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wriothesleysgf · 11 months

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★ you're the one i want. — alhaitham.

you visit alhaitham in his office, just before he finishes his work for the day.

notes: fluff, love-struck alhaitham.

wc: 0.9k.

three gentle knocks on alhaitham's door snapped him out of his paperwork-ridden daze. he was utterly exhausted, and you could hear just as much in his voice as he mumbled a gruff 'come in'.

his stoicism soon fled when he lay gaze on you, bright eyed and harbouring the same loving demeanour that he'd fallen for. typically others struggled to fathom a reason for why you were with him, primarily due to your contrasting dispositions, yet neither of you payed such thinking too much attention. moments like this, where you bounded into his office with a beaming smile and some fresh fruits that you'd bought in the bazaar.

"hi, my darling," alhaitham's tone was always softer with you, "it looks like somebody's been busy," he chuckled, putting his pen back into its inkwell. he pushed his chair out more, motioning for you to come and rest on his lap.

you did exactly that, putting your bag onto his desk. "a little, i finished up early so i decided to stop by. plus, i thought that you might appreciate a snack," you pecked his cheek, a blush spreading across his face. instinctively, alhaitham looked away to avoid the embarrassment — you found it utterly adorable.

"thank you, my love," his stature meant he was taller than you, even when you were sat on his thighs. it allowed for him to return your gesture, shifting himself to kiss your forehead. "i'm almost done; though you're always welcome to keep me company, i understand if it would bore you. perhaps you can head home and we can go out for a meal tonight? i fear that kaveh's attempt to make even something as simple as butter chicken may have contaminated the kitchen for the week,"

you giggled, the banter between the two roommates never failed to amuse you. "i'll stay, if that's okay," you turned to face him, soft smile beaming up at him.

"always, my love,"

getting up from alhaitham's lap, you made your way towards the extensive library in his office — surely you could find something to keep you occupied. most of the spines indicated that they were anthologies of research papers, encyclopaedias on anything and everything you could imagine one would need, and... ah! you found at least one work of fiction. it was a collection of folklore from across teyvat, ranging from tales of inazuma's yo-kai to rumours from decarabian's city. it even included local lore, including passed-down stories from desert tribes.

you sat on the opposite side of alhaitham's desk, in one of the chairs that he kept should a scholar or somebody of importance need to meet with him. the two of you were content in the comfortable silence, both getting on with your respective activities, before you began to grow a tad bored. you peeked over the top of your book, trying to eye up something else to do. when your eyes landed on some paper scraps on the desk, you were instantly reminded of a silly little thing that you used to do as a child. surely you still remembered...

without any more thought, you snapped your book closed and reached for the paper. alhaitham's curiosity meant he tried to figure out what you were up to, though when he saw your face contort in concentration, he just resumed with the final project draft that he had to review so as not to disturb you.

you folded the small pieces of paper precisely, beginning to feel that sense of childish innocence stir within you. when you were finished with the first piece, you hid it from alhaitham's sight and made another in the same manner.

"sweetheart, i'm done," he announced as you were making your final few folds. "what are you doing there?"

instead of vocalising your reply, you simply took his hand into your own, and slid a paper ring onto his finger. the man drew his hand back to admire your handiwork, giving you ample chance to slip the matching ring onto your finger.

"how lovely," he spoke, though the regular sarcasm that accompanied such phrase was absent and replaced with a more caring tone. "thank you, my love. i always assume i'd be the first to present you with a ring,"

though alhaitham was joking, you couldn't help your heart from leaping at the mere thought of spending forever with him.

he had picked up your bag and his other hand reached out to help you from your chair. usually he'd be extremely stern regarding the cleanliness of his desk at the end of the day, but honestly he found himself desperate to head out of here with you.

as you walked through the rest of the akademiya hand in hand, alhaitham's mind couldn't help but drift to the paper ring he still proudly wore on his finger. it didn't matter what others thought of such a menial thing, what truly mattered is that he felt as though it truly consolidated his love for you. after all, the ring box hidden in the very back of his bedside drawer was eating away at him, waiting to be used.

#♡｡ now tracking: kfairy ☆.ᐟ #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham drabble #alhaitham fluff #genshin fluff #genshin impact fluff #genshin x y/n #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader

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loguetowns · 1 year

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the one that (almost) got away

roronoa zoro x fem!reader

it takes him 12 hours to realize

3.6k words

a/n: ok listen, i think i started writing this like 6+ months ago and it’s just been sitting in my drafts bc idk how to commit to endings so y’all are gonna have to take this as it is. also i have no concept of how sailing works or how long it takes oops

9:00 pm

“y'know, there's really no point to a farewell party if the one leaving isn't there.”

you look up from your spot on the library floor. your eyes land on the green-haired swordsman leaning against the doorframe and you smile.

“i’ll be there in a second. i just have some more stuff to go through.”

zoro eyes the mess of books surrounding you, recognizing a few of nami’s atlases and robin’s textbooks. “you haven’t finished packing yet?”

“i’m mostly done. i’m just trying to decide which books i want to keep.” catching his eye, you joke, “why? you want me gone that bad?”

crossing the room, a scoff leaves his lips. nothing could be further from the truth.

“you got me. i am so sick of you,” he says with a grin. “can’t wait to get rid of the annoying librarian invading my napping spot.”

zoro plops down on the bench behind you, catching a whiff of your shampoo as he lies down. you sit with your back to him, sorting through your piles, but zoro can hear the smile in your voice when you speak.

“you’re such a pretender, eh?”

zoro puts on a look of overdramatic offense, a hand on his chest. “me? you’re talking about me?”

at his poor acting, you turn around. you rest your chin on the bench, your face so close to zoro’s that one could only describe it as a kissable distance.

“you act like i'm all in your space, but nami told me that you never used to spend any time in here at all!”

“pfft, why would you ever trust what that con artist has to say?” zoro pokes your forehead. “you see it with your own eyes. am i or am i not here every day?”

you purse your lips as you think back to the last few months; he’s right.

you’ve spent most of your days in the ship’s library, and zoro has almost always stopped by. in the beginning, it would be for a few minutes, but over the last little while, he’d be in here as long as you were.

zoro smiles as he watches you think, eyebrows furrowed as you replay the last few months in your head. little do you know that this is exactly why the library is his new hideout. watching your pretty little mind work — doing what you love, thinking and studying and reading — is a far better use of his spare time than anything else he could be doing.

“anyway,” he says. “i guess your silly star stories have been a good trade-off.”

now it’s your turn to be mock-offended.

“silly star stories? you’re the one who asked about the constellations in the first place!”

“only because you kept talking about these fictional gods like they actually did something important.”

“says the guy who's completely enthralled by hades,” you roll your eyes.

“king of hell, god of the underworld,” he grins. “that’s my kinda guy.”

zoro laughs when you shake your head at him. he’ll never tire of teasing you; you are far too adorable with your little sigh and a ghost of a smile on your lips.

“did you know,” he says with a playful look. “that you still owe me about ten more constellation stories? d’you think you could squeeze in one more before we head up?”

zoro smiles at you, and you can't help but smile back.

you have so many treasured memories with zoro in this library; ones of just the two of you (him napping while you studied), ones with nami and robin (and sanji until nami kicked the boys out for their incessant bickering), and ones where the night listens in as you recite the history of the stars.

whether you were telling the story of another righteous deity enacting justice, or the tale of mere mortals who insulted the gods, zoro would listen with his eyes closed, lying across the bench as he is now, and you’d sit in front of him as you are now.

everyone’s waiting for you upstairs and you hate to disappoint, but some things are more important — like telling a silly star story to a silly swordsman.

“of course i can.”

12:00 am

raucous laughter and cheering that’s loud enough to deafen anybody; empty plates, once piled high with food, now scattered around the room; bottles on bottles of sake and rum and whiskey and every liqueur that one would hope to find on a pirate ship.

these are zoro’s requirements for a good time, and suffice to say that your farewell party has them all in spades.

zoro watches his friends’ tomfoolery from his spot at the table (currently, luffy’s trying to get franky to see how far he can slingshot him) when you plop yourself into the seat beside him.

“this,” you say as your arm knocks against his, “is the best party i’ve ever been to.”

zoro takes a swig from his glass, “you haven’t partied until you’ve partied with pirates.”

“seriously! you guys are insane!”

as if to prove your point, franky chooses that exact moment to show off a juggling sequence involving a barrel of whiskey, a giant potted plant, and a squealing chopper.

you gasp at the spectacle but quickly dissolve into laughter when nami saves chopper, and it’s with both awe and pure excitement that you turn to zoro. laughter is etched into your lips, your cheeks are flushed, and zoro can’t help but marvel at how you’re even cuter when you’re having fun.

“what, you’ve never seen a cyborg man toss a speaking reindeer in the air before?”

you nudge him with your elbow, “well, excuse me for leading such a mundane life where animals don’t speak and men don’t tinker with their bodies.”

“ah, but that’s where you’re wrong.”

you look at zoro quizically.

he takes a sip of his beer, “most men do tinker with their bodies.”

it takes you a moment to catch his innuendo and zoro roars with laughter when the realization hits you. embarrassment tinges your pretty face and you shove him with a loud “ew, zoro!” but he can’t stop cackling.

“you’re disgusting!”

you make to swat zoro across the chest but he quickly catches your hand. he leans in to waggle his eyebrows at you, “but i’m not wrong, am i?”

you groan loudly, which only makes him laugh again.

perhaps it’s the alcohol that let his inhibitions go, or maybe it’s the fact that he doesn’t have much longer with you, but when you hastily change the subject and there’s no longer a reason for him to still be holding your hand, he doesn’t let go.

when nami joins you two, his fingers slips between yours and to his surprise, yours do the same. sanji joins your threesome, then franky and robin, and in no time at all, it’s no longer just the two of you at the table.

but zoro doesn’t care.

drunk, carefree, and more content than he’s ever been, zoro closes his eyes and smiles. he lives in the moment, and in this moment, he’s happy — happy with a full stomach and a full glass, happy to be surrounded by his favourite people, and happy that, under the table, you’re still holding his hand.

3:00 am

“and what’s that one?”

hands swinging between you, you and zoro dodge the tide as you roam further and further from the thousand sunny. the sand is cool under your feet and the tide kisses your toes with each step. your other arm is stretched above you, pointing at a constellation in the distance.

“what is this - a pop quiz?”

you smile, “i want to make sure you don’t forget about my ‘silly star stories.’”

zoro groans, “has anyone told you that holding grudges isn’t healthy? keeping going and you’ll turn into a bitter old thing some day.”

you stick out your tongue, “you’re just afraid you’ll get it wrong.”

“wrong?” zoro scoffs. “i’ve gotten the past six right.”

walking along the beach, you and zoro fall in step with each other and your footsteps match the ebbing waves in perfect rhythm. you smile in his direction and his chest is flooded with a warmth that has nothing to do with the copious amounts of alcohol he’s consumed.

“alright, let’s see what we got here.”

zoro follows your gaze at the cluster of stars you’ve chosen, and he grins when he sees the constellation. “really? at least try to make this hard for me, please.”

his cocky attitude leaves you speechless, making zoro laugh.

“you’re so annoying!” you shove him with your free hand and the force of his stumble pulls you along, and you shriek as he drags you into the ocean with him. he doesn’t let go of you, not even for a second — not when water splashes your legs, not when zoro’s pants get soaked as he spins you around.

your laughter is warmth in its purest form, the kind that you can feel all the way down to your cold toes. when he sets you back down, you give his hand a little squeeze, to which zoro answers back with a tender smile.

now with wet feet and a distance between you that’s even smaller than it already was, zoro continues to walk alongside you.

“moving on from your pathetic distraction attempt,” — you let out a dramatic gasp — “i’ll tell you exactly who we were looking at.”

pointing at the starry zodiac sign, zoro speaks with complete confidence.

“virgo the maiden, otherwise known as persephone, wife and muse of the best god of them all, hades—”

“fanboy much?” you tease but zoro pretends not to hear you (the little tug of his lips tells you that he does).

“—who snuck her a pomegranate seed because he couldn’t bear for her to leave him.”

zoro puffs his chest with pride, relishing in this one niche study of which he is now an expert. it’s incredibly endearing how pleased he is with his answer and you almost feel bad for correcting him.

almost.

“good answer,” you grin. “but you left out the little detail about how she was kept in hell against her will.”

zoro gasps, “are you accusing my idol of being a kidnapper?”

“your idol!” your cheeks already hurt so much from smiling but another giggle slips out. “first of all, these aren’t my accusations. historians have told their love story this way for years—”

“slander is what this is.”

“—and secondly, why would you want to look up to hades? he’s literally the antagonist in every story.”

“he’s the king of hell! that’s so bad ass.” zoro winks at you, “don’t be surprised if you hear them calling me ‘zoro, king of hell’ some day.”

“what’s wrong, demon of east blue doesn’t go hard enough for you?”

embarrassment rushes to zoro’s face and he’s never been more grateful for the night. “who told you that? was it usopp or nami? i bet it was nami.”

“i might hold a grudge but i don’t snitch,” you flash a mischievous smile. “anyway, let’s get back to how you want to be just like devil who tricked a poor girl in returning to the underworld.”

“come on, can you blame a man for doing whatever it takes to stop his beloved from leaving him?”

it sounds like an innocent question — harmless banter, really — but something in the way he says it makes you stop dead in your tracks. a silence falls and in its wake, all you can do is stare at the man you’ve spent the last several months with, the same man that you have to say goodbye to tomorrow.

moonlight falls unto the both of you and bathes zoro in soft light. it illuminates his eyes and when you meet his gaze, you see a sense of longing there that you feel in your chest. a longing for what, you don’t know — or rather, you don’t want to know.

at least, not yet.

so you hold his hand a little tighter, and underneath the watchful eye of the gods and constellations, muster a smile,

“i guess not.”

6:00 am

if this was any other morning, zoro would be awake and working out already. he'd be done his fourth set of bicep curls or, at the very least, working on his form. he could even be in the middle of deadlifts (because he knows not to skip leg day), but he definitely wouldn't still be in bed the way that he is right now.

the thing is though, if this was any other morning, he wouldn't have you sleeping next to him, curled into him like you were made to be a perfect fit.

he's never been more glad to still be in bed.

your breath matches the rise and fall of zoro's chest, perfectly in rhythm with the waves outside his window and the beat of his heart, like the universe meant for all these things to be in harmony at this one singular moment in time.

your lashes flutter in response when he shifts his weight.

he takes a peek at you, “psst, are you awake?”

eyes still closed, you manage a noncommittal grunt but your body says otherwise.

zoro can’t help but smile as he watches you start to wake up. your toes wiggle beneath the covers and you rub your eyes before looking up at him with an adorably sleepy look that he would love to wake up to every day.

if only he could.

you focus your gaze on zoro like he’s an anchor in a sea of slumber. the way that you look at him, as if he’s the only thing that you see, fills his chest with a golden warmth akin to the breaking dawn.

you offer him a soft smile, and zoro wonders if the sun knows that you glow brighter than it ever could.

“why are you up at this ungodly hour?”

he chuckles, low and tender, “’m used to it. i’m usually up by now.”

“freak,” you mutter. zoro laughs, and you can’t think of anything else that sounds more beautiful at six in the morning.

you’re not usually up this early but what you notice is that, at dawn, time has a habit of moving slowly. it’s as if the morning casts magic upon those who rise with the daylight — and you’re so thankful for that.

because if time moved any faster than this, you’d have to say goodbye that much sooner.

“are you going to miss us?” zoro puts his arms around you.

you murmur into his chest, “of course, i will.”

“who do you think you’ll miss the most?”

you give pause and zoro’s almost certain you can hear his heart beating a little louder — he can definitely hear it. he doesn’t typically get nervous like this but, then again, nothing about the way you make him feel is typical.

you seem to have come to a conclusion because you look up at zoro and he holds his breath.

“sanji.”

he blinks.

“wait, are you serious?”

you’ve never seen zoro looks so wonderfully scandalized before, and you burst into a fit of giggles. as soon as you start, he knows he’s been had. he scowls but only for a moment; for who could be upset in the presence of such twinkling laughter?

“silly man,” you snuggle closer, "of course i’m not serious.”

“okay, good.” you can hear the smile in his voice. “i don’t know if my ego could handle losing to him.”

zoro holds you close, his thumb tracing circles on your skin. his movements are slow, steady, comforting — ‘round and ‘round, in the same spot, like he’s drawing an invisible mark that is only known to the two of you.

"but, you know,” you hum, careful not to disrupt the peace. “you wouldn’t.”

“wouldn’t what?”

“lose.” and after a beat, you quietly add, “you wouldn’t lose to anyone.”

and just like that, zoro’s on cloud nine, airborne and weightless. he’s always known that he has a place in your heart, but this is the first time that you’ve ever hinted about where that place may be. if he allowed himself to be hopeful, it almost sounds like a confession.

but almost isn’t good enough for him. zoro wants more — wants to find out exactly where he belongs in your life, wants to know if he can make himself at home there.

it’s a shame that he’s out of time.

you interrupt his thoughts with a whisper, barely audible above the sound of the ocean and his aching heart,

“will you miss me?”

more than anything.

9:00 am

surely, zoro’s dream to be hades has been granted. otherwise, why would it feel like he’s in hell, standing on the deck, all alone and watching your dinghy sail away from the thousand sunny?

zoro’s had his fair shares of farewells while aboard the ship, and to be honest, yours wasn’t any more emotional than anyone else’s. you left with a smile as beautiful as the morning sun and with far less tears than he expected (which he’s thankful for because he would hate to see you cry). as far as bittersweet goodbyes go, yours was definitely more sweet than bitter.

and yet, here zoro stands, with a bad taste in his mouth that he can’t explain. he can still see you from where he stands, and watching your little boat in the distance is the only thing that seems to settle his uneasy heart.

should he have bid adieu privately? maybe he should’ve left you with a memento of some kind? should he have done more than offer you a quick hug? was it his imagination, or did you hold onto him just a beat longer than you needed to?

zoro’s so occupied by these messy thoughts that he doesn’t even hear sanji approach him.

“well?”

startled, zoro can only stare at the blond cook. ignoring the dumb look on his face, sanji continues.

“what’d she say when you told her?” sanji nods in the direction of your boat.

“told her what?”

“that you love her,” sanji takes a drag of his cigarette, looking at zoro directly now.

he speaks so frankly, so matter-of-fact and candidly, that it takes zoro a second to really register what it is that he’s saying.

he loves you.

and as soon as he thinks it, the truth comes barreling through all the doubts clouding his head. clarity floods his chest as he comes face-to-face with what his yearning, pining heart has been trying to tell him this whole time.

he loves you. he loves you. he loves you. he loves you. he loves you-

fuck.

he loves you.

and he never told you.

epilogue — 9:30 am

sails closed, your boat floats with the current and the salty breeze reminds you that your adventure with the strawhats has come to a close. compared to the never-ending bustle of the crew, it’s almost too quiet being at sea alone. the silence lends itself to your overactive mind, working full time to unravel the tightness you feel in your chest.

you’re lost in thoughts of what could’ve, should’ve, and would’ve been — so much so that you don’t even hear the commotion behind you. it’s not until you hear zoro call your name that you hear the frantic swimming and you whirl around.

“zoro! what-”

“can you help me first?” he splutters.

you pull yourself together long enough to run to the side of your dinghy, pulling a sopping wet pirate on board. zoro leans back, trying to catch his breath as you rummage through your things.

“are you crazy? do you know how far we are from the sunny?” you throw a towel over him before reaching for another. you start drying off his hair, frantically fussing over him.

“you think that just because chopper gives you the clearance that you can push yourself over the limit-”

“y/n.”

“this is why you’re always on house arrest! you’re actually insane, you know that?”

“y/n.”

“i know you work out, but for goodness’ sake, zoro, you’re only human-”

“y/n.” zoro holds your wrists, forcing you to stop with a start.

in all your worrying, you didn’t realize that you’d been gravitating closer to zoro until you’re staring into his dark, obsidian eyes. there’s clarity in the way that he looks at you. his eyes are shining with a fierceness that you’ve only seen in his worst fights, and you brace yourself for whatever comes next.

because you know that this will change everything.

“hades and persephone.”

“huh?“ you blink at him. “did you hit your head-”

“ask me if i think hades loved persephone.”

you stare into zoro’s eyes, desperation reflecting back at you. there’s a hidden question there and you understand immediately.

quietly, you ask, "do you think hades loved persephone?”

“i do,” he whispers. “i think he loved her and he would've been stupid to let her go.”

your breath catches. zoro places a hand over yours, surprisingly warm as his fingers find their home between your own.

the heavens watch on as the two of you finally open your hearts and give way to the stuff that myths and legends yearn for — a connection that can only be described as fated, destined, purely and resplendently magical.

the gods smile at the two lovers who find themselves falling into each other, laughing as you confess, over and over again,

i love you.

#zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro fluff #zoro fluff #one piece x reader #¡! ❞ [ fics ]#i know i just wrote a zoro fic BUT #this fic has been stuck in my drafts for too mf long #i didn't even proofread the epilogue bc fuck it #i just need her to go out into the world ok #i promise i will write non-zoro stuff soon #(maybe)#(jk i will)

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fiveht · 1 month

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Proof of life (Adore pt 3)

Hello my sweet angel babies ♥️

I'm not going to be able to adequately express my gratitude for the steady stream of love (and concern, sorry) I've been receiving over the past couple of months. I'm so sorry I've been AWOL, it will definitely happen again. Because see, for me, I usually have to make a choice between social and creative fandom participation. My battery is small, and takes a long time to charge.

Thank you to everyone who's left comments and asks and DMs since I've been gone. I don't think I can respond to all of it, but rest assured those messages ping my cold, dead heart every time I see them.

So I'm gonna go out on a limb here. I did this same thing months and months ago, when I was working on Head Over Feet, and let me be clear: posting even a single word of a WIP goes against my every instinct and principle as an author. I am someone who likes to finish an entire story before I post any of it, and on top of that, I am NOT a fast writer, so the expectations that I'm setting up here might not be advisable. But I did it before and managed to finish the thing, and I want to give you guys something in exchange for being so unbelievably awesome, so here I am again.

This will probably be the only time I mention this story in public until it's finished and posted, and inquiries about my progress are unlikely to help with the writing process, I'm just saying. I reserve the right to change every last word of this before the final draft, and I also reserve the right to fall off the face of the planet and simply never finish it, as much as I will strive to prevent that from happening. Please be patient with me.

Anyway, here is my paltry offering to say thanks for the love: the (VERY rough) first ~1300 words of the third instalment of The Adventures of Soft Daddy and Danger Twink.

Sirius secures his handheld shower head to its holder at the edge of his clawfoot tub, and steps out carefully onto the bathmat. He shivers in the cool air outside the shower curtain; it's about twenty degrees below zero outside, so even if he could afford to run his ancient radiator at full blast, it probably wouldn't help much.

He dries himself off and checks his reflection in the mirror, turning his face this way and that as he tugs his hair out of the bun he'd piled it into to keep it dry during his shower. There's no need for makeup tonight, not when he's not even planning to put on clothes.

It's incrementally warmer when he steps out into the main room of his apartment. He gathers an array of splayed text books and notes from his bed and dumps them carelessly onto the couch, then closes his new laptop and places it delicately on the coffee table. It's the most expensive thing he owns, save for the Gucci backpack currently sitting in his wardrobe with a three-inch berth around it like his shoes and other bags might somehow contaminate it. It's weird owning rich-people stuff when you are still, objectively, broke as fuck.

He perches on the edge of his bed and sets his phone to charge, because his battery doesn't even last a day anymore, and he's going to need it this evening. He tucks it in next to his pillow and picks up his new toy.

The plug isn't much larger than the one he already has. A little longer, which is appealing, but no wider, so it shouldn't be a challenge to get it in comfortably. He disconnects it from its charger and hefts it in his hand, feeling the added weight from the electronics inside.

He picks up his phone, and hesitates when he sees the notification waiting for him.

Rieka: let's go out tomorrow

Rieka: the fact that we haven't been drunk since the term started is criminal

Rieka: we've had two chem labs and zero drinks

Sirius purses his lips, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. There's a fine line here, and he hasn't quite found it yet.

Me: got plans

Me: raincheck?

So complete avoidance is the best strategy, right?

Rieka: booooo 👎

He sighs, but at least she's not asking for an explanation. He opens a different conversation then, pushing all thoughts of Rieka Lupin into a tidy, sealed compartment, not to be opened during certain activities with a certain relative of hers.

Me: i'm ready

Me: are you in your office?

Daddy: Yup, I've got a few minutes

Daddy: Want me to call?

Instead of answering, Sirius hits the call button himself.

"Hey baby," Remus answers. His voice is already smooth and honey-sweet, and just from that, Sirius knows he's planning to lay it on thick tonight.

"Hi daddy," Sirius says with a smile. "Should I put it in now?"

There's a low chuckle over the line. "Are we feeling eager?"

"Always," Sirius says, laying back on his bed.

"Use the good lube I got you, it's gonna be in there a while."

He switches the call to speaker, and snags the bottle from his nightstand. "I threw out the old stuff, you've got me ruined for cheap lube."

"Only the best for that ass," Remus says, and Sirius can hear his smirk.

He gives the plug a liberal coating, running his fingers along its shape, his dick twitching just at the feel of the silky-smooth silicone, at the anticipation of what's about to happen. He spreads his legs wide, drawing one knee up to give himself easier access.

"Take it slow," Remus says, succinctly heading off Sirius' impulse to just shove the thing inside himself in one go. "Rub the tip against yourself, so you're nice and wet."

Sirius shuts his eyes as he obeys, sliding the slick end of the toy over his entrance. "Okay."

"Are you going to be a good boy for daddy tonight?"

"Uh-huh," Sirius says, teasing the very tip of the plug in and out of his hole.

"Tell me how."

"I'm not gonna touch."

"You're not gonna touch, and you're not gonna come."

"Yeah," Sirius says. His cock is starting to harden as his body tries to draw the plug inside. "Can I put it in, daddy?"

"Slow," Remus reminds him, "Slide it in nice and slow for me, baby."

Sirius catches his lip between his teeth and tries to push the plug in slowly, the way he knows Remus would do if he was here.

The shower has left him relaxed and more than ready, and it's hard not to take advantage, just press the toy in to its limit because he can. But he's working on his patience -- under Remus' careful tutelage -- so he shuts his eyes and tries to savour it, the tease of the plug's rubber tip at his entrance, the slow stretch as he eases it past the slight resistance before he sighs, and his body eagerly accepts the intrusion.

"Mmmm," Sirius sighs as he settles the base of the plug flush against his entrance, shifting his hips and feeling the constant, dull pressure against his prostate.

"How's it feel?"

"Good," Sirius says, splaying his legs out and just enjoying the pleasant fullness. It's been almost a week since Remus last fucked him, and that's just way too long. Christmas really spoiled him. He tugs the blankets up around him, because it's going to take some time before his body temperature is high enough to fight against the chill in his apartment.

"Have you tried out the settings at all?" Remus asks him, and Sirius picks up the phone, switching off speaker and holding it to his ear.

"No," he says, grinding his ass down against the bed to test the plug's reach inside him. "I thought you'd rather do the honours."

Remus hums, and Sirius hears the phone shifting in his grip. "I'm gonna turn it on, okay? Lowest setting."

"O--" Sirius stutters as the plug buzzes to life inside him, nestled snug against his prostate and sending little zings of pleasure down his legs. "Fuck that feels good. That's the lowest setting?"

"It is," Remus confirms. "Want to run through them all, see how high it goes? Or would you rather be surprised?"

"Mmmm, surprise me."

"Surprise it is," Remus says, and Sirius hears shuffling papers in the background as he prepares for his night class. Psychology 1001, Thursdays, 7-9:30PM. Two and a half hours of a lecture that Remus swears he's given so many times he could recite it in his sleep, so why not give himself something fun to focus on while he goes through the motions?

Being privy to all of this brilliant, upstanding man's secret perversions is a privilege Sirius does not take lightly.

"You can turn it off from the app if you need to," Remus is saying, "Or you can call me and I'll switch it off. My phone's on vibrate, so I'll see it right away."

Sirius smiles to himself. "Got it," he says, though this is a rehashing of the rules that Remus had laid out when he'd brought the plug over last weekend. He'd called it a "late Christmas gift", as if he hadn't already given Sirius several thousand dollars worth of presents on Christmas morning.

There's more rustling over the line, the squeak of a chair.

"Tell me again how you're going to be good tonight."

"I'm not gonna touch myself, and I'm not gonna come." The toy is still buzzing away inside him, making everything a little fuzzy at the edges.

"Tell me why."

"'Cause daddy's in charge, even when he's not here."

"Good boy."

Sirius squirms with pleasure, his cock smearing a little drop of fluid on his belly as the toy hums insistently at his prostate.

"I have to head out," Remus says. "How do you feel?"

"Good," Sirius says, his abs tensing as he shifts his legs and the angle of the toy changes. "Excited."

"Me too," Remus says softly. "I'll talk to you soon, beautiful. Send me some pictures." With a low beep, the call disconnects.

#and i disappear into the night once again #turned off anon asks for the time being #sorry i love you guys i'm just awkward

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miraclewoozi · 8 months

Text

VERSACE ON THE FLOOR. -l.jh

ooh, i love that dress but you won’t need it anymore –

Or, the time you and your homebody boyfriend* decide to just… not go to your dinner plans.

pairing; lee jihoon x fem reader. content; fluff, suggestive (MINORS DNI). established relationship. warnings; relatively warning free (y'all i didn't even swear???) but just in case -- a couple of dorky jokes, reader wears a dress, makeup and heels, making out, undressing. let me know if i've forgotten anything. w/c; 2.4k (apparently i am in my shorter fic era? party.) note; if there's one thing i'm gonna do, no matter what day of the week it is, it's be disgustingly delusional about jihoon. get ur dentists on speedial, it's a tooth rotter (/j). note 2.0; i've had this one in the drafts for so long i had forgotten all about it! but then VOTF came on shuffle a few days ago (and i started thinking about light a flame woozi at the same time, which nearly fucking killed me), so. here we are. enjoy.<3

You don’t go out for dates very often. Not anymore, at least.

When you and Jihoon first got together, he took you out all the time. For dinners, to cocktail bars, to the movies, for walks down the beach, picnics by the river. It didn’t matter where you went as long as it put a smile on your face — all he ever wanted to do was make you feel special. No expense has ever been too great for his favourite girl, after all; he’s always loved to spoil you.

Now several years into your relationship, you’re a real pair of homebodies. Sure, he could take you out for a four course dinner at an expensive restaurant in the middle of the city, or reserve a table at a pretentious cocktail bar that plays slightly too loud music that’s always just to the left of either of your tastes. Then again… He could cook a nice meal for you to have at the apartment you share, where you can make your way through a bottle of bubbles without one of you needing to stay sober to drive home or else risk your lives in a sketchy cab.

It’s something you’ve talked about several times, and on every occasion, it’s quite apparent that you’re both very happy with the way things are. If anything, it makes it all the more special when he tells you he needs you to keep your weekend free because he’s making plans, and he wants to whisk you away.

Like now, for instance. The hotel suite he’s booked is gorgeous and you’re perched on the edge of the plush bedding, bent over double so that you can properly fasten your shoes while he finishes getting ready in the bathroom. Now and again, you hear a grumble or a click of his tongue float through the ajar door; every time, you feel a smile play at your lips as you shake your head. He never changes. (You’re so glad.)

“Jihoon,” you call to him softly. You can practically see how he’ll be standing – facing the mirror, on his tiptoes to lean over the bathroom counter and get as close to his own reflection as he possibly can. Pouting as his fingers drag through his hair to try and fix the strands in place just a tiny bit better. “Don’t you dare come out here looking like Sonic the Hedgehog. You know the more you play with it, the more annoyed you’re going to get.”

A few seconds later, he emerges, an eyebrow raised in challenge, an amused grin tugging his lips out of their habitual frown.

(And lo and behold — his hair looks absolutely fine.)

But the second he sees you, whatever witty comeback he was obviously very proud of dies on his lips, and you straighten up with only one of your shoes secured to your foot, the other just slipped on over your toes.

“Wow,” he says, in that soft, deep, quiet way that he does when you’ve really taken his breath away. You watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallows; you see his brow crinkle and his eyes widen, as if he’s trying to see as much of you as he possibly can. “Is that…?”

“Yeah,” you nod proudly, sitting back and smoothing your hands over the dress you’re wearing. “From our first anniversary.”

As his eyes move over you, taking in everything from the way the straps sit on your shoulders to the way the hem lays across your thigh, your own eyes move over him. The top three buttons of his shirt are still unfastened and his tie hangs either side, tucked beneath his collar but not knotted yet. His slacks have been cleanly pressed, a neat, crisp seam running down the front of both legs. Shoes shined to perfection. Expensive watch strapped around his wrist.

He might just be the most handsome man in the entire world.

“I remember you saying you really liked it, so… I dug it out, special.”

“You look incredible,” he says. It’s so gentle, so sincere, that you think your heart is about to burst clean out of your chest. Warmth trickles the length of your spine, and it isn’t exactly helped when you realise – only now as he starts to cross the room to get closer to you – that he hadn’t moved an inch since he surfaced from the bathroom almost a full ninety seconds ago.

He shrinks down so he’s rested on both of his knees in front of you, skilful hands moving to help with the shoe you hadn’t managed to lace up yet. every time his fingertips so much as brush against your skin, the electricity in his gentle touches shoots all the way from the point of contact up to your brain and leaves it fogged, impossible to make any sense through the thick clouds of intimacy and adoration. More-so as he smoothly lifts your leg a little and presses his lips once to the inside of your ankle, even foggier still as he trails kisses up the length of your calf towards your knee.

“Jihoon,” you laugh breathlessly, laying a hand on his shoulder as you feel his tongue press lightly against your skin. He finally sits back on his heels, running his fingers up and down the backs of your legs; he’s successfully managed to hike your dress up a few inches now, too, and he keeps flitting his gaze between your face and your thighs. “We can’t – we’ll be late.”

“We have ages,” he frowns, shuffling closer and trying to bump your knees apart, but you keep your muscles engaged and he doesn’t pull at them that hard, so they don’t budge.

“We have to get there, too,” you remind him. He throws his head back and sighs dramatically. The neckline of his dress shirt seems to open a little more when he looks back at you, drawing your attention down the length of his neck to his bulging chest, and the muscular forearms that he crosses in front of it.

“And this is why we don’t go out.”

“What, because you’re horny all the damn time?” You tease.

He gently swats at the top of your thigh before soothing it with another small kiss.

“Because when you look this good, how am I supposed to want to go and eat a steak instead?”

He grins up at you from the floor, quite clearly delighted with himself for his little gag. You, however, flop back onto the mattress and cover your face with your hands.

“That was so bad,” you chuckle. You’ve been trying for years to not melt to his very specific sense of humour, but it’s all been completely futile. Your reluctant laughs turn to sweet, breathy giggles by the time he lays both his arms across your legs and rests his chin on top of them. You prop yourself up on one elbow to look at him; he’s staring up at your face like he thinks he’ll never see anything as beautiful as you for the rest of his life.

“Maybe… We don’t have to go out for dinner,” he suggests. “Maybe we can stay in tonight, too.”

“Horndog.” You tsk. But you’re not disappointed at the idea of staying in, either, regardless of whether your teasing implies otherwise. “I knew you’d say that.”

“No — really,” he swallows. You aren’t sure if you can feel his heart beating a little faster where his chest is pressed completely against your shins, or if you’re just imagining it. But the tips of his ears are going pink too, so you think it’s safe to trust your intuition on this one. “I mean-… we don’t have to go. I could-…”

He bites the inside of his cheek before he looks down, pressing his forehead against his arms and hiding his face completely.

“I could do it here.”

He says these words quietly. Mumbles them, really. You aren’t sure if you were meant to hear, or if he was just talking to himself. But either way, it has to be worth a shot to find out.

“What do you mean, Ji?”

One, two, three seconds pass. And… Nothing.

“Hey.”

You bounce your thighs a little so he’s forced to look up at you, and you can see something swimming in his eyes. Something brewing. He sits back from you and pushes a hand through his hair; a few strands lose their stick to the rest of the main body and tumble down over his forehead. Exactly in the way he was trying to prevent.

“I could just do it here.”

He says this louder. Clearer. With much more finality. You sit up properly, then, both your hands clasped together in your lap.

“Do what here, baby?”

His eyes find yours and you sit there for a few moments, unwrapping each other's minds with nothing more than a look and a matching pair of gentle — but slightly concerned — smiles.

He moves one hand down and slips it into the back left pocket of his slacks. You think you can feel the world around you start to slow.

When he shifts a leg from beneath him so he’s on one knee before you and presents you with a glittering diamond ring, it stops altogether.

“Jihoon,” you breathe.

He glances between the ring and you, biting his bottom lip before he speaks.

“I had it-… I had everything planned.” He laughs, looking away from your face as even more rising heat becomes evident on his own. “Down to the second, even. But just like you always do — just like the first time I saw you, and just like every time since… You threw me a curve ball and… Somehow, you’ve changed everything. But you made it so much better.

“I think I was supposed to find you, y/n,” Jihoon says. “I don't know what’s up there, what’s in charge of when we meet the people we meet and why we fall in love with the people we fall in love with. but I know that they were really looking out for me the day you came into my life.”

You can feel your eyes starting to sting at the corners and you will the tears away, desperate not to smudge the makeup you spent so long trying to perfect. You know he’d love you either way — mascara tear tracks and splotchy concealer and all — but…

“I am so in love with you that sometimes, it really hurts. It hurts because I know that no one’s ever going to come close — about anyone in the world — to feeling the way I feel about you. I feel bad for everyone, a bit. Because you’re not-… you're not with them. You’re with me. But I wouldn’t want any of them to be with you, because-... and… and if you’ll have me, I want you to be with me forever.”

You don't know when you started slowly nodding along to his little monologue, but you definitely are. You’re not sure when you started holding your breath either, but that’s two for two. He looks up at you, expectantly, fluttering his eyelashes and stuttering out a long, deep breath.

“Y/n, will you marry me?”

Some decisions, you’ve always thought, are made for you at a cosmic level. Your favourite colours. Your favourite foods. Hot and cold weather people. Loving or hating marmite. A predisposition to enjoying scary movies or being the kind of person who hides behind a pillow.

This is another one of those. You don’t have to think twice about it — you just know. You know because a great unstoppable force managed to squeeze you together at the perfect moment in time; the ever-expanding universe around you has kept you and Jihoon side by side through everything it could possibly throw at you.

“Yes.”

Of course you want to spend your forever with him.

The word leaves your mouth in a whisper and everything flies back into motion. The first black droplet rolls down your cheek. His usually so steady hands fumble with yours to slide the ring over your finger. A perfect fit. You’re hurtling through space and time as he gets up off his knees and cups your cheeks, gently pulling you upright and crashing his lips against yours. You stumble into him slightly in your heels; his kiss is more a chaotic clatter of teeth and giddy laughter than perhaps the intense, romantic gesture he was aiming for, but it’s completely, utterly, unequivocally perfect.

Jihoon’s fancy dress shirt creases under your fingers as you ball it into your fists where the top buttons are spread open, pulling him as close as you can, laughter dying down as he loses himself in you and as you lose yourself in him, right back. He swallows all of your gasps and sighs, hands sliding down from your face to the sides of your neck, until he’s resting a palm on each of your shoulders. A single finger slips beneath one of the straps and he pulls it out of the way, down onto your arm, withdrawing from your mouth so that he can press a series of kisses down your cheek and to your jaw instead.

“Ji,” you murmur, tipping your head back and fumbling at the buttons running the length of his torso, trying and failing to get them open. He chuckles, his other hand coming to rest over yours to stop you. You lace your fingers together, feeling him squeeze. Your heart pounds.

“Let's take our time,” he whispers to you, thumb grazing over your collarbone. “Okay?”

All you can do is nod as he kisses lower, and lower, pressing his lips everywhere he can while he’s still standing. Your neck and shoulders feel ablaze, tickling with the heat of the burning stars his mouth paints across your skin.

“Need-... Ji, you need to-... call… call the restaurant,” you stutter. “Gotta…. we need to cancel…”

The fleeting sting of his teeth against your throat interrupts you and you’re only aware of him reaching behind you to tug the zipper of your dress down when the material falls completely slack..

“In a minute,” he says, helping you walk backwards until your calves collide with the bed behind you once again. He eases you to lie down on the comforter and crawls on top of you, caging you in with both arms, taking hold of your left hand again.

He looks down at the ring on your finger, his entire face breaking into the most brilliant of smiles. Every inch, from the creases at the corners of his eyes to the paling stretch of his beautiful lips.

“My future wife needs taking care of, first.”

�� no you won’t need it no more, let’s just kiss ‘til we’re naked, baby.

hehe thank u sm for reading!! i hope you enjoyed this bc it was a bit special 2 me. likes, reblogs, comments + feedback are all, as always, greatly appreciated.<3

#woozi fluff #woozi fic #woozi x reader #lee jihoon fluff #lee jihoon fic #lee jihoon x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen fic #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #j writes.#*#running off into the void now <3 don't perceive me BYE

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soracities · 8 months

Note

how do you know when you're getting good at poetry? everybody dunks on halsey and rupi kaur's poetry, and i never really got why and idk if that's what i sound like

Honestly, I don't think there's ever a point at which you "know" you're getting good at poetry--I think "good" and "bad" are kind of vague and amorphous (and distracting) categories that don't do much in helping us understand the feel and impact of certain writing, chiefly because they can also be deeply subjective. How a poet views a particular work and how a reader views it will be very, very different because their relationship to the work is different. I also think "good" is a sort of external category that does not (or should not) carry into the act of writing itself--when you make "is this good?" the chief consideration as you write, you're not actually present in the writing: you're focused on the finished product, not the process, but the process is the most important thing: that's where the poem actually meets you. I think growth, in writing, is less about knowing if you're "good" in this regard, and more about being able to have confidence, or simply just trust, in the writing as it happens.

There's a famous saying somewhere that a work of literature is never "finished"--it just stops. I think skill, when it comes to writing, lies in recognising where this point is, in learning and developing how you navigate what it is you want to say, and how you say it. Some poems, eventually, reach a point where you can take them no further and you know there is nothing more to be said in them or through them. Some poems reach a point where you can take them no further, but there is still something left to be said in them. Those poems get revisited, worked, and reworked again, until they (maybe) get close to the first category: this may mean you work on them for a few weeks, or for years--but either way you are prioritizing the process of making the poem, not how it will be received. "Is this a good poem?" in my view at least, is not really the relevant question--what's relevant is "is this true to what I wanted to say?" Leonard Cohen famously wrote over 100 drafts of "Hallelujah"--I don't know if the central question for him here was just a matter of his skills as a songwriter.

Regarding Halsey and Rupi Kaur, I've only been able to read Halsey's poems through previews on Google Books so I don't know what other people's critiques are--based on what I saw, though, I don't know if it makes sense to criticize their quality as "poems" when she is primarily a songwriter and a lot of those poems wound up as songs. I'm more familiar with Rupi Kaur's writing, though, and others like her (Atticus, Michael Faudet etc), and while I have a personal policy of not getting into Kaur online (there's an ask here which is about as much as I'm willing to say regarding my feelings on her writing)--I can get into this trend or poetry "style" as a whole. And to be honest I think the chief issue here with poetry like this is that poetry, by definition, involves a deep and intimate relationship with language: this holds true regardless of whether the poem is simple, or complex, whether it's 5 lines long or goes on for 50 pages. As I said in that previous ask, it's not something you can reduce to a formula, nor is it a matter of mere reportage or a collection of statements: what makes a poem has nothing to do with line breaks (prose poems exist), but everything to do with how the language moves, how the language of a poem engages with its own content, with itself, and, as a result, with the reader.

The kind of work that proliferates on Instagram does not have that kind of engagement with language--they are, to me, pieces of information more than anything else. They reduce language to a series of stock phrases that act, not as actual words, but as images (and I don't mean this in a visually evocative way). It tries to evoke something that requires a thoughtful and sustained examination in order to be expressed, by surpassing the reality of what that examination actually requires. It tries to ape the effect of a powerful poem without the work that goes into actually being able to make that kind of a poem in the first place: and that work is a sustained encounter and confrontation with the language used and its relationship to what it tries to convey, in understanding that words are not interchangeable blocks you move around willy-nilly but that they have weight and intention, that they interact with each other to build up an idea or a feeling or a landscape in the most accessible way (insofar as language can make anything accessible, at least). But this is rarely, if ever, felt in IG poetry because it refuses to recognize or respect the demands and requirements of the medium it uses.

And because it is lacking in this engagement and recognition, these poems are also, for the most part, lacking sincerity--and this, to me, is one of the most crucial things when it comes to writing. I recall one IG poet whose work was in the same class as someone like Atticus, but I also recall one of his poems which genuinely moved me--and it moved me because, unlike everything else on his account, that poem felt sincere: the structure and the language wasn't any different to anything else he wrote, but in reading it, it was not a question for me of whether it was "bad" or "good"--what made the impact was that it was honest: and the difference showed. You can't come into a poem with ulterior motives. You can't come into it without an understanding, or respect, for the language you use. I'm absolutely not policing what people should or shouldn't read, and I'm not saying people are wrong for liking these poems, either, or that Halsey, Kaur, Atticus et al., are wrong for writing them. Expression is expression, and what speaks to you speaks to you. And to be honest, it is a different kettle of fish when you are writing something purely for yourself (and I think allowing yourself to partake in any kind of artform, without worrying about needing to be good at it, is deeply important for the human spirit)--but because they are putting their work out publicly, if we are going to be evaluating what they write and how they write it, that evaluation has to be rooted in an understanding of the art form they intend their work to be a part of.

For me, these are the main issues I have with these writers and their work and why I just do not like them. But I also want to stress that, ultimately, what you sound like in your own poems, anon, does not matter as much as being sincere to yourself does. As I said, I don' like using terms like "good" and "bad" and I think that often they're fairly reductive (and sometimes outright pointless) categories to use when we talk about and assess poetry--more than anything else, the key to building a robust and informed discernment when it comes to poems is to simply just read--read a lot of it and read widely. The broader and richer your repository of poetry (and literature in general) is, the more informed you are when it comes to all the different ways language can move through a poem, and all the different impacts it can have as a result. It deepens and enriches your understanding of all the different ways of looking at something, questioning something, expressing something. Your vocabularly grows and deepens; your net of associations--visual, linguistic etc--strengthens. And when this understanding grows you are able to place the things you read into a much wider and far more informed context. And this in turn allows you to grow as a reader and a writer. I hope this helps you a little, anon 💕

#ask #anonymous #book talks

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espinosaurusrexex · 3 months

Text

Acid Fog

Wolds Collide Collection

BuckyBarnes x Female!Reader apocalypse au

summary: You take the chance to bond with a new friend when the acid fog rolls in, inevitably trapping you with Bucky for several hours. Bucky has to learn the hard way, that he won't get rid of you that easily.

a/n: I'm not dead. I just have so much to do. But you best believe, once I finally finished my papers, I will work on all the stories that are already outlined in my drafts 💚 please bear with me until then...

not prooread - will do so soon

word count: 2.6k

warnings: grumpy/sunshine, mentions of death, dystopia, deadly fog, reader is lonely, Bucky is lonely - they're gonna be lonely together, worried CatDad!Bucky, strangers to friends (for now)

collection playlist | main masterlist | collection masterlist

May 13th 2039

Hey, Book.

I’ve decided that Bucky needs a friend, so I’m going to visit him today.

Finding the handsome not-so-anymore stranger was a challenge. But you loved challenges. It mixed up the day, made things less boring, and was a nice way to spend your time.

You had planned things perfectly. You had enough time until the next acid fog would roll through, grabbed one of the canned soups that were rarely found anymore - but you’d gladly sacrifice them for a new friend, and you had a backpack ready with some essentials in case you wouldn’t make it home in time.

You first headed in the direction Bucky took off to the other day after falling into your trap. There wasn’t much to “detour around” where you lived and chances of him being fairly close - considering being too far from shelter was a certain death sentence - gave you confidence with that approach.

You walked for about two hours until the tree line faded into blotchy scatters of green. There was a house - or rather ruins of one - sitting by the edge of the forest. You frowned. Bucky wasn’t stupid. At least he didn’t seem that way. He would never hide above ground. Every decent survivor that had lived up to this point knew ‘low was the go’. The chances of being killed were cut to 20% when you lived secluded and underground - the beach was good too apparently, but you were too far to see for yourself.

Your eyes swayed to the ground. You had a feeling Bucky was here, you just needed to find out where exactly. So you approached the ruins and stepped through what was left of the doorway. Dust and dirt covered the surfaces, ripped cushioned sofas, and scratched hardwood floors. There wasn’t much left to use here. The place was looted and brittle with holes in the ceilings and missing steps. You wondered how you ever recognized it as a house in the first place - because, really, this was anything but. The bones barely held up the remains and made it seem like an oversized version of a carport.

It wasn’t long until you had scouted the place and reached the other end of it. Now you were standing on the porch and looking out onto a wild yard that reached into the forest again. You walked down and towards it, searching the area and still feeling as though Bucky was close. He couldn’t have lived any further - it would have been crazy.

The leaves rustled beneath your feet as you skipped vines and roots peaking from beneath. Your eyes swept the area until they landed on an odd-looking lot of ground. As if the branches were forcefully pulled to cover up a buried something, the vines stretched over a green-grayish ledge.

Immediately you headed for it. This has got to be it, you thought until you reached an opening into the ground that revealed a heavy-looking bunker door.

Heck yeah. You knew he wasn’t that stupid - even though he did fall into your trap...

As soon as you opened it and entered, it felt as though you had stepped several decades back. The whole interior seemed to be dipped in sepia. Old furniture crammed into odd places and neatly kept surfaces without dust made it look like an old photograph.

You walked further, let your hand wander over the spines of the books aligned atop a lonely shelf on the wall. They were Cyril, you guessed, as you watched the golden letters shine when you passed them. Beneath the books and next to a booger green armchair was a record player, aligned with old records of people with excessively gelled hairstyles and tailored suits - ancient.

But Bucky was nowhere to be found.

A heavy sigh escaped you as your backpack landed on the ground and you went about scouting the bunker some more. The space wasn’t too big, and Bucky seemed to have accumulated a bunch of treasures there for some time now, so you had plenty of things to discover. Eventually, though, you just fell back into the ugly armchair and tried to start up the record player.

Bucky’s music wasn’t particularly your go-to, but you wouldn’t complain in a world where music was as rare as a working outlet. After a while, you could even understand why Bucky resided here. It was kind of comforting - homey. Something not many people could call their own in this world.

“What the hell are you doing here?” You shot up, knocking over a couple books and earning a dark glare from the man in the doorway - Bucky.

You hadn’t even heard him come in. “I... I just wanted to see you,” you explained with an excited smile on your face. "I brought soup!" Your hands pointed towards your backpack.

“You- you broke in!” His boots stomped over to you just as you turned to pick up the pile of paperbacks.

“Well, it’s not so much breaking in when we’re friends.”

“We’re not friends.” Bucky reached forward and snatched the items from your grasp. He was slightly sweaty, grime covering his forehead, and settled in the harsh frown lines you could only see because he was so close.

“Yes, we are! You fall into my trap, you are my friend.” You ticked off the points with your fingers just as Bucky threw his hands in the air.

“You can’t just make up these ridiculous rules.”

“Or can I?”

“No. We can’t be friends. I don’t even know your name.”

He did have a point there. For a moment you watched as he neatly stacked the Russian books back in their place and then told him your name.

“What?” He grumbled.

And you just reiterated the words that you hadn’t said in forever.

He turned back to you with a poker face. “I don’t like it,” Bucky said so monotonely, it almost seemed like he wanted to tease you.

“Excuse me?” You weren’t offended, it was hard to make friends nowadays - there was nothing unusual about a person being hesitant at first.

“It doesn’t fit you. You should be called trouble.“ He still had that dead look on his face and you were starting to think he just didn't know anything else. You wouldn't blame him - seriously.

“See! We are friends you know me!” You chuckled but Bucky just shook his head.

“I don’t know you,” he whispered with slumped shoulders as he lowered his bag close to yours. Then he took off his hat and ran a hand through his shoulder-long hair.

Man, he was kind of cute. But that was probably just the loneliness talking, so you shook out of it.

You opened your arms and sunk back into the chair. “Well lucky for you we have a bunch of time to get to know each other now.”

And Bucky’s eyes widened. “What why?”

“The acid fog is rolling in early this evening.” You looked past him and out the entrance, where a deep gray sky covered most of the view. “I thought you knew... and that’s why you’re so, well, tense.”

“What, no I was just outside it’s-” The brunette turned and you could see his shoulders stiffen when he realized you were right. “Shit.” It was a low mumble that was followed by another nervous swipe through his hair.

For a man who seemed to be cool, calm, and collected so far, his feet were doing an awful lot of pacing right now.

“Are you okay?” You were careful to ask. Something was wrong and you didn’t want to risk him exploding. You didn’t know how he would react and a small sadness washed over your chest when you realized that maybe you weren’t as good of friends as you wanted to be.

“Shut up.” Yup, definitely not the talking type then.

“Can I help you or is ther-“ You were interrupted by a soft meow sounding over the rumbling of the clouds.

“Fuck, finally.” Bucky exhaled and knelt down, just to reveal a white fluffy cat tangling in his touch.

“Uh...There's a cat in your bunker,” you pointed out and Bucky picked his stiffness back up ever so slightly.

“Her name is Alpine. Touch her and you’re dead.”

So this was what had this big, broody man’s panties in a twist. He was worried for his pet. That was super adorable, you had to admit. And it charmed you just that much more when you saw the way he cuddled her into his chest before setting her back on the ground.

“I- Oh.”

As soon as he’d said it, Alpine had sauntered her way to you and rubbed her fluffy white face on your shin. You were just frozen in place - unsure what to do. You wanted to pet her so badly, but who knew what Bucky would do if you so much as moved now.

“The cat has chosen. Don’t blame me.” You threw your hands in the air when Alpine started to purr and jumped only our lab. Now that she was so close to your face, you noticed that one of her eyes was missing, a darker patch of fur replacing the spot where it should have been, but it just made her that much more charming.

Bucky glared at you for a good second and then moved to close the bunker in order to keep the deadly air out. And you took the opportunity to finally pet his cat.

It had only been 20 minutes and Bucky was already regretting his decision not to send you out into the fog.

First, you had broken into his home. Then you had declared you as friends, to which - for the record - he never agreed to. And then you had stolen Alpine’s attention. That was just the cherry on top of your pile of audacity.

And though he had been told that he wasn’t a pleasant contemporary, he wouldn’t send people straight to their deaths like that. He was a grump, but he wasn’t cruel. So he settled on quietly sitting in a corner and hoping that you’d eventually grow tired of snooping through his belongings.

But he still held a grudge. Because he hadn’t planned to spend so much time with anyone, really - except for Alpine, of course - and now he was stuck with you for at least three hours. You had basically forced yourself into his life with that agitating sunshine demeanor of yours and the annoying optimism in every single thing you did.

You had to be broken, somehow. Nobody could be this happy at the end of the world. Because that’s what this was. The end. The time you had to wait out until you escaped the hell this world had become just to spend an eternity in the actual one.

Yeah, Bucky believed in heaven and hell. Somebody had to be responsible for idiots like Hydra and he was sure there was an extra special lava pit reserved just for the god complex fogged imbeciles that were responsible for it all going to shit once and for all.

Bucky huffed at your occasional ‘woahs’ and ‘oohs’ and shrugged off his jacket while you went through more of his things. There was nothing he could do anyway. Tying you up and gagging you until it was over would be incredibly awkward for both of you. So, as long as you didn’t break anything or talk to him, he deemed you safe.

“Woahhh, that is so cool! Where’d you get that?” You suddenly said, and when he turned, Bucky saw you pointing at his metal arm.

He looked down, turned it in the yellow gleam of the bunker lamp, and then focused on your face again. People had seen a lot these days, though none of them ever asked him about it. They either stayed silent or avoided him altogether - the latter of which he preferred. He didn't like talking about it. It wasn’t anything he was proud of for that matter.

“Nonya,” he grumbled and sat back in the chair he chose to reside in for the rest of the day.

“What’s Nonya?” Your head cocked to the side and Bucky couldn’t help but crack a small smirk.

“Non ya business.”

And finally, you shut up. He exhaled, closed his eyes, and smiled complacently. However the silence didn’t last long.

“Okay that was a good one but really, where did you get that arm - it’s amazing.”

“It’s not amazing and I don’t want to talk about it, okay? Now do me a favor and shut up before I set you outside”

“You wouldn’t dare. After all, I was the one that helped you out of that trap.”

Buck had already established that he wouldn’t. But the thought seemed ever so intriguing right this second.

“That you built,” he deadpanned. “I’m done talking to you. Just be quiet for the next hour, so we both have a chance at surviving this thing.” Before I murder you or myself. That last part only echoed in his mind before he grabbed a book and hoped deeply that you’d comply.

You huffed and slumped in the chair next to him. Bucky only dared to glance at you once. Then he began reading, enjoying the silence you finally granted him.

You watched Bucky read his book. Fascinated by the shapes on the page that didn't look like letters to you, you leaned over to him. Bucky was skimming the pages swiftly, turning pages before you could even look at all the lines and then starting all over again.

When you leaned in a little too closely, he scooted back and hid the page from you with a glare. So, you stood up and sauntered over to the shelf again, tracing the printed covers with your finger.

“They’re all in Russian,” you pointed out after you had grazed the last spine. Most of the books were bound in brown, grey, or red.

“So?” He just shrugged, not even bothering to look at you.

“Do you know Russian?”

“The guy that lived here first was Russian.” He shut the book finally, tracing the cover with his own fingers. “So, I taught myself.”

“You know, I can get you some normal books. I can’t imagine there’s anything interesting in there.” You stared at the Russian flag on most of the books. They looked like government-issued prints. Nothing like a fun novel or romance book.

“I don’t mind them, really...” Bucky set the book down and stood next to you. Then he scratched his stubble with his flesh hand. “Though, they all have a communistic touch.”

“See!” You pointed at him. “What do you like to read? I’ve got it all. Romance, fantasy, sci-fi.”

“No sci-fi please.” Bucky rolled his eyes and you could only imagine why. You’d had enough of it in the real world, so the sci-fi book you had once acquired during one of your town walks hat sat in the corner of your little home untouched.

“So, you’re not opposed to romance?” Your eyebrows raised suggestively only for Bucky to glare at you again.

Bucky huffed and sat back down. “Forget it. I'll read my Russian books.”

You chuckled and threw your hands up in defense. “Okay, okay. Fantasy it is.” And then you settled in next to him staring at the ceiling with a small smile and a giddy feeling in your chest.

“See..,” you whispered, “I knew we would get along eventually.”

**Bonus

“Buckstar… Starbucks… Buck-”

“What are you doing?”

“I think it's only fair that if you give me a nickname, I can have one for you, too. How does Bucky-Buck sound?”

“No”

“Buckaroo.”

“Do I need to throw you out? Cause I will.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

“I thought I already had.”

"Good point… get out.”

“I can’t, the Fogg’s about to come!”

“Well, then I suggest you hurry your ass up, so it can’t kill you before I do.”

„I know you might not try to be, but you are very funny.“

*huffs in frustration*

Hey, Book,

Bucky's not that lonely anymore.

more…

Wanna be added to the taglist?

@circe143 @valkyrie418 @mirikusashes @noideawhyimdoingthislol @nikkitc0703 @lethallyprotected @erynnnn @misshale21 @wattpaduser200 @buckyseddie @adoreyouusugar @km-ffluv @mcu21lover19 @almosttoopizza @sociallyimpairedme @royalwritersoftheuniverses @i-l-y-3000 @mrsgweasley @prettylittlepluviophile @dinwifey @stuckysgirl27 @wintermischief @supersecretblogformytreasures @broadwaybabe18 @fridayiaminlove @buckybarnessimpp @goodkittyspost @justafangir1 @simpxinnie @bisexual-buckyfan @blackhawkfanatic @augustbucky @kandis-mom @harleycao @ashhsage @hhiggs

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pangur-and-grim · 10 months

Note

hey! i have been following your story trying to land a book deal closely and saw you've been successful so far! that s awesome, really happy for u. i'm hoping to get published too so seeking advice - do i understand correctly that instead of polishing my writting i should just dedicate my time to cultivating internet presence instead? if i got it right your follower numbers was a huge influence on gettign an agent? thanks!

I'm getting bad vibes from this ask, but I'll answer you as if it were genuine.

people in the real world do not care if you have a Tumblr blog. I got rejected by agencies and publishers 67 times, and only ended up with an agent because the guy thought my book was funny.

after I finished my book's first draft, I spent 11 months editing and revising it based on feedback from beta readers and agent rejections, draining my savings so that I could work on it obsessively, and now I'm right back in the editing/revising stage ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I get that "lazy influencer who succeeds instantly" is a trope, but I overwork to the point of damaging my health and have found barely any success.

#am I being too harsh on asker?#im like so tired rn lol. it's hard to judge whether or not this is bad faith

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lale-txt · 1 year

Text

🌙 waking up at night without you by their side ↳ w/ Kid, Rayleigh, Denjiro & Yamato

a/n: another draft that's been sitting here since forever. in the light you go!! love me some lighthearted fluff. slightly suggestive + poly mention for Rayleigh (i feel like i'm putting this ALWAYS when writing Rayleigh omg) also sending kisses to all my anons swooning over Yamato. i know i don't write him that much but wanted to include him here for you ♡ i always love reading about your undying love for him, it's the purest thing.

Kid

how dare you leave his side while he’s sleeping

don’t you know about your big spoon duties which involve holding him tenderly from behind, rubbing his back and making sure your arms are constantly wrapped around him all the time?

Kid huffs when he wakes up with his back cold and your side of the bed empty

were you going for a midnight snack without him? didn’t you know that he was also craving shredded cheese at 3am? was your relationship a lie the whole time?

no he’s not being dramatic why do you ask

or did you miss a step of your skin care routine and went back to the bathroom to do it again? he told you countless times that it didn’t work that way…

he throws back the covers and gets up, his red hair a mess and barely held together by the cat ear hairband you once gifted him

Kid’s first instinct when he’s in trouble is to consult Killer so they can be in trouble together, so naturally he stomps down the hall to Killer’s cabin and doesn’t bother knocking, just bursts in like the Kool Aid man

he lets out a surprised gasp when Killer isn’t sleeping peacefully in his bed but playing cards with you, Heat and Wire – very wide awake

before Kid’s face can turn the color of his hair, you already kick out a chair for the tulip and gesture him to sit his ass down so you can explain

“see… on the last island when we stocked up on supplies Killer didn’t buy decaf coffee like ne normally does but regular… and since everyone but you drinks coffee–” “because it’s BAD for your skin, but no one ever listens to me” “–all of us have just been unable to fall asleep.”

Kid rolls his eyes and continues huffing, but also pulls you in his lap and wrap his arm around you, falling asleep with his head resting against yours as you continue your game

but no more coffee for you after 2pm, decaf or not. the big spoon rule book got updated, you gotta keep up duh

Rayleigh

even in his sleep Rayleigh reaches for you, wanting to hug you close to him, only content when he can nuzzle his face in the back of your neck

so when his hand pats into empty space, he’s suddenly awake, mumbling out your name into the dark

first thing he does is turn on the light on the nightstand and reach for his glasses because he can’t see shit without them

still fighting off sleep, he takes a moment to reconstruct last night, smiling over it. no, you definitely fell asleep in his arms after you both finished… several times

actually he could go another round now that he was awake, but someone was missing…

it’s when he hears muffled voices coming from downstairs that he calls out your name again, louder this time

“we’re in the kitchen!”

we? … oh

with his observation haki never failing him, Rayleigh realizes within a heartbeat now what is going on

following your laughter he finds you in the kitchen… accompanied by a very familiar face

“Ray, I must say your taste is exquisite as always…”

Shakky cups your face, a cigarette dangling from her lips, as she beams at her husband leaning in the doorframe

“i think I’m in love with your wife”, you sigh dreamily, melting under her touch and gazing up to her with puppy eyes, completely encharmed by her

Rayleigh ruffles his white hair and just smirks. he was about to introduce you anyway, so this makes things much easier now

he comes closer and places kisses on both of your cheeks. this night just got so much more interesting…

Denjiro

Denjiro is always a little sleepy and would pass out within a heartbeat wherever and whenever, but preferably with you by his side, pulling you close even in his sleep

so why were his arms empty right now?

long blue hair is spilled all over the futons and usually by now you would complain because you’re getting tangled up in it

rubbing his eyes he sits up, he murmurs out your name into the dim light of your shared room

Denjiro isn’t too worried, he knows what you’re capable off, otherwise the yakuza boss wouldn’t have married you. he twists the golden band on his ring finger absentmindedly as he’s slowly forcing himself to wake up properly

it’s when he notices the gentle breeze coming through the open sliding door leading to the veranda and he immediately knows where to look for you

throwing the blanket over his shoulders he gets up, already making out your silhouette in the milky moonlight as you sit there huddled up, looking over your shoulder when you hear his footsteps approaching

“Den… you gotta see this…”

your excited whisper and gestures to keep quiet had him curious, but more than that he was just happy to see you smiling

Denjiro sits down behind you and pulls you in his lap, wrapping his big arms and the blanket around you and kissing the side of your neck. you’re cold but feel warmth tingling in your limbs immediately under his touch

“what is it, little moonshine?”, he whispers and rests his chin on top of your head. you almost disappear in his embrace due the size difference and wiggle yourself in a comfortable position, the tip of your nose and your curious eyes peeking out from the blanket

“snow bunnies”, you say softly and point to the garden where a pair of white bunnies frolic around in the falling snow, almost invisible for the eyes

Denjiro smiles and leans down to kiss you again. love is stored in the little things, you taught him that. and soon he falls asleep again, holding you tightly as he drifts into dreams of you, but none sweeter than the reality he gets to live with you

Yamato

personal space? not in this house

Yamato usually sleeps sprawled out like a starfish and rotates in his sleep like a beyblade

but it’s fine because you adjusted to that! nothing can stop you from cuddling your big golden retriever boyfriend in his sleep

so when he wakes up at night and doesn’t feel your familiar weight on top of him it just sends him into straight up panic

in an attempt to turn the lights on he gets tangled up in the sheets and stumbles, taking down the lamp and everything else on the nightstand with him

he’s calling out your name and trying not to cry on the spot

did you have a bad dream and he didn’t notice? were you somewhere crying on your own? his heart couldn’t take the thought of it.

this was even worse than the one time he lost you at the supermarket in the candy aisle and he had to make an announcement over speaker which was mostly him sobbing into the microphone

his brain still lagging from the sleepiness and shock, Yamato doesn’t notice how you squat down next to him, picking off various nightstand items (tissues, crystals, harness…) off him

“Yams, just what are you doing down there? were you sleepwalking? i knew this would become an issue one day…”

cut to Yamato sobbing in your arms because for three hot minutes he thought he had lost you forever

which is when you kindly explain him that nature called and you only went to the bathroom but would have returned into his arms straight away

however you can never hold back tears as well when you see Yamato crying and now you’re both on the floor sobbing as you hold each other tenderly

only when he kisses away the salty streaks you both calm down a little and can laugh about the situation

ever since you leave a little note out when you have to use the bathroom in the middle of the night and make sure to snuggle extra close to him once you return, making Yamato smile even in his sleep

#eustass kid x reader #rayleigh x reader #denjiro x reader #yamato x reader #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece reader insert #yamato #eustass kid #silvers rayleigh #denjiro #one piece imagine #one piece fluff #one piece headcanons

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pablitosgf · 9 months

Text

𝐆𝐈𝐅𝐓 ! — jb05

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ! — jude bellingham x fem!reader

𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎 ! — in which you surprise jude with a special vacation.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ! — nothing!!

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ! — this has been sitting in my drafts for MONTHS! even before i posted on this blog. so i hope y'all love it. btw i wrote this before he turned to the big 20 thats why it says 19. <3

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓 ! — writing

As you sat in your office chair, you couldn't help but smile as you thought about your anniversary with Jude. You had met him back in grade 11, and now he was a professional football player while you were studying to become a pediatrician one day. You had always wanted to have children, but of course, not at the moment. You and Jude were only 19 and had graduated high school a year ago. However, you had it all planned out – from engagement to marriage, pregnancy, and kids – for the future.

But for now, you needed to focus on finding the perfect anniversary gift for your beloved boyfriend of four years. You didn't want to give him something too basic, but you knew that he had always wanted to visit the Bahamas. Unfortunately, with his hectic schedule, there had never been a good time to make the trip. As you brainstormed ideas, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the time you had spent with Jude so far and excited for all the adventures that lay ahead for the two of you.

"That's it!" you exclaimed, a grin spreading across your face. "I'll surprise him with plane tickets for a week in the Bahamas. He has the whole next week off, so it's perfect timing." You couldn't wait to see the look on Jude's face when you told him.

With the apartment to yourself for a few hours due to his training, you quickly went to your laptop and booked a flight from Dortmund to the Bahamas. As you clicked "confirm" on the booking page, your heart raced with excitement. You knew that this trip would be a lifetime experience for the both of you, and you couldn't wait to share it with Jude.

After printing out the tickets, you headed to the store to pick up a fancy box and some accessories to go with it. As you were putting the finishing touches on your surprise, you heard the doorbell ring. Your heart racing with excitement, you ran to the door to greet Jude.

"Baby, you're finally here!" you exclaimed, barely containing your excitement. "I know we were supposed to exchange presents after our date, but I just can't wait any longer."

Jude raised his eyebrows, intrigued by your eagerness. "I can't wait to see what you've got for me," he said, leaning in to give you a light kiss.

You took his hand and led him to the box you had prepared, a huge grin on your face. Jude looked at you with a mix of confusion and anticipation as you urged him to open it. "Just open it," you said, barely able to contain your excitement.

Jude eagerly unlatched the box to reveal the tickets inside. At first, he looked confused, but as he examined them more closely, his eyes widened in disbelief. "What is this?" he asked, his voice filled with astonishment.

"You're joking, right?" he exclaimed, unable to believe his luck. But as he looked at you and saw the excitement written all over your face, he knew that this was real.

“You've always talked about how much you wanted to go," you said, smiling at him. "So I thought, why not make it happen?"

Jude's response was immediate - he wrapped his arms around you and began showering you with kisses all over your face, murmuring countless "thank yous" in your ear.

“You're welcome, my love," you said, feeling your heart swell with happiness.

You woke up to an enthusiastic and energetic Jude. "Come on, babe, get up!" Jude exclaimed, pulling your arm. You groaned and tried to resist, but Jude's excitement was contagious.

"Ugh, I'm too tired. Let me sleep," you complained, sinking back into the bed.

"No way! We have to get ready," Jude insisted.

"I just wanna sleep…" you muttered groggily.

"What did you say?" Jude asked, looking confused.

"Nothing," you replied, shaking your head and trying to shake off your sleepiness.

You posted a story on your Instagram and now you were sitting at the gate, waiting for the plane. You let out a sigh of boredom, and Jude noticed. "Hey, do you want to play chopsticks?" he asked.

You looked at him quizzically, "What's chopsticks?"

Jude was taken aback, "What?! How do you not know what chopsticks is?"

You just shrugged, which earned a loud puff from Jude.

"Fine, I'll teach you," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. He explained the rules and how to play, but you made snarky remarks here and there, calling it "boring" and "not fun." Jude being Jude, responded with a sassy retort.

As Jude turned his head to you, he exclaimed, "We're actually here!" His lips barely missed yours as he spoke, and you couldn't help but smile at his excitement.

"Of course, my love," you replied, returning the almost-kiss with a soft one of your own. "I'm so happy we're finally here in the Bahamas together." You intertwined your fingers with his, feeling the warmth of his hand as you headed towards the exit, eager to start your week-long adventure in paradise.

#pablitosgf #football #football imagine #jude bellingham #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham imagines #jude bellingham x reader #real madrid #soccer #soccer x reader #jude bellingham fluff #football oneshot

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broodparasitism · 7 months

Text

Everything I've Learned About Querying from Talking to Agents (And Traditionally Published Authors)

Disclaimer: I'm UK based, as was everyone I spoke to. I didn't include any country specific advice, just what I think is applicable regardless of where you live, put it might be useful to know this is from a UK lens.

As part of my course I was able to go to a lot of talks with literary agents (a mixture of literary, genre and nonfiction) and I picked up a lot of useful information - a lot of it not quite so bleak as I feared! - and thought it might be helpful to compile it for anyone looking to query agents in the future, so, here goes, under the readmore:

Querying

Remember that agents want to find and publish new authors. They're not at odds with/out to get aspiring authors. They want to work with us. This is someone you're working with, so don't pick an agent you won't get along with.

Manuscripts should be queried when they are as close to finished you are able to manage. There are a few agents that are open to incomplete manuscripts, yes, but many more that flat-out refuse unfinished work. Manuscripts generally go through about ~15 rounds of edits before landing an agent.

Send query letters in batches - around five or six at a time. There is no limit to how many agents you can contact, but you can't contact more than one agent from the same agency, so make sure you've selected the most suitable one from each.

In most cases you can't submit the same manuscript to the same agent twice - so having it be as finished as possible is all the more vital.

Some of them will take a long time to respond. Some never respond at all. If it's been three months of nothing, it's safe to assume that's a rejection.

One agent said she took on about two new authors a year, which likely isn't true for them all but is probably a reasonable average. For all of them, the amount of queries they get can be in the three digits a week. I can't emphasis enough just how many they get. I take a lot of authors to mean that means it's a 0.001% chance and despair, but that assumes each manuscript has an equal chance, and they don't. Correct spelling and grammar, writing in a genre that appeals to the agent, quality sample chapters and respecting the submission guidelines (more on this later) improve the odds by a significiant amount.

One agent said he rejected about half of his submissions from the first page due to spelling and grammar mistakes and cliches, for perspective.

You'll need to pitch your book. If your book cannot be pitched in three sentences, that's a sign it has too much going on and you'll need to do some pruning.

Please don't panic if you cannot come up with an accurate pitch for your book on the fly - you're not supposed to be able to do that. A pitch takes many edits and drafts just like a manuscript.

Send your first three chapters and a synopsis (this should be a page, or two pages double spaced. It should not include every single plot point though, again, if major things end up not there at all, question if they're necessary for the manuscript).

Three chapters is the standard - as in, if the agent web page doesn't specify how many, that's what to opt for. If they say anything else, for the love of God listen. If there was a single piece of advice that the agents emphasised above all else, it was to just follow each submission requirement to a T.

There needs to be a strong hook in these chapters. If your manuscript is a bit of a slow burn, that's fine, but you can cheat a bit with a 'prologue' that's actually a very hook-y scene from later on.

Read the agent's bio page throughly and make a note of what they like, who they represent, and what they're looking for, and highlight this in the query letter.

Your query letter has to say a little about you. It doesn't have to be really personal information (but say if you're under 40, because that's rare for authors and they like that), and keep it professional but not stiff, they say. If you have any writing credentials, such as awards won or creative writing degrees, include them, as with any real life experiences that pertains to the content of your book. But no one will be rejected on the basis of not having had an interesting enough life.

Apparently one of the biggest mistakes for debut authors tend to be too many filler scenes.

In terms of looking for comparative titles, think about where you want your book to 'sit'. Often literally - go into bookstores and visualise where on the displays you could see it. It's really helpful if you can identify a specific marketing niche. Though you want to choose comparisons that sell well, but going for really obvious choices looks lazy. A TV or film comparison is fine - as long as it genuinely can be compared.

Do not call yourself the next Donna Tartt. Or JK Rowling. They are sick of this.

Don't trust agents who request exclusive submission.

Or any with a fee. Agents take a percentage of your advance/royalties - you never pay them directly.

In terms of trends (crowd booing), there's been a boom in uplifting, optimistic fiction, but more recently dark fiction has been rising in popularity and looks to have its moment. Fantasy and Gothic are both huge right now. Publishers also love what's called upmarket/book club fiction - books that toe the line between genre and literary.

But publishers aren't clairvoyant and writing to trends is a futile effort, so don't let them shape what you want to write. Some writing advice I got that I loved was to not even THINK about marketability until draft three or four.

If any agent requests your full manuscript - this is crucial - email every other agent you're waiting to hear back from and let them know. This will take your manuscript from the slush pile to the top, and you are more likely to get more offers of representation.

The agent that flatters you the most isn't necessarily the best. Be sure to ask them what their plan for the book is, and what publishers they're planning to send it to - you want them to have a precise vision. It might be that their vision misses the mark on what kind of book you wanted to write, and if so, they aren't the right agent for you.

Research like hell! A good place to start is finding out who represents authors you love (the acknowledgements pages are really helpful here). if you can, getting access to The Writer's and Artist's Yearbook is very helpful, as is The Bookseller, the lattr for checking up on specific agents. (I was warned the website search engine is awful, so google "[name] the Bookseller" to see what they've sold. That said, only the huge deals get reported, so it's not indicative of everyone they take on.

I also want to add Juliet Mushen's article on what makes a good query. I owe a lot to it, and I feel like it's a useful template!

Once Agented

Agents send a manuscript to about 18-25 publishers, typically. Most books will end up having more than one publisher interested.

It can be hard to move genres after publishing a debut novel, especially for book two, not only because it means it takes longer for you to establish yourself, but the agent that may be perfect for dealing with manuscripts for book one might not have the skills for book two.

Ask the agency/publisher about their translation rights, their rights to the US market, and film and TV rights. Ask also what time of year the book is going to come out, if being published.

It's less the book agents are interested in than it is you as an author. You will be asked what you're going to write next, so have an answer. Just an answer - you don't need another manuscript ready to go. One author said she flat-out made up a book idea on the spot, and she got away with it - just have an answer. (This is also useful to put on the query letter.)

Caveat that this is, of course, not a foolproof guide to getting a book deal, nor is it in any way unconditional endorsement of how the industry works - I just thought it would be useful to know.

#writeblr #wtwcommunity #traditional publishing #literary agents #wrting advice #kinda #eta a readmore link

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dduane · 1 year

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Hi there! I'm not sure if this is something you've talked about before in another post, but I just finished the first draft of my first novel, and I was wondering if you could talk about what your experience was like getting your first novel edited and published. I have this story that I'm excited about but no idea what to do with it now that I've reached "The End," do you have any advice on what my next step ought to be towards eventually getting it published? Thanks in advance!

First of all: thanks for asking. ...And now I have to warn you that I am possibly one of the worst possible people to ask about what their first novel's publication looked like... as it was completely atypical.

Not that that's going to stop me, mind you. (And you know what? I'm inserting a cut here, because this goes on a bit. Warning: contains [calculated] dissing by old friends, pulp non-fiction, unexpurgated language, unexpected awards nominations, and advice that's worth just what you're paying for it.)

What happened with me and my first book goes like this:...

In the late 1970s I was starting to burn out on psychiatric nursing, and was offered a job as assistant to the novelist and Star Trek ["The Trouble with Tribbles"] writer David Gerrold. I took it happily, as I was in a place in my life where I really needed some kind of change. The work with David was part-time; I also occasionally did special duty nursing shifts to help make ends meet.

Now during this period, I was writing for my own amusement (as I'd been doing all my life from about age eight onward). Right then I was working on a project I'd been tinkering with from my late high school years right through college, nursing school, and my first couple/few years of practice as an RN. This was the background worldbuilding for a vaguely Tolkienesque, somewhere-between-late-Medieval-and-early Renaissance fantasy scenario featuring a couple of moderately unusual magic systems, a sexually diverse culture, and a pair of "These Two Idiots"-style protagonists with complex interleaving problems.

While I was working for David, I had a lot of opportunity to observe, close up, what the life and workflow of a career writer looked like. Slowly, over a year or so, the realization crept up on me that what David was doing, I could do too. And it was at this point that I finally admitted to him that I thought I might want to write as well.

David's (as I later discovered, extremely calculated) eyeroll could probably have been seen from space. "Oy, not another one," he moaned. After which I went away from the abortive conversation pretty much resolved never to speak to him about this again... but also with a single thought filling my brain: You fucking supercilious sonofabitch, I'm going to show you that I'm not just another one.

...I'll never be able to thank him enough for that. Fury can be so motivating. :)

In the aftermath I got busy pulling together my background material with much more focused intent, and beating the most significant parts of it into something that started looking like a plot. It came together with surprising speed and unnerving insistence—one of the very few times in my career when a project, once begun, has simply flung me into the writing chair and insisted that it was the most important thing in my life and needed handling now. And when in the fullness of time David went on vacation, leaving me to house-sit at his place in LA, I immediately started using his very early computer to transcribe my novel's so-far-only-handwritten draft material.

I took what I thought was considerable care to cover my tracks... but not quite enough. On his return from vacation, when he was putting out the trash, David found some of my discarded draft pages, read them, and confronted me (with a certain amount of friendly teasing) about what had been going on. Then he said to me, "What I've seen of this thing doesn't look too bad. Let me see it when you're finished, and if it looks good enough, I'll ask one of my publishers if they want to take a look at it."

So that's what happened. I finished my first draft and a polish of it in about six weeks, and passed it to David. He read it and immediately handed it on to his editors at Dell, who were just starting a fantasy line for which they needed product. Two weeks later, they said they liked the novel and made an offer, which I accepted. Not a vast amount, but respectable enough. So there it was, my first sale: this book. Which then got me nominated two years running for the Astounding Award, and opened the door for the sale and publication of So You Want To Be A Wizard, as well as my earliest Star Trek work and my entry into the animation world.

I remember very little about the editing process, except that it was painless. What was not exactly painless was the book's cover, about which...well, the less said here the better. But the book came out to generally good reviews. So, with this series of events behind it, you can see why as regards first-publication stories, I'm a first-class outlier and should definitely not be counted. (Also to be avoided by new writers if at all possible: the experience of having half their strongly-selling first novel's initial print run pulped in the warehouse* because it was taking up room needed by a new book by a world-famous novelist.) (Whom I have long since forgiven, since it wasn't his fault, and...well, what can you do? Shit happens.)

...Anyway, that's more than enough about me. Now let's talk about you.

My first advice about what to do with the novel you've just finished? Stick it in a drawer (literally or figuratively speaking, whichever suits your case better) and don't look at it for at least a month. Two would be better. You can spend those two months thinking about your next moves... because you need to give those some consideration before you do anything else.

The question that you first need to answer is going to at least partially shape what you do next. And it's this:

Are you seriously considering making a career out of writing?

It's not that it can't be done! Of course it can. But it won't be easy... not at all. Anyone who tells you it will is either just outright lying through their teeth, or trying to sell you something. ...Or both.

Be honest with yourself as you consider this. If you aren't, you may be letting yourself in for considerable pain over a prolonged period... and I'd sooner you were spared that, if you can be. In particular, be clear about the difference between the statements "I want to write" and "I want to be a writer." Often enough people like the sound of the lifestyle and what they see as going with it—the signings, the book tours (physical or virtual), the interviews, the best-seller lists—without any real concept of the grueling, day-to-day, weekends-are-for-other-people, why-am-I-making-less-than-minimum-wage-most-of-the-time labor that underpins it.

If you simply want to write and be published—without the concept of a career necessarily being involved, or the lovely shimmering dreamlike vision of Giving Up The Day Job—you now have work pathways available to you that would've been unimaginable in the previous century. Self-publishing makes it possible for you to get your work in front of many, many eyes without necessarily having to submit yourself to the specific set of trials that go with achieving the initial stages of an intended career. Selfpubbing still has significant unique challenges of its own, of course, which have to be evaluated so that you can tell (as the commercials say) if they're right for you.

But if you're thinking of a career in what's usually being referred to these days as "traditional publishing", then you face a number of challenges that don't necessarily come with the self-publishing end of things. In particular: many publishing houses no longer consider manuscripts that come to them un-agented. So you're going to need to find an agent who's willing to represent your work... and this is a task that no longer looks anything like what it did when I found mine. (Or rather, when he found me, having been recommended to me by one of my editors. I've been with him for even longer than I've been with @petermorwood... and that's saying something. But this is yet another way in which my career's been wildly atypical.)

There is so much that could be said about this subject alone—the business of researching agencies to see which one seems like a good fit for you, the art of writing the perfect query letter to get their attention focused on a given book, and so much more—that I could hardly begin to even skim the surface of it here. There are whole websites devoted to shopping for agents, not to mention how to pitch yourself and your work to a given literary agency.

Let me leave this whole subject here for the moment. We can come back to it another time, because right now you need to be thinking this through. ...This I'll say, however. For the past six to nine months I've been pulling together links to various online resources that can be beneficial to new writers just getting started. These will be available as posts over at the FicFoundry.com site that I'm going to be bringing online before summer. I'm hoping to build that into kind of a compendium site or clearing house for online resources on this subject. We'll see how it goes.

Meanwhile, thanks for inquiring about this. You're standing at the first branching of what I'm hoping will be, for you at least, a fascinating variant of the Choose Your Own Adventure genre. :)

More on this later.

("Wait. Did she just call us idiots??")

*Now that we live in the era of just-in-time warehousing, this is something that fortunately doesn't happen much any more... as far as I know. But once upon a time, if somebody's new best-seller was going to the warehouse in its many thousands of copies, and your relatively-less-well-selling book was taking up space that could be used by the other author's "more valuable"/higher-priced titles, your books (5-10K of them, in my case) were simply thrown into a machine and turned into papery mush. And these go on your sales record as "unsold copies". (sigh) Some discussion of this phenomenon can be found over here.

#advice #writing advice #career stories

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iamacolor · 4 months

Text

2023 sewing projects - part 1 details at the end of the post (click here for part 2)

Note: I work for a fabric shop so I get most of my fabrics for free as well as some patterns as I have to be wearing our products at work (I definitely consider it a perk). Without this job I would not be sewing as much and I'd probably be buying most of my fabric second hand or on sale as I used to do before. I also sometimes sew during work hours so keep that in mind if you're also a sewist, go at your own rythm 💜 Although I have basic training in pattern drafting I prefer to sew from pre-existing patterns to save on time (as i have to regularly make myself some new clothes for work) and discover new techniques and styles - but I often change stuffs to adapt the designs to my style.

1 - first outfit for my friend's wedding (this one was for the henna night), it's made in a linen-viscose blend and it's very easy and quick to make + i can easily wear each piece separately!

2 - second outfit for my friend's wedding made out of 100% silk muslin (it was a big remnant i found on sale) - i ended up making made a lot of changes from the base pattern: i lenghtened the sleeves a lot, i changed the skirt piece as the og one was too short for me and also too wide for my narrow fabric so i just cut rectangles in the desired length and gathered everything at the waist - the skirt is fully lined both in silk and in lining fabric - I also took a lot in at the middle back and some on the sides (i would've have loved to make a toile but sadly a nasty tendinitis kept me away from sewing for a few months so i had to speed things up before the wedding)

3 - i made this bodysuit last week - it was my first time working on a knit fabric in a while and i should have lenghtened it a bit more than i already did as the shoulder seams are being slightly pulled back - in a viscose/polyester milano knit + modified pants from a magazine in a viscose , large pants in fluid fabrics like that are great for all seasons as i can easily put some tights on underneath when it's too cold. I'm so glad i found a knitted fabric to match the print on the pants!

4/5 - this dress and blouse have the same base pattern from the same book but i modified the end of the sleeves on both (they were supposed to be gathered on a wrist band and closed with buttons) to create a ruffle effect with an elastic - on the dress i took out the collar piece and slightly adjusted the side seams to make them more fitting + i traced another skirt piece based on the back of the skirt in pic1 and added a ruffle at the bottom - the dress is made in a viscose twill and the top in a coton double gauze

6/7 - both of these tops are made from the same pattern, i simply lenghtened the sleeves for the checkered version and on both i tightened the sleeve band - it's a very quick pattern to make. The dotted one is made from a very fine coton corduroy and the checkered one is in a coton double gauze. The pants are made in a thicker corduroy, I'm very much in between sizes when it comes to pants (depending on the brands I cover around 4 sizes between my waist and my thighs at their thickest) I ended up cutting the size for my thighs and simply deepening the folds and the darts to make it fit at the waist + I wanted a loser fit on the legs so i added 1cm on each side

8 - this shirt is made in a linen and viscose blend (same fabric as the pink matching set) except for the contrasting blue elements which are in linen-coton - i had fun playing with the classic shirt finishing and deciding what to do in blue (the buttonholes are threaded in blue!)

9/10 - this top is made from a simple coton gauze, the bodice is lined with the same fabric (super quick to make although the fact that the right and wrong side are the same means i've put in on wrong at least twice lmao) - the pants are made in coton gabardine (i've also had to trace between sizes here - this is a us sizes pattern and for this i'm in between 6 and 10 with a slight redrawing of the crotch and the side seams under the pockets) I love this pattern because it comes in a slim legs version, a straight one, a wide version (this one) and a short version. I've made another large version in orange and a slim version in white.

11 - these pants are made in a coton-linen twill - pretty straightforward in their making, as always I am in between sizes for pants so I cut a size 10 (can't remember if this was in us or uk sizes)and ended up having to do my usual changes for pants by deepening the front folds and the back darts (which I also had to make longer to accomodate not just for my waist circumference which is 2 sizes smaller than my thighs but also the arch of my back). Really like how large the belt is and how the fold is pressed all the way down the leg. I wore it with the green top, a red jacket and gold shoes for christmas eve!

#aleks if you're seeing this you're kind of an inspo for the last look it's just that I don't wear black #also if anyone wants more details on which patterns i used let me know!#vinformation #my sewing #i should start tagging that #i'll make another sewing post with the outfit i didn't take pics of yesterday #i either forgot about them or already liked the pics i had of them #sewing #crafts

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justwearthegoddamncardigan · 10 months

Note

Hello Can you do a Thomas reader when the reader is very affectionate but are afraid to show it her boyfriends. you could do a modern au if you want than you :)

Oooh this is so cute!!! I've never written a modern au, but now I'm just completely in love with the idea. I've got another one in my drafts now lol.

Thank you for requesting ❤❤ hope you enjoy!

Intertwined

Thomas x fem!reader

Modern au (also made into kind of a college au)

Warnings: feeling of insecurity, bad past relationships briefly mentioned, also language

You sigh, leaning back in your chair and rubbing your eyes tiredly.

As you check the time on your phone (it's 12am), you see a message from Thomas from just after 9pm.

(9:06) Finished my shift! Text me when you're done studying, I'll walk you home.

You smile at your phone. Typical sweet Thomas.

You type out a quick reply.

(12:02) Hey, ended up staying pretty late, but don't worry. See you in the morning ❤

You pack up your books and laptop, hoisting your bag onto your shoulder and leaving the library.

As you turn to start walking home, your phone pings. I'm still at work, meet me there

You frown slightly; Thomas' shift finished hours ago. Still, you make your way to the cafe he works at.

You arrive at the cafe, and little bells jingle as you open the door.

Thomas' head lifts at the sound, and his face splits with a wide grin.

"Hey," he says softly, watching as your exhausted eyes take him in.

With three long strides, you close the gap between the two of you and wrap your arms around him, dropping your face into the crook of his neck.

"Woah, hey," he lets out laugh. "You 'right?"

You pull away with a smile. "Yeah, I'm good now. How come you're here so late? Weren't you off at 9?"

"Thought I'd wait up for you. Keep Newt company too," he says, jerking his chin over to the counter.

"Coffee, Y/n?" calls Newt. "Decaf, yeah?"

"Yes please," you reply. You walk over to the register, searching for your wallet in your bag.

"Seriously, Y/n?" Newt raises an eyebrow. "Come on, you're part of the family now. It's on the house."

You send Newt a grin. "Thanks."

You turn as you hear Thomas calling your name, patting the seat beside him in a booth.

You drop into the seat, melting into the cushions and immediately slumping against Thomas.

He chuckles lightly, gazing at you as you lean into him.

The two of you stay in the cafe for a little longer, chatting with Newt as you drink your coffee.

Then Thomas walks you home, arm around your shoulder.

⭒----⭒

"How's everything been lately?" asks Thomas. "You seemed pretty stressed last night."

You sigh. "Study's tiring, as usual. But it's alright."

The two of you are having lunch in the park, takeaway bought from a nearby restaurant and an old picnic blanket laid out on the grass.

"Why you you ask?" you raise your eyebrows at him.

"I could tell you were really tired. Don't worry too much about school, okay? It's important, but it's not everything." He turns a concerned look to you, and you warm at the care in his eyes.

"Yeah, I know," you say with a smile. You thread your fingers with his, leaning your head on his shoulder.

"It was a little like this actually," says Thomas.

"Like what?"

"Like, you're usually, you know, you only do this," he nudges your head gently with his shoulder. "When you're tired."

You blink, and the realisation hits you like a punch to the gut.

You pull away instantly, yanking your hand out of his.

"I'm- I'm sorry," you whisper. "I didn't mean to be all- you know. Sorry."

"What? No, hey, Y/n that's not what I-"

But you don't hear his protests and reassurances, you're stuck inside your head.

You've always been a more affectionate person, always big on hugging, laying on other people, holding hands with everyone, whether that's friends or otherwise.

It's just- you've been told before that you're too clingy, or you've made dates uncomfortable by getting too close to the person.

You're terrified for the same to happen with Thomas, the first person you've actually felt like you could fall in love with.

Usually you manage to pull yourself back, but you suppose last night you were just too tired to keep yourself in check.

"Y/n, please. Look at me," you break out of your thoughts as you meet Thomas' eyes.

"I'm sorry," you say again.

"What for? There was nothing to be sorry for. Shit, I'm sorry. I just meant- I know you keep your guard up around me, and I didn't mean to make you worry, I just-"

His hands cup your face as he speaks, and he's got a slight frown on his face as he tries to get you to understand.

"You can be yourself around me," he promises. "I don't care if you're too clingy, or whatever the problem was. I love it when you're leaning on me or holding my hand. And if you don't want that stuff, that's fine too."

You huff out a laugh. "Okay. Thank you."

You reach out and pull him into a tight hug.

"We good?"

"Yeah, good."

⭒----⭒

After getting everything straightened out with Thomas, you've started to let yourself be a little more affectionate with him, and you love the way he always reciprocates immediately.

"Someone pinch me!" gasps Minho, clutching his chest dramatically. "A genuine Y/n sighting, in the flesh!"

"Hilarious," you deadpan, rolling your eyes at his antics as you walk into the cafe.

"Hey, c'mon, we haven't seen you in weeks," says Newt, sending you a grin.

"Exam season sucks," you groan. "Is Thomas here?"

"In the back," Minho points to the kitchen.

You drop your bag into the corner of the booth as you slide in.

"Y/n!" Thomas presses a kiss to your forehead as he sits down beside you. "Hey, can I take my break now?"

" 'course," says Minho, standing to return to his shift.

"I haven't seen you in ages," murmurs Thomas, pulling you into him.

You giggle and tilt your head up to kiss his jaw. "I literally saw you yesterday."

"Day before yesterday," he corrects with a mock-pout. "It's too long."

"Sorry," you say, pulling his hand toward you so you can play with his fingers. "Promise I'll make up for the lost time later, 'kay?"

"You better," says Thomas with a grin.

A shorter fic than usual, but I loved the slice of life kind of feel when I was writing it. I love writing Thomas cause I always picture him as the cutest, sweetest guy in a relationship ❤❤

Thank you for the request!! Hope you enjoyed :)

#the maze runner #tmr thomas #thomas x you #thomas x reader #tmr thomas x reader #my writing

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anti-romantico · 11 months

Text

[she doesn't have to know] seventeen mingyu

warnings: best friend younger brother AU (title is a little misleading lol), age gap (reader is 5 years older), oral (f receiving), protected sex, i suck at writting fluff but i tried, let me know if i missed something

A/N: feel free to ignore this but there is a funny story regarding this fic lmao. originally, this was written for seventeen's vernon, but after finishing it I just stopped feeling it and left it on drafts until I knew what to do, then I posted it, but tumblr marked it was "mature" so I deleted it. then I changed it for txt soobin, and I was happy with it, but when I made the poll I wrote svt mingyu instead and didn't release until I proofread it lmao and since some people already voted for svt mingyu, i decided to change it.

Also, I'M REALLY SORRY. This was supposed to be posted yesterday but I was so tired after work I totaly forgot :( I'm sorry

luv u, moon

words: 2.5k

Vacations for yourself, that's what you needed. And even though you wanted Lia, your best friend, to go with you, she insisted you needed this. "I promise I won't burn down your house while you're away" she said with one hand over her heart. And you knew you could trust her, you just were terrified to travel alone.

The hotel was gorgeous, with a beautiful view of the beach. You rang the bell and waited for the receptionist.

— Good morning, what can I do for you? — The young lady said with a pretty smile. You gave her your name and waited for your key.

The room was definitely your favorite part, you deliberated if it would be better to stay there all week, but of course, you were there to explore. Yes, the bed looked too inviting to stay there your whole life, but the many restaurants you booked were calling you.

You sent a message to Lia to let her know you were at your room and that you missed her, and instead of answering, she called; like she always did.

— Hi, babe! — Her voice made you smile. — How was the flight?

— Pretty good, you know I always sleep to avoid feeling sick. — You sat down on the small sofa and looked through the window.

— Right. Oh, guess what? Mingyu is also there. Not sure if he's staying at the same hotel as you, but he sent me a photo.

— Oh really? I'll see if we can meet up for dinner. — You said. Mingyu and you weren't exactly close. You used to find him attractive, but he was your best friend's younger brother.

— I told him you were there and he said the same. — You both laughed knowing the dinner will never happen.

After talking for another hour while you unpacked and got ready for your first dinner alone, you said goodbye. You looked at yourself in the mirror and admired the blue dress Lia gave you exactly for this trip. It was comfortable and made you look really pretty.

The restaurant was close to the hotel, so you walked there with the help of google maps. Once you were seated, the waiter gave you the menu and told you you just needed to raise your hand when you were ready to order.

The food was on another level, and even made you afraid the food of the other places wouldn't be as good. Suddenly, the waiter let you know someone was trying to pay for you. You looked at him confused and he pointed at the entrance where you found Mingyu smiling. You sighed and shook your head no and asked the waiter to give you your check.

Mingyu waited for you, telling his friends he would see them in the hotel. When you got out of the restaurant, you already knew he would be there.

— How nice of you, but a little bit creepy if you ask me. — You said when you were in front of him.

— Better me than a stranger. — He said and made a move with his head. His car parked beside the two of you with a guy getting out of it and giving Mingyu the keys. — Do you want a ride?

— Was it too hard to ask first? — You said, waiting for him to open the door. He laughed and did it.

— So, how's traveling alone so far? — He asked without looking, full attention on the road.

— I've been here less than 24 hours, but I think I can get used to it. — You said looking at him. Yep, he was still really attractive.

— And about the dinner the three of us knew wasn't going to happen... — His comment made you laugh.

— I can't promise anything, I've booked a restaurant for each day and I really want to enjoy them alone. — You said, not afraid of him getting offended, at the end of the day, he knew you.

— Oh no, of course Your initial plan was to be here alone, but since we both thought we wouldn't meet, I thought we could come up with something now that we did. — He parked close to your hotel and looked at you.

You checked your phone. — Today is friday, I booked for another dinner tomorrow, — you said in a quiet tone. — does it suit you on sunday? I've booked for breakfast.

— Sunday night... Yeah, I'm free. Anything in mind?

— Lia told me about these souvenir places all over the beach, and if I'm honest I was looking for an excuse to not do it. I'll get her something later. — Mingyu laughed. — I do want to go to the beach though.

— Then we have a plan. — Mingyu started the car and drove to the entrance of your hotel. He got down and opened your door, taking your hand to help you.

— See you on sunday. — You said before walking away.

— Oh, by the way... — Mingyu said, making you turn around. — You look beautiful.

You fought the urge to not blush. — Thank you. You don't look bad.

Sunday arrived really fast, but you didn't mind, the previous day you couldn't stop thinking about this... date? Was it a date? no, it wasn't, just hanging out with your best friend's brother... fuck.

Mingyu asked Lia for your number and sent you a message asking for your hotel room. Two soft knocks on your door triggered your anxiety.

— Wow. — He said when you opened your door. — You look really pretty. — You were wearing a black long skirt and white top.

You let him in. — What's with all these compliments, Mingyu?

— What? I can't tell you how pretty you look?

You sighed and crossed your arms. — Just... take that backpack and let's go. — You pointed at the backpack on the floor and opened the door.

The weather was chill, but you already knew, that's why you packed some cozy pants to wear just in case. You both sat down and you offered him some snacks, which he accepted.

You talked for a bit, enjoying the view. The weather started to get cold so you took a small blanket from the backpack. It wasn't enough to cover both of you, but Mingyu insisted he wasn't cold.

— So after that asshole, you haven't dated anyone? — He asked, flexing his legs and hugging them against his chest.

— I don't have time for that, Mingyu, and if I'm honest, none of the guys I've hooked up with made me think "maybe I do want to settle down". — He nodded. — You? I don't think I've heard about a "special someone".

— I had a girlfriend not long after I graduated, it lasted a year, nothing serious since then. — It was your turn to nod. Suddenly, you felt a shiver down your spine, making you shake a little bit. — We can leave if you want, it's getting late.

— Oh no, it's just the wind, I'm fine.

After a comfortable silence, he asked: — Are you still not looking for something serious?

— Not really, just having fun for now. — Your fingers playing with the blanket.

— Are you having fun right now? — And you noticed when his tone changed.

— You're my friend's brother. — The way you said sounded like a reminder for both.

— You can't blame me for trying to shoot my shot. I've been waiting for my turn for a while. — He rested his body on his arms, looking at you.

— I thought you got over your little crush on me when you got in college. — You turned your head to look at him.

— I thought I did, but then I saw you looking gorgeous in that blue dress sitting alone... like I said, you can't blame me. — He leaned his head to the side and shamelessly checked you out. — And maybe it wasn't your intention, but I can't stop thinking you dressed up this pretty just because you knew we were going to meet. — You stayed silent, trying to find the words, but he kept talking. — And I can continue with the cheesy talk if you want, but I really want to kiss you, at least once.

And you knew that if you thought about it, you wouldn't do it, so you just did it.

You shared a sigh of relief, letting the other know how long you were waiting for it. His tongue made his way to your mouth and you let him.

But it hit you. — Wait... — He started to kiss your neck. — Your sister...

— She doesn't have to know if you don't want to, even though I'd pay to see her reaction to this. — Mingyu pulled you from your neck to kiss you again. You put your hand over his chest and straddle him. — Uhm, don't start something you can't finish.

— We both know I started this earlier. — You said, admitting you dressed up like this for him.

— I fucking knew it. — His hands flew to your butt, squeezing it. — Are you sure you want to take the risk?

— Are you asking yourself... kid? — You called him the nickname you used to call him when he was in high school.

The way back to your hotel was fast, none of you couldn't wait any longer. You opened your door quickly and threw everything to the floor, you'd clean later.

You took Mingyu to your room and pushed him to the bed to straddle him again, but he inverted the positions, and you were about to protest when you felt his fingers brush over your underwear. You weren't ashamed by how wet you were, he even growled against your neck when his finger made the fabric to the side. He was skilled and you hated yourself for waiting so long to finally let him touch you.

He started with one finger, then two. The wet noises filling the room. You moaned out loud when his thumb put pressure on your clit. You didn't care if anyone heard you. You felt his fingers leave you and his body over you. You opened your eyes and you caught him licking his fingers clean. He lowered his body and removed your underwear, but leaving your skirt. You took a deep breath when his tongue finally made contact with your cunt, pulling your own hair when he opened your lower lips with his finger so he could have more access.

— Fuck, Mingyu... — You moaned when he gave a quick suck on your clit.

And it was like you told him what to do; he continued sucking on your clit while fingering you.

And just now you felt ashamed because you were so close. You pulled his hair, but wouldn't be able to tell him, your loud moans were his sign to know though.

He gave you a last lick before going up with you again. You kissed him and removed your sweaty hair from your face.

You pushed him again while kissing, pulling his shirt up and helping him to undress. You almost felt sorry by how red his dick was. You started to massage him slowly, then you grabbed it and spreaded to precum on the tip. Mingyu grabbed your neck and kissed you, making you confused, but you didn't stop to jerk him. His hand went to unclasp your bra without removing your top, not leaving a single doubt he loved the outfit. He massaged your boobs under your top and pinched your nipples, making you whine.

— I hate to be that jerk, but I don't have a condom. — He said, grabbing your hand that was still jerking him.

— You're in my hotel room with me dressing this nicely for you, what made you think I was done? — You gave him a quick kiss before standing up and grabbing a condom from the drawer.

— I'm so close to marrying you, woman. — He said, throwing his head back when you straddle him and slowly rolled down the condom.

Mingyu pushed your body back to the bed and pinned your hands over your head before penetrating you. His eyes on your boobs told you enough to know why he chose that position. But you couldn't keep your eyes open for too long, he felt too good inside you, you not being able to move added something to the situation.

The bed started to crash against the wall, and even though none of you would ever admit it, that turned you one even more.

His lips started to suck on your neck and you immediately moved your head so he could have better access to it. His finger went under your top again to pinch your nipples, making you moan and throw your head back.

— I'll never get tired of that. — Mingyu said in a whisper. You didn't answer, biting your lip when he gave you a last hard pinch.

The skirt started to bother you so one of your hands went to the knot on your right side and untied it. Mingyu pulled out and quickly removed the skirt and your underwear before penetrating you again. You pushed him back and rode him, both moaning for the new angle. You could feel him on your stomach, and while you were looking him in the eyes, you also removed your top.

He loved the view, he wanted to enjoy it every day and night. God, he was obsessed.

You moving your body up and down in a desperate way took him out of his thoughts. Your boobs bouncing were distracting, but he wanted them in his mouth. You pulled his hair when you felt his teeth biting softly your left nipple.

You grabbed his chin and made you look up. His eyes were dark and his lips were swollen. You kissed him a little before biting his lower lip and cummed. His hands went straight to your hips to keep the movements, making your whine for the overstimulation. But he didn't take long, his lower whines confirmed he also finished. And even though you were already trying to catch your breaths, your hips were moving slowly.

— If you're going to keep going, then I'm going to need another condom. — He said, burying his finger on your skin to make you stop. You finally stopped and pulled him out, making both of you sigh.

After that, you ordered dinner and Mingyu sent a message to a friend to send him some clothes and other belongings. The night was calm, and while you were enjoying your food, you talked about your lives. Kissed some more and fell asleep.

You woke up close to 4am to go to the bathroom. Carefully, you got up without waking Mingyu up.

You looked at yourself in the mirror and sighed. She doesn't have to know if you don't want to. Mingyu's voice resonated in your head. Maybe it was the best.

Mingyu's reflection appeared behind you, but you didn't turn around. He walked toward you and caged you between the sink and his body.

— Is everything ok? — Hi said, kissing your neck and playing with the elastic of your pajamas. He was teasing you, and you were a little surprised you were down for it.

You both shared a look in the mirror and nodded. You pushed your butt against him, making you bite his lip. Oh you were so down for it

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