that you were leaving and that you would send your location, just in case.

Soon enough, the man was back, hands around your waist as he kissed the column of your neck.

Just lean into it, just pretend. You need to do this.

So, you shut your eyes, focused on the touches, trying to chase pleasure from the lips on your skin.

There was a light buzz throughout London. Horns were beeping, people were singing drunken shanties. The club you had been in was full of life, only adding to the adrenaline, the need to do something, or rather, someone.

It didn't take long for the taxi to get there. The man you were leaving with grinned, taking your hand and opening the door for you. There were hardly any words spoken, bar from the "alright mate, Holland drive, cheers."

You held on to the buzz of the alcohol in your system, to the rush of leaving with someone new, the excitement of the unknown. The guy next to you was whispering something in your ear and you smiled at his words, trying to forget what you were desperate to forget.

You didn't note your surroundings. Tried to fog them out. But an angry beep of the horn pulled you from your haze. It was when the taxi driver began shouting at some drunken passers-by -who had nearly killed themselves by intercepting on the road- that you snapped out of whatever it was you were in.

That voice.

It was so distinctly familiar. You had heard it in all its forms. Heard it say words of love, lust, and eventually hate. And that was when reality yanked you from whatever cloud you were residing on so that you fell on the hard, cobbled ground.

Your eyes met his surprisingly easily through the wing mirror. As if magnetized, forever drawn to each other's gaze. He must've known it was you. Did he know it was you? Did he see you seemingly loved up with another? Did he debate on driving away?

The questions swirled in your mind as your face dropped, as your heart beat out of its body because there he was. Jake Lockley. The man who, just 2 months ago, really left.

“You can't keep doing this shit, Jake. You disappear for weeks at a time with no explanation and come back and except to just, what fuck and make up? I can't do it anymore." It had been a particularly bad week when it happened, mostly because he had gone again with no more than a mere note: gone on mission-J.

You meant what you said. You really did. It had been too often that he let you down, that he had literally left you, and you were sick of it, couldn't handle it anymore.

And the worst part? He wasn't saying anything. Was just... sat there, whiskey in hand, agitated smirk on his face.

“Do you even care? Are you even fucking listening right now?"  And he scoffed, standing up and facing you.

“Course I'm listening, all I ever hear. It's fucking exhausting."  You blink angrily, almost in disbelief at the man in front of you.

“Oh, I'm so sorry that I'm exhausting. You know what's really tedious? Tiring? When you leave. For weeks at a time and I have no idea if your dead or alive or what's going on. That's exhausting, Jake."

“I forgot how hard you had it, sitting 'ere and waiting. Not like I'm the one fuckin' risking my life everyday-

“How is that my fault? What, you think I wouldn't help if I could?" Jake chuckled darkly, taking a long sip of the drink in his hand, feeling tipsier by the second.

"You couldn't handle it, sweetheart." What's that supposed to mean?"

"Means your too weak." You scoffed, anger mixing with slight sadness at his harsh words. He knew it was a low point to aim for, that you had confided in him that he would find someone stronger, more equipped for missions than yourself. He knew that and said it anyway.

“Fuck you, Jake."

“Cute, Cariño. Is that the best you can do?" Frustration appeared as bubbling in your stomach and angry tears in your eyes.

“Why are you even here? If your just gonna leave again and again, why'd you come back?" He appeared to ponder the question, finishing the whiskey in his glass in a final gulp, swirling it between his teeth before answering,

“Dunno."

"Then leave." It came out quieter than you intended, voice more broken than you intended. Jake didn't hesitate to stand up, coming closer to you. You thought he would apologise, hug you, beg to stay. But no. He simply put his glass down by the sink, barely looking at you as he walked out of the flat, out of your life.

His eyes hadn’t changed. They were a constant in your life, in your dreams as you slept, in your fantasies as you laid awake at night, or carried on about your day. You could see them anywhere, a any point, at any time. Yet, here they were, in real life, peering at your own through a small mirror.

You couldn’t speak, even if you wanted too. Because what would you say? A million words had been left unspoken since the last time you had seen each other, yet enough had been said to seemingly ruin the relationship you’d shared. Words were funny like that; one wrong one could make everything tumble down.

You almost forgot about the man sat eagerly next to you, now messaging his friends about something that happened at work last week. Oh. You were going to his house. You were going to… it suddenly felt wrong, felt forbidden, as if you were betraying the man who still broke your heart, but still somehow owned it.

That man was now sat a mere feet away from you but was somehow still worlds apart. In fact, you hardly recognised him. He wasn’t the countless laughs you had shared together. Weren’t the stolen kisses in the mornings or unadulterated passion at night. He wasn’t the man you swore you’d marry- he was a stranger now, just as much as the person sat next to you. Because that’s what you were now;

Strangers with memories.

The cab was stopping with a harsh slam of a break. You didn’t know when the intense eye contact had stopped, but one look out the window showed you’d arrived at your destination. “A’ight, mate, thanks for that, ‘ere, keep the change, yeah?” Your fling slurred out, handing Jake a crumpled up twenty and stumbling out the car.

But you didn’t reciprocate his action. Not for a moment, anyway. Not whilst you were becoming intoxicated off the smell of his cologne, one that had stuck to your clothes for weeks, an impossible reminder of helping him get ready for the day, of clinging to his embrace, his touch.

Your date seemed to notice you weren’t by his side when he was halfway up the drive. And who said chivalry was dead, you thought, as he clambered back to the door, half-heartedly opening it for you. “S’ sorry, forgot I was meant to be a gentleman an’ all that. Here, c’mon sweetheart, don’t got all night.” His words were jokey but set off an uncomfortable feeling in your stomach.

Jake was looking at you again through the small mirror, hand back on the wheel as he awaited your next move.

“Actually, I feel quite sick,” Your voice, he hadn’t heard it in way too long and it ignited something in him that he swore he’d lost until now, “Think I’m going to go home. It was nice meeting you though,”

“You joking?” The guy asked, face twisting in drunken confusion. When you shook your head, he scoffed. “Fuck sake, waste of time, didn’t even get a shag, fuck this, not even worth it anyway.” The words came out in a violent sludge, spewing over each other as he walked away.

“Listen here you fuckin’ asshole-”

“I’d like to go home.” Your voice spoke before Jake could retaliate in the way you knew he longed too, his hand already easing the door open to face the man who dare speak of you in such a way. He wasn’t going to listen to you, not until a soft, broken ‘please’ fell from your lips. And it convinced him with a defeated sigh.

The guy was already stalking away, not before Jake flipped him off, cussing at him in Spanish, before practically speeding off down the street.

It was silent as Jake raced down the empty streets, 20 miles over the speed limit. You could hear the leather of his gloves squeak as he squeezed the wheel tighter and tighter with every mile. Should you say something? It didn’t feel right to speak, not with what just happened. Not when it was clear what he was driving you to do.

But you were broken up, you reasoned, trying to push down the requited feelings of betrayal. Jake Lockley had broken your heart. It was his responsibility. You hated how much you missed him, craved him, his touch, his words, his eyes. It felt like a dream to be sat in the same vicinity as him, mere feet away from each other’s warmth.

God, you missed him.

With each whiff of his cologne, each slight peek towards his eyes, every small sound from his gloved hands, it brought you back to the past, when you were immeasurably happy. You didn’t want him to be a stranger, a onetime taxi driver dropping you off and your next drunk hook up. You wanted him to be there in the mornings, stubble against your neck in a cheeky wake-up kiss, wanted to wrap your arms around his waist as he cooked you dinner, wanted to kiss his lips whenever you had the chance-

When the cab stopped this time, it was less violent than before. He was ready to get here, to this stop, one who knew all too well. The lights in most of the windows of your flat were out, probably due to how late it was. Jake knew which window belonged to you. He wanted to tease you about your themed curtains like he had countless times before but refrained himself.

It wasn’t his place to make you laugh anymore.

The thick silence between the two of you remained for a moment longer, neither wanting to be the first to talk. But, Jake realised, this was a job, his job, and thus it was his duty to say, “£10.50.”

You snapped out of your trance, searching in your small bag before swearing. Jake briefly glanced to where you were sat, but it was fleeting. He wanted, needed, you out of the cab. Seeing you again was too hard, too much, and he knew a minute longer, the dam would break,

“I don’t…” fuck. “I don’t have any change, the other guy- I mean, I didn’t think I’d be getting a… taxi.” You were stumbling over your words, and not because of the alcohol still laced in your system. Jake didn’t hesitate when replying, though his eyes stayed trained ahead.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

“Oh. Okay. Thanks.” You didn’t want to leave. Maybe leaving this time would be the last time you’d see him. Maybe fate wouldn’t allow another interaction like this. Jake sensed your hesitation, could feel it breathing down his neck without even having to look back.

“Have a good evening and please, leave a review if this was a good service.” Jake muttered almost mechanically, the same sentence he was meant to say after every trip. Normally charismatic, confident, it worked, and he often got tips. Now, however, was different.

Your heart fell in your chest at the words. Was this all you were now? A business endeavour? A drunk passenger on the way back from a night out? The thought hung in your stomach, heavy and rather sickening. He wanted you to leave.

You refrained from sighing, finally reaching for the door handle and clicking it open. The cold air met your bare legs, small goosebumps appearing with each breath of the wind.

“Here, mi amor. Your gonna catch a cold.”

“I’m not cold, Jake, keep your jacket.”

“C’mon, you need it. What kinda boyfriend would I be if I didn’t offer my jacket?”

“Wow, my knight in shining armour.” The conversation was jokey as you wandered the moonlit streets. Jake had taken off his gloves to hold your hand properly, fingers interlocked, his thumb stroking your palm gently.

“Can have my hat too, if you want.” Jake offered, smirk gracing his features as if he was joking- but you knew this was his love language, a way to show how much he appreciated you.

“Fine. Dress me.” You dramatically stopped, putting your arms out as Jake put his jacket over your shoulders. Then, he came in front of you, grinning as he toko his precious cap off his head and placing it onto your own. He perpetuated the action with a small kiss on the tip of your nose, making you chuckle.

“Warmer?” He quipped, and you nodded, wrapping your arms around his in an attempt to be close to him.

“What about you? Aren’t you cold?” He just smiled, pecking your lips once, twice, before continuing on your walk of the empty streets. He was cold- but he didn’t feel it. Not when the love of his life was there to keep his heart warm.

The sudden memory made you freeze. “When did this happen?” The words feel from your lips faster than they had formed. You couldn’t hold it back anymore, couldn’t ignore the past which was intoxicating you more than any alcohol ever could.

Jake looked in the mirror again, confusion clouding his eyes. “Huh?”

“When did we become strangers?” The reality had hit you both like a wave, washing you into the present, away from the past when you were happy, angry, and everything in between.

“Fuck.” Jake muttered, rubbing his face with his hands. “Shut the door, lettin’ the heat out.” You did so, quickly, shuffling back into the warmth of the cab. Silence was begging to ensue again, but this time, you refused to let it stay.

“Remember that day…” You hesitate suddenly, an abundance of memories rushing through your brain; your first kiss, first argument, first time you woke up next to each other from a night of passion. “When you kept me warm? Gave me your clothes cause I was too stubborn to admit I was cold?” The simple memory had provided pure bliss whenever it popped into your brain.

For the first time since you got into the cab, Jake’s eyes weren’t looking at yours through the mirror. Instead, they were there, physically staring into your own, close enough you could see every eyelash, every glint, every ounce of colour. “I remember.” He muttered, expression stoic. Before you could respond, he added, “All of it.”

“You do?”

“ ‘Course.”

“Do you miss it?” The adrenaline, mixed with the remnants of alcohol in your system, was giving you a push of confidence, the filter between what you were saying lessening by the second. “Do you miss us?” Jake sighed, eyes shutting briefly as he pondered his answer. Of course he did. More than anything.

“Sí.”

“Then… why did you leave?” Your voice was low, a broken hush as the words lingered in the air. Why did he leave? Because he was embarrassed? Because he knew you were right? Or was it harsher than that? Because he wanted to? Because he didn’t love you enough to want to stay?

“D’you know how hard it was to see you with someone else?” Jake said, voice barely above a raspy whisper. You registered his words, puzzled.

“What?”

“Some asshole with his hands all over you… should’ve taught that Bastardo a lesson.” A familiar sense of anger, one that only arose when you were in moments like these with Jake, flared inside of you as you scoffed.

“Well, what was I supposed to do, Jake? Y-You left.”

“Yeah, cause you told me too!”

“Are you serious? You know why I had to do that. You know, not once did you fight to stay.”

 Jake sighed, taking his cap off his head and throwing it on the seat next to him. God, you missed his hair, missed how it felt in the rare, intimate moments he would let you play with it. You had the overwhelming urge to reach over the short distance from the back seat and touch it now, to remind yourself he was here, with you, even if for a moment.

“Your right.”

Oh.

You hadn’t expected him to agree with you, nor to ever admit to it. Jake Lockley was stubborn, after all. Your right. That… that was new, especially for him.

“I should’ve fought for you. Should’ve done more whilst we were together. You know, outta all the shit I’ve done, that’s my biggest fuckin’ regret.” You felt at a loss for words, brain grasping at empty to strands to form some kind of coherent sentence.

“You… that doesn’t fix anything, Jake. I needed more then, and I need more now.”

He didn’t even hesitate when saying, “I know.” But there was a slight apprehension to his next words, ones he knew desperately needed to be said. “I’m sorry. Truly. For everything, amor, fuck, I’m sorry.”

There are times in life where there are two decisions. Left or right? Leave with this stranger or go home alone? Forgive or forget about the love that once was there? You knew what the reasonable, self-respecting thing to do. To get out, go to bed, forget forever.

But then you felt the cold again. And remembered the warmness Jake Lockley provided in your life. The times he would give you his clothes to ensure your comfort. The times he would make you breakfast, whistling a soft tune as he did so. The times he would complain about whatever movie you had put on, but put up with it anyway, just to see you passionately talk about the ending.

You opened the door, getting out confidently and closing it with a quick slam. Jake was about to react, emotions tunnelling toward him, but just as quickly as you had gotten out, you were getting in the front seat by him. You were closer than before now, breathing the same air. Jake could see every inch of your face, took it all in to have it engraved in his brain, just in case this was a cruel trick, and you would be gone again.

“I’m-”

“Drive me home?” Jake looked out the window, worried his muscle memory had taken you to the wrong address. But sure enough, it was your flat they were at.

“Cariño, you are home.”

“No… I’m not.” He suddenly registered what you were saying. A small smile came onto his lips, one which you reciprocated. It felt right to share a smile again. To share a smile with someone you loved.

His gloved fingers interlocked with yours, resting your joined hands atop of your knee. You felt your heart grow warmer at the action, a warmth that Jake Lockley had taken with him when he left. He brought your hand up to his lips, placed a gentle kiss to the skin there. “Okay, mi amor. Let’s go home.”

And then, he was driving, accelerating down the empty streets- but for the first time in a long time, his heart was finally full.

 @leh2393 @vinsevena @dalia-12-3 @kotonei-molyneux @the-girl-king

#jake lockely x reader #jake lockley angst #jake lockley fanfiction #jake lockely #moon knight imagine #moon knight headcanon #moon knight angst #moon knight #moon knight ff