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setsugekka · 1 year

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❥love language (m)

↳ abandoned at the bar by your friend and harassed by the bartender just across the way, maybe wooyoung can offer you a save to this night after all.

jung wooyoung x fem!reader — strangers to lovers, explicit adult content. [4.7k wc] cws: sex in public, protected penetrative sex, dirty talk, alcohol is consumed but no one is intoxicated, jung wooyoung has a Big Dick.

“So, what’ll it be, Little Lady?”

Maybe if you hadn’t already been here against your will, and as a result staunchly annoyed by your whereabouts already, the comment wouldn’t be so grating. Something about it and the way it feels in your ears — through the loud murmurs of the bar surrounding you that reminds you something of nails on a chalkboard.

Glancing up from your phone to give the man across the way your attention as he waits intently for your answer to the question, you briefly listen in to your friend to the left of you as she laughs excessively at a comment from the person that she’s speaking to, assuming it to not be worthy of the kind of response being offered from her, but again, you’re irritated, and most likely projecting your lack of enjoyment on all of the things going on around you as a result.

Narrowing your eyes at him, there’s a part of you that wants to ignore it — but of course, there’s a bigger part of you that can’t help but engage.

“Do you address all of your patrons with such silly little nicknames?”

The mans demeanor doesn’t change much as a result of your rebuttal; palms pressing into the polished wood of the bar that stand between the two of you in a lean with gaze still cast upon you.

“Don’t like it when men are cute with you? I can be meaner instead, if that’s what you like.”

The reply earns an immediate scoff from you — accompanied by a roll of your eyes and the sudden twist of your bar stool to face away from him — in the time it takes for your vision to leave, you manage to catch the glimpse of another person sliding in from the side, presumably taking the place of the fuckboy who has seemingly all but made it his mission to make the evening as insufferable for you as humanly possible.

Getting a drink isn’t worth engaging with him, that much is for sure. Not that you are all that in the mood for drinking tonight, anyways. Rather, being out tonight is a favor to your friend: on the hunt for some fun and games for herself and not wanting to go alone (nor would you prefer her to be out on her own, either), you tag along and do your best at not being the wet blanket of a friend nestled off in the corner with just how much of an awful time you’re having written all over your face.

Mission probably failed, but with the way that your bestie is carrying on, you suppose she’s well past the point of worrying for you by now, anyway.

This much is fine, you don’t need to be babysat — and besides, the quicker she find her results, the quicker you can get the fuck up out of this bar.

“Sorry about that fuckin’ guy,” another voice suddenly chimes in from the same place that the original had. This time, however, it’s different — lighter, gentler, airier. Most definitely not the same person, and for that much at least, you are thankful.

You begin your stool spin back to face the new person, at the very least to thank him for intervening, but he continues his thought before you’re able to make your way back around.

“He’s been a problem for a few months, I’ve been trying to get him out of here but we’re short on staff, so now on top of bartending, I get to play babysitter.”

You can relate.

When you finally do make it back around, you’re at the very least pleased by the sight: on top of it not being the same man so intent on ruining your lack-of-good-time, this one is far better looking, too. Black suit jacket that bares flesh underneath, black middle parted hair and a charmingly pointed freckle just under one of his eyes.

“Hi.” He says plainly. You answer him the same in return.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“Depends,” you start. “Are you going to aggressively hit on me in the meantime?”

“Only if you want me to.”

A single eyebrow quirking upwards, you can’t help but allow a grin to form at the playfulness of his reply. “Doesn’t this sort of count?”

“I don’t think it’s very aggressive, but if you tell me what you want to drink I can simply retrieve it and fuck off back to the other side of the bar from where I came.”

With eyes glued to one another, you know that your smile gives you away — little point in bothering to keep up a charade on the matter. Truth is, even if this one is hitting on you, he’s much better at it, and has already earned himself a few points prior to getting here, anyway.

“Can you make an Amaretto Sour?”

He scoffs at the question with a gentle toss of his head. “What is it that you think I do here, exactly?”

“You’re funny.” You say simply, watching him reach around for the required necessities in making your beverage. “What’s your name?”

“Don’t you think we’re moving a bit fast?” He mocks, pouring ice into a small glass. “Who’s going to rescue me from your aggressive flirting?”

You’re intrigued. Sure, men like this are typically quite annoying and in ways, this one is no different; but you’re stuck here, and he’s certainly a fun time in the moment, so what’s the harm in playing along, really?

“Wooyoung.” He says shortly after the comments just before. “And I’m just joking, you can aggressively flirt with me if you want, occupational hazard.”

“Is that so? That must be really tough.”

The evident sarcasm in your tone has the man across the way curling his lips into a grin to match yours as he finishes up your drink and delicately places it in front of you atop a small, white, napkin.

“Are you going to tell me your name or do I have to find out from your credit card?”

“Creepy,” you comment lightly. “Maybe I should have stuck with the other guy, after all.”

“Hey! I literally have to see it when I ring up your check, don’t make it weird.”

Granting Wooyoung the knowledge of your name, you take a small sip of the glass placed in front of you — somewhat surprised by how good it is, your eyebrows perk up, and he catches it instantaneously.

“Good?” He asks, hands busy at work with a towel and glass in hand.

“Yeah, actually.” Setting it down again, you glance over at your friend beside you to check on how it’s going — silently counting down the seconds until you no longer have to be inside of this establishment.

“You do not want to be here, do you?”

Quick on the uptake, isn’t he?

Snorting out a chuckle as you turn your attention back to him; lips pulled thin into a tight grin as he looks at you with a drop of compassion in his features, you shrug and offer him a gentle nod. “Gotta do what you gotta do, sometimes.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“Sorry I won’t be much in ways of patronage tonight, I won’t be drinking anything past this so don’t feel obligated to hover, I’m sure you have higher tippers to accommodate this evening.”

It’s a simple but truthful offering: while enjoying his company far more than you may have anticipated, the entirety of your statement is true. After all, this man is here to work and make money — entertaining you only a small portion of the job of bartender, and only really time well spent when the entertainee has intentions of spending money.

Wooyoung seems kind, and you don’t want to waste his time more than you already have. However, he has other plans.

“It’s a slow night,” he starts, picking up another wet glass to dry and shine. “Besides, looks like things are going well with your friend and…her friend, so you might be out of here quicker than anticipated. At this point, I think you’re rescuing me from the monotony of work.”

“No other women to lift personal details from at checkout?”

Banter.

“Eh, no need, already stuck babysitting the cutest girl here, anyway.”

The comment is bold, given the way that the interaction between the two of you has started, but Wooyoung is also right on the money in knowing the perfect timing on when to deliver — as well as your receptiveness to it.

And you are receptive.

It’s only twenty or so minutes later that your friend informs you of her intentions in leaving the establishment with the lucky partner of the night — you wish her well on her journey and try to ignore her light-hearted pestering when you inform her that you plan on staying just a bit longer to chat with the handsome guy just down the bar.

Somewhere along the way, your plans for the evening have shifted, as well. May as well make use of the time spent to make yourself presentable tonight, after all.

A quarter until midnight, Wooyoung announces last call — gathering empty glasses and collecting bills to check people out and have them on their way. You wait idly as you watch him carry on until he finally takes notice of your lack of movement despite the closing hours quickly approaching.

Bending down to rest his chin against his arms as they cradle him against the wood of the countertop, the man cocks his head and gazes up at you with pretty, narrow eyes before coyly addressing you once again.

“Waiting for something?”

“Want to walk me to my car when you’re finished up here?” You ask him with a bit of a flirtatious tone. There’s intent behind it, and you more than expect for the man to catch onto it.

He does, of course, but not without carrying on with the games that led the both of you here to begin with. “You good to drive home?”

“I’ve been nursing this drink for four hours, and it became undrinkable after the first, what do you think?”

With a wide smile, Wooyoung brings himself to a standing position again — a distinct look of understanding gracing his handsome features that lets you in on the fact that the both of you are very much on the same page about where the rest of this night is headed.

“Give me twenty minutes, then we can go.”

Leading you out of the back and through one of the employee entrances, you find yourself surrounded by grey concrete and the frequent flickering of a dull, overhead light that threatens to offer you its last moment of illumination at any given time. You think to yourself briefly how relatively ill-advised it is to land yourself in such a position with a man that more or less is a stranger to you, but as the metal door closes just behind and the gentle thud of footsteps enter the corridor behind you — instead, there’s a certain comfort that comes from the delicate press of his hand against the small of your back and just out of sight.

“Should we go?” He says in nearly a whisper, urging you to begin the descent down the staircase and towards the parking lot.

One floor down and after the most casual of work complaints from Wooyoung, you sigh into the cool air as your feet find flat ground once again.

“Couldn’t we have taken the elevator, not much of a gentleman, are you?”

And just as quickly as the words leave your mouth, you find yourself in a quick spin with your back pressed into the cold stone — barred in place by an arm on each side of your head as Wooyoung effectively cages you into place in front of him right then and there.

His face dips down closer to yours, warmth of his breath cascading across the flesh of your cheek as he dangles the possibility of physical contact in front of you like a carrot on a stick.

“But then we wouldn’t have had nearly as much time together.”

Heart racing, you try to bite back how much you want him; how much you’ve wanted him all night, now. You figure that he knows well enough and that that is the entire reason that the two of you find yourselves like this here and now, but still — nothing wrong with a little cat and mouse game if the outcome already decided, anyway.

“Is that why you brought me down here?” You begin, lifting your chin to close even more distance between the two of you without making any contact just yet. “Wanted to get me alone?”

“Do you even drive? Or did you ask me to take you to your car for the same reason?”

“I do.”

The reply comes out in nothing more than a breathy whisper, Wooyoung’s lips only inches from your own and his eyes honed in on them in particular as you give him your answer. Glancing up to you for visual contact, you begin to feel the feathering of fingertips on the inside of your thigh, just at the hem of your dress.

“So,” he whispers in turn, plush, full lips now ever so lightly dragging at the corner of your mouth in a way that drives you crazy in want to feel and taste him. “Do you want me to fuck you in your car, or here?”

The question must be rhetorical with the way that his head turns to finally kiss you — though you don’t doubt your ability to make an amendment to the situational goings on, you suppose you sort of like the idea of being taken here — the taboo of it all, as well as the threat of being caught — it ignites something of a burning desire within you that you haven’t quite felt up until this very moment.

Parting your legs to grant his journeying hand more access, you revel in the way he nips and tugs at your bottom lip — a kiss full of teeth and tongue and a fervent need to have and touch and taste — you realize that in all of the hours you’ve spent with him at the bar engaging in playful banter, that had been the real beginning of the foreplay between you.

The power of words, all too evident in the grin that forms across his lips when his finger finally makes contact with your slit from the side of your panties.

“Have fun tonight?” He chides, pressing up the slick of your folds to toy at your clit ever so slightly.

Reigning in the desire to buck against his hand, you instead focus the energy on a pointed bite into his bottom lip.

“Is talking all you’re good for? I was kind of hoping for a bit more this evening.”

A daring retort from you, but bestowed upon the perfect partner for it. Wooyoung groans into the feeling of your teeth in his flesh as he reaches for one of your hands and places it upon the fullness welling at the front of his trousers.

“How’s that for ’a bit more’?”

You’re going to have to send your bestie a ‘thank you’ text in the morning.

With Wooyoung’s finger trailing back down and towards your opening — fingertip carefully breeching you with a slow, steady drive to test just how much he’ll need to prep you for taking him, your hands simultaneously work at the front of his pants: the sounds of metal resonating through the empty halls as his belt jingle, fingers making quick work of the button and zipper thereafter, because at this point — you sort of just want to see it.

Kissing at your jaw and side of your face as your eyes slip down to take in the sight of him, all the while trying to push back the already dizzying feeling of him being two fingers and last-knuckle deep inside of you with promise of what’s soon to come — it’s dark already and his choice of attire is matching with black boxer briefs that leave far more to the imagination than you’re happy to find.

But a perfectly timed and brightly lit flicker of the light above grants you the eye-full that you’ve been hoping for — even hidden behind fabric, the more-than-prominent, and thick outline of the man that you’ve been engaging in games with all evening.

“Christ.” You can’t help but exasperate at the visual. Chuckling against you, Wooyoung decides upon adding a third finger pressed against your walls as if timed entirely purposefully given the circumstances.

“Gonna tap out on me already?” He asks, but you shake your head just as quickly. “I’m not a quitter, just don’t know if I’m going to be walking out of here now when we’re finished.”

Lips pressed to the shell of your ear, Wooyoung’s voice drops to a whisper to quell your concerns. “I’ll carry you out of here if I have to, how about that?”

It’s somewhat humiliating knowing that he feels the way you clench down around his fingers at the utterance of the words, but suppose there’s no reason to dwell on such a thing now, either.

Wooyoung pulls away from you so suddenly that you find the loss of enveloping warmth somewhat jarring, but your vision quickly finds him at the feeling of emptiness from between your legs, as well: squatting down in front of you and skillful fingers curling at the hips of your panties as he quickly pulls the fabric down the length of your legs, a quick “foot” comes from his mouth that takes you a moment to process before you realize that the man is asking you to step out of the undergarment so that he can pull them off of you properly.

In doing so, he brings himself back to standing before you, stuffing them into his back pocket and resuming his overwhelming presence against you all over again.

“Don’t want them dirty on the floor.”

He grants you no time to offer a response to the concern before his mouth is hard against your own again, this time much more needy and desperate than the first. Hands wrapping around to find the hem of his pants, you grow tired of waiting by now and quickly motion in an attempt to bring them down his hips — a mission that requires his help, he’s more than happy to accompany you on the journey, however, hand slipping into the pocket opposite of your underwear and fishing out the only other thing necessary for an endeavor such as this.

By now the both of you are sloppy in movement: your hands coming up and around his neck to dig hands into fluffy, black hair and Wooyoung slipping his pants down his thighs just enough to give him the range of motion necessary to fuck you — his face pulls away from yours for a second only to bite into the packaging in hand, then glancing down to ensure proper usage — it’s right back to devouring you. Part suffocating and part intoxicating the way he drinks you down, Wooyoung presses himself firm and hard against you and as a result, your back against the wall with the simultaneous lift of your leg into his grasp.

With the tip of him just barely grazing your entrance, he instead takes a moment to trail lips down the column of your neck — sucking and biting gently into the skin to revel in the way you desperately moan and gasp for him.

“You know, for someone who didn’t want to come tonight, you sure seem like you want to now.”

A play on words, and at a time like this? Wooyoung truly is a fucking criminal.

The initial drive into you is slow and steady: a man very aware of his size and how to use it to the both of your benefits, he remains close to you to listen to every sound you make — the hitching of your breath at the stretch he provides, and incredibly attuned to any potential changes that may signify his need to be slower, gentler, less to any degree.

A pleasant sting of fullness Wooyoung provides as he sinks into you with shallow, fluid motions of his hips. Mouth hung slightly ajar at the feeling of him prying you open on his cock; you, as well, revel in the sound of his unsteady breath as he inches his way inside of you until no more space lie between you and him.

He gives you a few moments to adjust, seated perfectly still between your walls as he once again finds your mouth to kiss you deeply. With no protest from you, however, he pulls back and slowly sinks back into you with a single, flowing stroke.

“God.” Is all you can manage to whine, but it brings him amusement, nonetheless.

“Not my name, but I’ll take it.”

You’re a little shocked by how much care and interest he’s taking given the fact that the two of you are strangers and most certainly short on time, but as Wooyoung settles into a more comfortable rhythm against you, any and all inquisitiveness leaves you in favor of nothing more than the immense, dizzying, fullness that the thickness of his cock provides with every deliberate press of himself into you.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he admits in something of a whisper and a groan combined. “Wish we had more time, if I got my way I’d have my mouth on every fucking inch of your body.”

Granted, you don’t know this man, but with few more thoughts rattling around in your head by now except for whatever the hell the promise of that would mean for you, you have half a mind to tell him to finish up quick and get in the fucking car.

Changing his stance just slightly as well as the grip he has on you, you question the purpose of it until the next drive of his length into your body — tip of his cock perfectly brushing against that perfect spot that has you loudly whining out into the emptiness of the halls, Wooyoung nearly laughs out loud at the sight of you as he shuffles his elbow to prop himself up and against the cement just next to your head so that he can grant his hand the freedom in covering your mouth for the foreseeable future.

“Hey! You know the fun of stuff like this is just the illusion of getting caught, not actually getting caught!”

Nodding briefly and eyes rolling back as he continues fucking into you despite his words, you can’t even help the continued whining into the muffling of his palm.

“God, I want nothing more than to watch you cream all over my dick but can I trust you won’t alert the entire city if I do?”

The mixture of humor and lust in his tone as he delivers the question to you — hooded eyes that gaze down on your fucked-out facial features, you offer a quick nod despite not knowing how much truth there is to your answer, really.

But you kind of don’t care, either.

Wooyoung dips his head down to the side of your face again and propping his hand back in it’s original place to grant you the ability to speak again — kissing just under your ear before presenting you with yet another question:

“Tell me how to make you come.”

You appreciate him anticipating having to put in far more work than really necessary: a thorough and thoughtful lover that takes his sexual expertise quite seriously. However, you’re more than halfway there, and the tightness in your gut is more than enough evidence of that.

“D-don’t stop, fuck,” you pause, finding the giving of instruction at a time like this far more than mildly complicated. You whine half in frustration at attempting to speak, and half in the fact that it really might not be all that necessary, anyway. “Hand.”

It’s the best you can do, but as expected, Wooyoung is on it, regardless.

Body pressed hard and firm against you to make up for the lack of propping himself that his hand offered, he brings it down to rub between the limited space between your bodies — experimental circles dense against your clit as he continues fucking you hard against the wall, your vision goes blurry if only for a second at the additional stimulation provided at a moments notice.

“Like this?” He asks. You find it almost annoying how much it doesn’t matter what he does at this point, and yet he keeps asking.

“Yes, yes, yes—” you sigh, fingers gripping hard into his hair and shoulder as your orgasm looms. “I’m close, don’t stop, fuck—”

“I can tell,” he playfully snips back at you, punctuating the words with a deep groan before carrying on with the rest of the thought. “Get so demanding when you want to come, don’t you?”

“Wooyo—” You whimper, body tightening in preparation for release as he continues relentless drives into you paired with the gentle, expert rub of his fingertips just above where his cock leave you pried open for him.

“Yeah, come for me, lemmie feel it.”

Part of you figures it doesn’t make much of a difference what he says in that moment as your orgasm tears through your body — a nearly painful tightening of every muscle within you as you come hard through gritted teeth and bitten back groans — Wooyoung continues fucking you through it all the while; expertly managing to hold off his own through the vice grip of your walls on his cock until you’re at the tail end of your release before allowing his own to take him with a louder-than-expected, throaty groan and a hiss through his teeth as he empties into the barrier placed between you.

Wooyoung’s head falling just a bit to the side, the heat of his sweaty forehead pressing against the cool of the wall just behind you, he gently lets go of your leg and slowly pulls his softening length from its place nestled inside of you before pulling the condom from himself, tying the top into a knot, and rolling off to the side of you to match your stance as the both of you attempt to catch your breath in the aftermath of far riskier sex than you’d normally find yourself engaging in.

With one eye shut and only a few moments passed between the two of you, he finally turns to cast his gaze upon you, lips pulled tight in something of a happy-stupid grin.

“You okay?”

Thoughtful, even still. Better bedside manner than you’d expect, given the circumstances, that’s for sure.

“Yeah,” you answer in a heavy exhale. “Can I have my underwear back?”

“Oh! Yeah.”

Handing the fabric to you, you carefully slide them back into place, but remain relatively still against the wall as Wooyoung finally tucks himself back into his pants.

Turning to face him again, a thought crosses your mind — and figure, you’ve already boldly gone where you never find yourself going before, so what’s another step in the same direction.

A single corner of your lips pulling upwards, Wooyoung already catches the hint of mischievousness to you as he awaits whatever it is that you’re soon to offer him.

“You work tomorrow?” You finally ask, and the question quite evidently throws the man through a loop — not having expected this particular line of questioning. Watching him mentally switch gears to answer the inquiry, he shakes his head.

“Nope, what about you?”

But instead of carrying on with the casual discussion, you choose to call back to a comment made in the heat of the moment not all that long ago.

“You said you wished we had more time,” you say in a sultry whisper, hand snaking up the front of his coat to dig fingers into the fabric and pull him closer against you again. “Sounds like you’re free all night.”

Wooyoung leans down to kiss you again; slower, passionate, taking in the moment and the taste of you in a way that isn’t so desperate as before, then slowly pulling off and gazing down intently into your eyes.

The words match your own in tone as his fingers lace into yours at the delivery of them.

“Get me in that fucking car, now.”

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ hope you enjoyed! please check out my navigation for more (´｡• ᵕ •｡`)

—this is a oneshot, there will be no part 2.

#wooyoung smut #wooyoung x you #wooyoung x y/n #wooyoung x reader #ateez smut #ateez x you #ateez x y/n #ateez x reader #wooyoung imagines #wooyoung scenarios #wooyoung fanfic #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez fanfic

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simlit · 2 months

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Chosen of the Sun | | dawn // twenty

| @maladi777

INTERACTIVE POLL | What should Aster do? Vote now!

POLL RESULTS | The Noble Dinner | Aster wins the poll and becomes the third member of the dinner party.

next / previous / beginning

KYRIE: Good morning, Darling Shadow. Sleep well? ELION: You’re far too chipper in the morning. You’re far too chipper period. KYRIE: Oh, so sorry to bring some optimism into your bleak dark world. Anyways, I was wondering if you’d mind doing me a favor. Taiyo’s asked for some books, if you’d be so kind to drop them off for me? ELION: I’m your bodyguard, not your secretary. KYRIE: What’s the difference? Anyways, I have some errands to run around the temple. I won’t be going outside, so there’s no need for you to keep such a sharp watch. It’ll spare you the trouble of having to join me. ELION: I suppose if I refuse, you’ll puppet me off, anyhow? KYRIE: Of course not. But you wouldn’t refuse, now would you? ELION: I don’t get paid enough. KYRIE: Here’s the books. Do see that they make it safely. I’m sure you’re more then capable. ELION: Yeah, yeah. KYRIE: Heh. [sound of knock on door] ASTER: yawning Your Grace, a bit early, isn’t it? KYRIE: Why, late night? ASTER: You could say that. Don’t tell me you were watching? KYRIE: Sorry. Still out of commission. But I’m sure it was a nice showing. ASTER: Ha! Would you believe I spent the night blissfully alone! Nursing a small hangover, but that’s neither here nor there. Did you need something? KYRIE: Mind if I come in? ASTER: Ah? Maybe my night has yet to close! KYRIE: laughs As tempting as that sounds, I’m afraid I’ve come out of necessity. I wanted to speak with you about something. Privately. ASTER: Well, I’m all ears, Your Grace. What can a humble bard do for ye? KYRIE: Tonight, Indryr and I will be attending a dinner party with Duke Eldewyn. He’s a bit of a flamboyant noble, enjoys his wine, if you get my meaning. The point of this dinner party is not so straightforward, however. There have been some… strange happenings. ASTER: You don’t have to tell me twice. It’s all been downside up since I got here! KYRIE: Aster, I need you to take this seriously. People’s lives… my life, might be at stake. And this time, I’m not sure I’m so willing to oblige. I want to find out more about what happened in the past. Before me, before… my sister took over conducting this ceremony, hundreds of lunar priests came before us. This tradition goes back centuries, and what’s been done along the way might play some part in what’s been happening now. KYRIE: Duke Eldewyn is an elder elf, though he might not look it, he’s nearly three hundred years old. He’s seen more than a few Selenehelions in his day, and being close to the crown, he may have some insight on any collusion that might have been going on. ASTER: That’s all well and good, but… what does this have to do with me? KYRIE: I want you to come along with us tonight. The Duke is very easily swayed by influential people, and meeting the Chosen is important to him. I could have chosen anyone, but there’s no one more fit for this than you. ASTER: Me? KYRIE: Of course. You’re charismatic, Aster. And you can talk, well. Someone like you has the exact skillset we need to get the Duke comfortable enough to spill any secrets he might keep tight to the vest. All I’m asking is that you play along; Butter him up and let him dig his own grave. It should be easy work, all you have to do is be yourself. ASTER: Hm. Well, I can’t say I’m not impressed by your keen assessment. Though, if I was more like the Necromancer this is where I’d be asking what I get out of it. KYRIE: Free dinner, free drinks, and the chance to regale the most enthusiastic crowd you’ll find in this city… What’s not for you to enjoy? ASTER: You’re not wrong. KYRIE: If there’s anything more I can do for you, just the say the word. I’m confiding in you to help me with this, so if there’s a price, you need only name it.

#ts4 #ts4 screenshots #ts4 story #ts4 bachelor challenge #chosen of the sun #oc: kyrie loren #cc: aster songleaf #oc: elion maharis #thank you audience for picking Aster for this quest LOL

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yumeka-sxf · 1 year

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A chronological analysis on Twilight and Yor - Part 11

*This is part of an ongoing post series. If you missed the Introduction/Part 1, click here*

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When the "doggy crisis" is finally resolved and the Forgers are reunited, Twilight rightfully chews Anya out for running off by herself. But he then softens and asks if she's hurt, and when she tells him that Bond protected her, he makes sure to give the dog a sincere thank you for saving his daughter. As I said before, anyone who shows respect to animals gets character points to me, especially someone like Twilight whose line of work makes him distrustful of everyone and everything. It's not like he had any reason to gain Bond's favor at that moment – he genuinely felt gratitude for the dog and wanted to express it.

And of course, in classic Spy x Family fashion, Twilight's fib about being stuck in the bathroom the whole time causes the overly self-conscious Yor to assume it's from the awful breakfast she made (something that will have repercussions later).

When they go on their first outing with Bond at the park, Twilight muses to himself about life post-Operation Strix, something he hadn't done since he first adopted Anya. Compared to back then when he flatly stated that he'll send Anya back to the orphanage when it's all over, this time he says that the agency will do what they can for Anya and Yor even though he won't see them again.

It's obvious that Yor is attached to Anya, so he knows she would have no reason to abandon her even if he left the family. The terrorist crisis that had just occurred made him remember that his ultimate goal of ending the cold war is top priority. He reinforces his utilitarian view that this is what's most important for everyone's future even if it means sacrificing some happiness along the way…like Anya's, Yor's, and, though he won't admit it, his own.

Twilight does seem to feel regret about this as he recalls that he just told Anya that she has a responsibility to care for the newly adopted Bond for the rest of his life, yet he won't be doing the same for the child he adopted.

As for why he says he would never be able to see Anya and Yor again, in his mind, maintaining a relationship that's unnecessary for his work would just be a hindrance. I also think that he wouldn't want to put them in danger by having any association with him – they had just gotten dragged into the terrorist mission he was trying to take care of after all. I imagine he plans to do something like fake the death/disappearance of Loid Forger, or maybe say/do things to Anya and Yor that would make them hate him so he could easily break ties with them (hopefully that's not the case as that would be too heartbreaking! Of course, he wouldn't be able to fool Anya…but I digress). Either scenario would result in him not being able to see them again, at least not as the Loid Forger they've come to know.

Twilight reminds himself of this again soon after when he tries to help Franky woo the girl he has a crush on (which ends in failure). When they're drinking together at the bar, he tells Franky that people like them can't afford to have feelings for others as it would only end badly.

At this point in the series, we know that Twilight has at least some feelings for Yor and Anya (which will be pointed out by Nightfall soon) so perhaps he's saying this also as a reprimand to himself as well as a reminder to Franky? But Franky tends to be a "pot calling the kettle black," since he's the one who told Twilight back when they were pretending to be SSS agents to keep his emotions out of his daily life, yet Franky tries to pursue relationships with women left and right, without any emotional restraint (and will continue to do so even after he and Twilight have this conversation). And then there's Nightfall who, despite her constant poker face, does nothing but imagine lovey-dovey scenarios with herself and Twilight. Seems that, as much as spy people preach about keeping emotions out of the picture, emotions seep through even harder than normal. But while Franky and Nightfall don't lie to themselves about these feelings, Twilight does…will that make it all the more torturous for him when he can lie no longer?

Continue to Part 12 ->

<- Return to Part 10

#twiyor #spyxfamily #spy x family #sxf #spy family #loid forger #yor forger #loid x yor #loidyor #sxf meta #sxf analysis

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the-hinky-panda · 1 year

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Vanishing Act (Kevin "KJ" Jimenez Fic)

Title: Vanishing Act (Part I of II)

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Kevin "KJ" Jimenez x Fem! Reader

Summary: You've lost everything: family members, your job with the US Marshals, your life, all because of one man: Lincoln Potter. When you get word that he's put a hit out on one DEA Agent Kevin Jimenez, you decide maybe you might get an ally in your quest for revenge. You just have to keep both of you and KJ alive until you can get your revenge on Potter.

***

Kevin Jimenez was never a lucky man.

He was intelligent, detail oriented, dedicated to his work but luck had nothing to do with it. It certainly had nothing to do with the current state of his life, that was for certain. Two years of borderline obsession with the Galindo cartel that resulted in divorce papers from his wife, custody arguments about the kids, and for what? If luck had played a part in his life at all, then at least he would still have his job after all that.

But Kevin Jimenez was never a lucky man.

That is, until today.

He has no idea how he managed to stand in the middle of his living room, bullets ricocheting off the walls, pictures, and decorations, and not so much as get nicked.

Larry Bowen, on the other hand, is not so lucky.

KJ is still standing in the middle of the room, no place to go for cover. Bowen is dead, two gunshots to his chest. EZ Reyes is to his right, Angel Reyes directly in front of him, and a third figure, a woman, dressed in black to his left. All three have guns pointed at each other. All he can do is hope his luck holds while the three armed assailants work this macabre interaction to its conclusion.

“Put the fucking guns down!” the woman shouts.

“You put your fucking gun down!” Angel yells back.

EZ takes a shot at her, clipping her shoulder and she returns the favor, plaster from the wall next to his face exploding with the impact of her bullet. Angel raises his gun in KJ’s direction but the woman fires again, this time hitting Angel’s gun and knocking it from his hand.

“Fuck!” Angel shakes his hand from the shock of his weapon being hit. “Who the fuck are you?”

Your eyes are zeroed in now on EZ, who’s crouched low by the wall in the kitchen. Slowly, he takes his finger off the trigger of his gun and holds it up. You do the same and every one takes a breath. The three of you don’t move any closer to each other but you all do holster your pieces. Now that the immediate danger is over, the adrenaline surge that KJ felt with the instinct of fight or flight and he could do neither finally explodes.

“What the actual fuck is happening?!”

Both EZ and Angel are suspiciously quiet. It’s you, to everyone’s surprise, that answers.

“Potter put a hit on you.” You motion to the two brothers. “My guess would be he hired these two bargain basement thugs to do it.”

Angel shakes his head. “‘Bargain basement?’”

EZ’s jaw ticks. “I was more offended by thugs.”

KJ feels the sharpness of the betrayal of the hitmen being family in his chest.

“Either way,” you continue, “Potter wants you dead for some reason, which means it’s in my best interest to keep you alive.”

KJ swallows. “You want Galindo? The Cartel?”

“I want Potter.”

It doesn’t surprise him that the odd ADA has made enemies along the way in his career. There’s a story behind the venom you use when you say Potter’s name. This isn’t about saving him at all. It’s about using him as leverage. And as much as that would have infuriated him in the past, staring down the barrels of three guns and a dead boss have altered his perception somewhat.

“Look,” EZ says, “whatever deal you have with Potter-”

You hold up a hand. “Let me stop you there. Because I can tell you all about the deals that Potter makes. I guarantee that one or both of you are looking at a lifetime sentence in jail which will magically go away if you put a bullet in this man’s head. And if you don’t, you’re going to suffer, your family is going to suffer, and no one is going to have a happily ever after.”

“What are you proposing?” Angel asks.

You take out a set of car keys and toss them at Angel. “I have a car sitting three blocks over at the back of a dead end street. It’s set up with a pipe bomb underneath it with a remote control, the garage door opener clipped to the visor. There’s already a body in the front seat, same height and weight as your target. And I’ve already planted his ID and some other belongings in the car.”

Angel looks at the keys. “Why didn’t you just blow it before you came here?”

You raise an eyebrow. “I wasn’t sure if I was going to need to add a couple more bodies to the car before I blew it.” Your eyes land on Bowen. “Glad I waited. If you’re worried about an investigation from the coroner blowing the cover, don’t. I’ve already paid him off to say it was Agent Jimenez.”

“You’re CIA.” The realization leaves his mouth before KJ can stop it. Your efficiency, your thoroughness, your resources all point to Black Ops level type shit. But you’re here by yourself, that much is obvious. If you had a partner, they would have been involved in the firefight. They would help with the body. You’re rogue.

“Something like that.” You state it with finality before turning to Angel and EZ. “Potter’s going to show up here to look over your handiwork in about twenty minutes. I suggest you get this poor son of a bitch out to the car and blow it before he arrives. Whatever deal you all had will still be honored.”

EZ looks over KJ. “And what about him?”

“You’re going to forget all about him. He’s my problem now.”

***

Apparently, two hours into the drive up the coast, KJ realizes he’s not the only problem you have. That “clip” of the bullet from back at the house is still bleeding. He’s been watching the red stain grow, soaking the fabric of your black shirt and even spread to the upholstery of the driver’s seat of the Jeep Cherokee that may or may not be yours. If that wasn’t concerning enough, the thin sheen of sweat and pale coloring of your skin definitely is.

“You should let me drive.”

You scoff. “You don’t even know where we’re going.”

“I would if you tell me.”

“Not going to happen.”

He sits back in the passenger seat. “Of course not. You’re just going to pass out from blood loss in another hour and run us off the road. So glad I survived the hit to die in a fiery crash somewhere near San fucking Bernardino.”

“Are you done?” You shift in the driver’s seat trying to position your injured arm on the center console so it has some support. “Thought you would be a bit more appreciative of me saving your ass back there.”

“Only to kill us both out here.”

“Fine.” You jerk the steering wheel and pull the car over to the shoulder of the highway and slam it into park. “You want to drive, have at it.”

You climb out of the driver’s seat, cradling your injured arm against your chest as you stalk your way around the car and stop at the passenger side. Before you can change your mind, he climbs across the console and slides into the driver’s seat. He sits back and feels your blood start to soak into his shirt but there’s no way for him to stop that from happening. He supposes this is the price he has to pay to survive the car ride. You clamber into his vacated passenger seat with an angry, yet tired, huff.

“So?”

You roll your eyes. “So, what?”

“Where are we going?”

“North.”

“How far-”

“North,” you repeat before leaning your head back and closing your eyes.

North it is. He pulls back on the road and drives for the next two hours in silence. Whenever there was a cross road or interchange, he took whatever direction that was north. The gas light turns on somewhere around Bakersfield and he pulls off the highway to a gas station right by the exit. He pays for the gas, pumps it, uses the restroom and you still haven’t moved from your slumped over position in the passenger seat. When he returns to the driver’s seat, he pokes your leg, gives your elbow a slight shake and you come to, mostly.

“Where…”

“Bakersfield,” he answers.

You look around the gas station that he has yet to pull away from. It’s the middle of the night, hard to see any details past the bright service lights of the station. Your tired eyes squint, trying to see into the darkness, trying to see whatever threat may be lurking out there. “We have to keep going.”

“Why?”

“Away,” you slump back against the seat. You’re weak from the blood loss, and still very pale. Your eyes are having difficulty focusing. “From Potter.”

“I thought you wanted to take him down.”

“Take him down, we need to go up.” You laugh weakly at the statement.

You’re not making much sense and with his life completely topsy turvy at the moment, KJ needs you and all your faculties. He reaches over and lays his hand on your forehead, like he used to do for his kids. You swat it away haphazardly but thankfully you don’t feel feverish. “Alright, we’re stopping for the night.”

“No!” You sound like a petulant child.

“Yes,” he states firmly. “You need medical attention and rest.”

“No hospitals.”

On that, he had to agree with you. “No hospitals. You have a first aid kit in here?”

“Yeah.”

“Cheap hotel it is then.”

Your head falls against the glass of the passenger side door with a thunk. “Sure know how to show a girl a nice time, Agent Jimenez.”

He pulls back out on the highway, wanting to get past Bakersfield proper, and find something out of the way on the outskirts. “Guess I’m not an agent anymore.”

“Guess not.”

He presses his lips together, grips the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white. He supposes he’s not a lot of things anymore: agent, husband, father. All those things are in the past, dead and blown up on some dead end street in his neighborhood. There’s only one thing that he still has, that’s still his. “You can call me KJ.”

He waits for you to give him your name but you’ve already passed out again.

***

You’re quite pretty. The early morning light paints your skin in a soft, hazy glow. Your hair is still mostly pulled back into a ponytail but strands have escaped and curled around your face. But KJ is certain the most attractive aspect at the moment is that you’re still asleep in the front seat of the car. You’re quiet, not angry, snapping at him with sharp sarcasm with a nihilistic edge.

You’re at peace and you’re lovely.

He sighs as he opens the passenger side door and rests his hand on your shoulder. Your brow furrows in your sleep but you keep sleeping so he squeezes your shoulder until your eyes flutter open. Immediately you’re on alert, sitting up straight and trying to take in your surroundings.

“Where-”

“North end of Bakersfield somewhere. Come on, I got a room for a couple hours so we could get that gunshot wound under control. Get some rest.”��

“I’m fine. Bleeding’s stopped by now.”

“Yeah, well, it still needs to be bandaged.”

“We need to keep moving. We need to keep going north.”

He’s tired, bone tired, weary of dealing with one clusterfuck after another. He needs a break, a block of time to reassess the situation and come up with a plan. “Well, I need a fucking moment to breath. You said you need me because Potter wanted me dead. If that’s true, you’re going to fucking follow me into the hotel room. Let me patch up that wound and get some real sleep before moving forward.”

“Look, I know the DEA-”

“You don’t know shit!” he snaps. “You don’t know shit about me, about what I’ve had to fucking sacrifice for this fucking case! You probably don’t even know that those two ‘thugs’ that showed up to kill me were family.” He feels tears stinging his eyes. “Mi familia. Mi sangre.”

You don’t back down, but you do soften a bit. When you do speak, there’s no harshness to your tone. “You’re right. I didn’t know that. I’m sorry.”

It’s a hollow victory but he’ll take it at the moment. He goes to the back of the Jeep and takes out the two duffle bags, slinging his bag over his shoulder and carrying yours. When he comes back to the passenger side, you’re standing next to the car but have a death grip on the door. He can see your muscles shaking from the effort to keep you upright. He slips his free arm around your torso and is surprised that you don’t protest. Perhaps you know just how bad a shape you’re in at the moment.

You lean on him for the short walk across the parking lot and then follow him into the room under your own power. It only lasts until you make it to the small wooden chair. The hotel room is basic, bare bones, but it looks relatively clean. He still pulls the comforter off the bed before putting the bags down on it.

“Where’s the first aid kit?”

“It’s in my bag, towards the top.”

He unzips the worn, leather bag and finds a smaller bag, equally as worn, sitting on top of clothes. He carries it into the bathroom and opens it up. There’s a good sized bottle of rubbing alcohol and he uses that to sterilize the counter and sink. He sees you in the mirror, leaning on the doorframe and unbuttoning your shirt. Well, trying to at least, as your hands are shaking from the injury and its side effects.

He steps over to you and immediately starts undoing the buttons himself, concentrating on the task and the reasoning behind it. The sooner he can patch you up, the sooner he can sleep. He expects you to swat him away, determined to do this intimate act yourself, but you don’t. You just lean back and let him do it, helping only when he starts to peel the semi dried fabric from your injured arm. He also expected your fire to come back, that ice cold determination to see your mission through but it hasn’t. You’re still leaning against the door jam, right shoulder and arm bloodied, clad in your jeans and simple black sports bra.

You look tired, weak…soft.

He turns and reaches for a clean washcloth, soaking it in the alcohol, before starting to clean the blood from your arm. “So you’re not CIA.”

You hiss and jerk your arm when the alcohol runs into the wound but still your movements. “What makes you think that?”

What makes him think that? He certainly can’t say the truth, that you lack the hard dissociative edge that he’s seen before in CIA agents. You’re staring at him through the haze of pain but you’re very much reading his expression. So he throws out the question that’s been plaguing him since he left Santo Padre.

“Why didn’t you just kill Angel and EZ?”

You take in a deep breath through your nose and release it slowly. “Because I know how Potter works. The people he sends to tie up loose ends are just as much the victims as the people they kill.”

He couldn’t argue with that statement.

“You’re right,” you say. “I didn’t realize they were related to you. How?”

“Second cousins.” He scoffs. “Not like they were my brothers.”

Something akin to pain, but deeper, passes through your eyes. It happens so quickly, he thinks he may have imagined it.

“And I’m not CIA. I’m a US Marshal,” you confess quietly. “Well, was one at least.”

He’s cleaned away most of the blood so he can see the wound. It certainly isn’t a clip, the bullet went completely through the muscle of the underside of your bicep. It went clean through though, but the bullet wound is still oozing blood and will continue to do so until it’s packed and bandaged. “Let me guess, witness protection?”

“Right again.” You glance down at the wound. “Guess it was more than just a clip.”

He pulls out cotton, gauze pads, and bandages, laying them out on the sterilized sink counter. “Spoken like someone who’s never been shot before.”

“My line of work we tried to prevent situations from getting to that point.”

“Sounds like you were successful.”

“Until I wasn’t.”

He wonders if he’ll reach a point when he’s able to talk about this clusterfuck with the succinctness and resignation that you just did. But you’re talking and that’s something he wants to encourage. The more he knows the better. “So how did Potter fit into that situation?”

You’re quiet for a moment. “You almost done?”

And just like that, the conversation is over. He wraps the bandage over the cotton and gauze and fixes it in place with a metal clip. “Done.”

“Thank you.” You pick up your bloodied shirt and toss it in the trash. “Are you hungry? There’s a Burger King across the street.”

“No,” he starts cleaning up the bandages. “I’m good. You?”

You shake your head. “Maybe after some sleep.”

Which brings up another issue. There is only one bed out there. By the time he repacks the first aid kit, you’re already under the sheets and balanced on the right edge of the bed. He debates taking a shower, getting into a clean set of clothes, and then laying down but it all seems to be too much of an effort. Instead, he lays down on top of the sheets and stares at the cheap, popcorn ceiling. He listens to your breathing, wondering if you’re just going to stop mid-inhale from the blood loss. IF he’s going to have to take you to the hospital for an infusion and proper stitches. But you don’t. And soon, he finds himself being drawn under the blanket of sleep listening to the steady exhalations of you next to him.

***

When KJ wakes up, it’s completely dark in the room. He listens for your breathing but doesn’t hear anything. There’s nothing. No sound, no movement, no warmth.

“Fuck.”

He turns on the light next to him and braces to find your dead body. But you’re not there and somehow that’s worse. You’ve left him stranded in northern Bakersfield with no car, no new ID, and fifty dollars in cash. What exactly did he expect though? He has nothing on Potter, less than nothing in fact. His entire career in the DEA has been completely erased. The sight of his office being stripped and torn apart still makes his stomach churn.

There’s nothing for him to do until he figures out where he’s going to go and how he’s going to get there. He gets up, grabs his bag, and heads into the bathroom to get cleaned up. He tries to come up with a way to make some money while he showers. Without being able to use credit cards or withdraw from his bank accounts, if he even has them anymore, he’s going to need to make some fast cash. Maybe the hotel needs some extra help and he can get enough together to get somewhere further away from Santo Padre.

He’s pulling his t-shirt over his head when he hears a noise come from the other room. He had left his gun on the back of the toilet and he picks it up as he peers through the steam left over from his shower. The door is partially open, light flickers in from the faulty streetlight outside the room. The smell of fresh food: charbroiled and smoked meat, cheese, and grease hits his nose and causes his stomach to growl. There you are, struggling with bags of food, a hurt arm and a stubborn, dented door to a cheap motel room.

You didn’t abandon him. You didn’t leave him in the middle of nowhere.

“Jimenez, some help here?”

He tucks the gun in the waistband of his jeans as he moves to help you through the door. “Sorry. I, uh, I thought you left.”

You give him a slightly concerned look. “I did leave. To pay for a few more hours for the room and grab some food. You okay there?”

The relief he feels at your return shouldn’t be as strong as it is, but here he is. Heart slowing from its rapid pace, a slight burning to the back of his eyes. You didn’t leave. You didn’t abandon him. This too means more than it should. He puts the bags of food down on the small desk and re-locks the door. You drop into a chair, exhausted and pale.

“You shouldn’t have gone out there by yourself.” He tries to sound chiding but it lacks conviction. He’s still too relieved that you didn’t leave him behind. “You’re still recovering from the blood loss.”

You pull a hamburger out of the Burger King bag and unwrap it. “I’ve dealt with worse.”

He gives you a disbelieving look and you slowly cave.

“Okay, okay, I haven’t actually been shot and had significant blood loss before.”

He starts pulling food out of the other bags. “What did you get?”

“I didn’t know what you like to eat so I got a bunch of stuff.” You point to a plain white plastic bag with styrofoam containers. “That’s supposed to be some award winning BBQ, coleslaw, and potato salad. There’s also some more Burger King, lo mein and egg rolls, and a meatball sub.”

“What, no Indian food?”

You take a large bite out of the burger. “I owe you some chicken tikka masala then.”

He takes half the BBQ and sides, sitting down on the other chair at the small desk. It only takes a couple bites before he realizes just how ravenous he is. He can’t remember the last time he ate. He can’t really remember how much time has actually passed since the events in the living room. It seems like a lifetime ago already. You’ve finished the burger and are reaching for the meatball sub.

“I don’t normally eat like this.”

He motions to your shoulder with his fork. “It’s the blood loss. Your body is trying to make up for what it’s lost. Protein is the best thing to eat.”

“You’re not just saying that to keep the potato salad all to yourself, are you?”

He looks over at you and sees a small smirk at the corner of your mouth, a slight brightness of mirth in your eyes.

You didn’t leave him.

Not yet, anyway.

***

You finally tell him where you’re heading: Olema. It’s a small, touristy town along the coast about thirty miles north of San Francisco. You have a friend who runs a bed and breakfast there and who is willing to give you both some space to regroup. Right now though, the plan is less focused on revenge and more on healing. You try to drive but have to pull over two hours in because you’re still too weak to keep your head up and your eyes open.

“You can get some sleep. I can use Google Maps-” he stops himself short. That’s right. You made him toss his cell phone into the car before Angel and EZ blew it up. No phone along with everything else. All his pictures of his family, his soon to be ex-wife, his two kids. The loss of something so simple like a picture hits him like a tidal wave and he has to forcibly swallow down the lump in his throat.

You open the glove compartment and pull out a slip of paper, writing the directions down. “Here, just keep taking the 5 up to the 580 West. When we get to San Rafeal, you’re going to get on the 101 North. Then we hit the 1 which will take us straight into Olema. If I’m asleep by the time we make it into town, you can stop at the Due West Tavern. It’ll be on the left side of main street about a mile into town. We should get there towards the end of dinner.”

He takes the slip of paper and tucks it in the visor, hoping you don’t see the sheen of tears in his eyes. But he knows you probably do. You’re incredibly astute and detail oriented. He figures you wouldn’t be successful in your job if you weren’t. “Thanks.”

You’re quiet for a moment. “Eighteen months.”

“What?”

“That’s how long I tell people that it takes to adjust to their new lives. Eighteen months.”

He feels another wave of grief hit him. “That sounds like forever.”

“The first year is hard. You remember all the anniversaries, routines, holidays and traditions. Once you get past that first year, that’s when you stop existing and start adjusting. It takes another four to six months to settle into the new life then.”

He remembers what it was like when his mother died. The first year had been terrible, all the memories and holidays exacerbating the loss of the quiet, kindhearted woman who endured hell on earth so he wouldn’t have to face it alone. “It’s like the grieving process.”

“That’s exactly what it’s like.” You turn your head and study his profile for a moment. “It’s okay to grieve, to feel the loss. It’ll help shorten the adjustment period if you acknowledge the emotions for what they are.”

“Grief.”

You hum as you fold your legs close to your chest and put your feet on the dashboard. “Survivor’s guilt is a big one too.”

Bowen. He can still see the dark red stain of blood soaking into the jute rug and spilling out onto the hardwood floor of the living room. He chances a quick glance over to you, your relaxed posture, half closed eyes. He’s detail oriented too and wonders if you’re in a sharing mood now.

“Who did Potter take away from you?”

You pick at a rip in your jeans. “Everyone. Everything.”

He waits to see if you’ll elaborate but by the time he looks over, you’re already turned towards the door and asleep. He glances up at the directions you gave him and estimates there’s only about another two and half hours of driving ahead. So he does what you suggest and he sits with his grief for that time.

***

You’re still asleep, curled into a ball in the passenger seat when he pulls into the gravel parking lot of the tavern. He wonders if the place is open given there’s only two cars in the lot despite it being seven forty at night. He turns the car off and releases a long sigh. He’s drained. Emotionally, mentally, physically. Now all he wants to do is sleep for about a week. He reaches over and gently squeezes your arm.

You sit up immediately and take in your surroundings, letting out a slightly disgusted noise. “Can’t believe I slept all the way here.”

“Six to eight weeks.”

You open the passenger side door and slide out of the car. “What?”

“That’s how long it takes for someone to get their strength back from significant blood loss.”

You nod as you start to make your way towards the front door of the restaurant. He takes a moment to take in the area. The sky is not completely darkened by night yet. The smell of the tavern food, fish and steak, drifts through the air and mixes with a sharper, cleaner scent. He knows he should know what it is but he can’t put his finger on it at the moment.

“Hey,” you shout and he sees you’re holding the door open for him. He hustles his way over to you and follows you into the building. You’re familiar with the place given the ease in which you navigate the formal dining room and lead him into the dark bar area of the tavern. Everything is dark wood, the floor, ceiling beams, bar, tables, chairs even.

“Sorry, kitchen’s closed-” a man appears from behind the bar but stops mid sentence when his eyes land on you. A large smile breaks across his face. “Hey, you made it!”

“Hey, Tony!” You give him a one-armed hug. “I know it’s late but-”

“I got you.” He motions to a corner booth, away from windows and a guttering candle in the center of the table. “Have a seat and I’ll scrounge up something for you guys. I’ll call Mom too, let her know you’re here.”

“Please tell me you have some clam chowder left over,” you ask, easing yourself down into the booth.

“For you, I will find some.” He turns to KJ. “What about you?”

He has to admit, he’s hungry again and anything sounds good to him. “I’m not picky.”

Tony claps him on the arm. “My kind of customer. What do you guys want to drink?”

“Whatever’s on tap is fine for me.” You’re already propped up in the corner, your injured arm resting on the table. KJ can see some slight bleed through your shirt. Tony notices it too.

“I’ll bring some whiskey too. Make a couple boilermakers out of it.”

KJ slides into the booth across from you. He can’t tell if it’s the poor light but your skin tone is still ashy and you look exhausted. “So, Tony and his mom are going to help us?”

You nod. “Tony’s mom, Amelia, used to be my boss. She was my mentor, taught me everything I know. She’s retired now but helps me out when I need a safe place to crash or stash people for a short time until witness protection can iron out paperwork.”

“She’s the one who runs the Bed and Breakfast?”

“Yeah. It’s a good front for moving people quietly. A good blend of tourists and fugitives. It helps that Olema is out of the way for most people.”

“Why do people come here?”

“Mostly for the hiking trails in Point Reyes National Seashore. There’s lots of hikers and backpackers that come through here. There are some horse stables and you can do trail riding too. But in a state where you also have National Forests like Redwoods, Sequoia, Lassen, and Yosemite National Park, this little place gets passed over quite a bit.”

Tony comes back with two bowls of rich looking clam chowder, a container of oyster crackers, two beer glasses, a bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses. “Alright you two, eat up because mom is on her way and says she’s a lot to discuss. You know what that means.”

You roll your eyes but immediately reach for a spoon. KJ looks at you expectantly. “What?”

“What does that mean?”

A small frown crosses your face. “It means we don’t have a lot of information to work with. I don’t know why she’s surprised though. Potter is as slippery as an eel in an oil spill.”

“How long have you been chasing him?”

“About five years now.” You close your eyes when the first spoonful of food goes in your mouth. “No more talking about Potter. This food is too good to be ruined by conversation about that asshole.”

KJ actually finds a small laugh inside of himself before picking up his own spoon.

#kevin jimenez x reader #kevin jimenez x you #kevin jimenez #maurice compte #Vanishing Acts series #mayans mc fic

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exiledelle · 4 months

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its vengeance au PAPYRUS time (LINKED POST HAS UTY MERCILESS SPOILERS)

i was originally planning on having more sprite edits n stuff for this but unfortunately i think too many of my thoughts would be too hard for me to sprite, at least not currently, but. since i dont want to be spending months on this:

like i mentioned in the original post, after clovers slaughter of a decent part of the underground, and progress toward breaking the barrier being shot back to square one as a result, the royal guard essentially goes into a panic, putting out a mass recruitment.

much to the relatively-newly-crowned empress, undynes, dismay, this includes papyrus. wouldnt be a good look for her to turn down such an enthusiastic volunteer, especially not when the guard is in desparation.

but shes still biased, and doesnt want to see him hurt, so she manages to position him as a royal watchman instead of a guard. instead of capturing a human, his job is just to keep watch, help anyone who needs help in the forest, and if he manages to spot a human, all he needs to do is report the sighting to the rest of the guard. pretty simple and fitting job for him, and hes still very enthusiastic about it!! plus he gets a neat ranger uniform, so win-win (the design stuck)

once frisk escapes the ruins though, and clover chases after, papyrus notices somethings not right before hes able to send his report. theres TWO whole humans, which would surely make undyne and the guard happy, maybe send him up a couple ranks too, but...

his job is also to HELP people. and clearly, frisk needs help. so in a conflict of interest, papyrus opts to help frisk find safety deeper into the woods, and only reports clover, to try and keep them at bay

realizing way too late the kind of threat they are, and that theyre too far gone for his usual approach of trying to talk them down like he does in undertale. he'll attack clover, but only when they have him and/or his friends cornered and its absolutely necessary. papyrus IS tough, so he can at least stall them, but he also knows his best chance is to find an opening to flee (he still has to protect frisk, after all), and that a prolonged encounter isnt really in his favor

unfortunately, being a watchman, as well as undyne being busy with empress duties, means he doesnt have as much time for his usual Spaghetti Training, so he falls back to rations of dinosaur egg oatmeal (calling them rations makes it sound cooler to him), which he gladly shares with anyone

...he gets a little overexcited though. its fine, this is normal for him, dont worry. also, the oatmeal survives this.

also in case youre wondering about sans: hes....actually pretty much the same, all things considered. hes happy papyrus got into the guard, tags along to his outposts, pulls his usual pranks, that kind of stuff. this isnt a sans au (and i dont really want it to be), so theres like. not a lot of emphasis on him, and theres not really going to be. he'll still like. timestop to drag papyrus and frisk out of danger given that hes there, cuz he does want to help protect them both, but hes not going to go all out on clover, at least not right away, and not without backup or a plan.

(also i say timestop and not teleport just because thats my own interpretation of the grillbys scene, and him having attacks start and end in seemingly random spots during his fight, i dont think its definitively canon or anything, but i still lean more toward timestop than simple teleportation)

WITH undyne busy though, papyrus is assigned a different captain to answer and report to.

someone... ...nyafarious... within the guard.

she will come later though. once i can make a sprite or two, and have more details ironed out. (should probably also start making a masterpost for this au at some point)

#undertale yellow #undertale yellow spoilers #undertale #undertale au #papyrus #vengeance au #ellesprites

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bunbeeplays · 1 month

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The Lemon Legacy: Generation 1, Chapter 57 - Xander Does a Think

Xander, quiet! Ophelia needs to focus on waving her screwdriver around the coffee maker!

Now that Ophelia is a rising star, she got a gig performing at The Rabbithole, a celebrity hotspot. Xander's not a celeb and doesn't have a shift today so he's on his own.

Ophelia goes for a jog to clear her mind before her gig. She's apparently been doing it a lot because she's now at level 8 of the fitness skill!

Ophelia's jog is cut short when she runs into Mila Munch, who asks for an autograph.

Mila: My boys didn't believe that I was there during your viral video! Their mom, catering for the stars?

She didn't cook jack shit but Ophelia feels like it would be rude to point that out.

Mila: Can you make it out to Lucas? He's my youngest. He's been playing that video of yours non-stop and singing along.

Ophelia: Aww, of course. Want me to say anything in particular?

Mila: Follow your heart. I tell him that all the time but it'd mean the world from you.

A supportive parent? Ophelia can't relate.

Ophelia: That's lovely. Here you go. Just do me a favor.

Mila: Anything!

Ophelia: Keep telling him that. It'll definitely mean more coming from a loving parent than some random musician when he's older.

Mila: Thank you, Miss Lemon.

By the time Ophelia gets back, she has to leave.

Drew and Moses are busy, his parents are still out of town and his sister's family is visiting Hector's cousins. Xander doesn't know what to do with himself, so he practices some yoga to clear his mind and think about some stuff.

Since his parents' trip, Xander hasn't been home for anything other than watering the plants. He loves his parents, and their house is way bigger than Ophelia's, but he feels so comfortable here. Maybe the house's owner helps. He'd live in a cardboard box is she was by his side.

Deep down, Xander knows Ophelia is the one for him. He loved Jules but he's IN love with Ophelia. She makes him the happiest he's ever been. He wants to take the next step and move in together, but his parents aren't getting younger. Can he really just leave them all alone?

Even though they're elders, they're very capable. They'd be fine without him. Xander just knows that as the result of a geriatric pregnancy, he's not going to get as much time with them as other Sims do, but he knows his parents wouldn't want him to put his life on hold for them.

Maybe he can talk to his parents about it when they get back in town. They were so excited to hear he found someone who treats him right, so he's sure they'd be supportive if he moved in with Ophelia.

Looks like this yoga stuff is good for thinking AND for getting fit!

Xander makes his mom's tandoori butter naan for when Ophelia gets home and tries to do a fancy mixing trick like his mom can. It doesn't work out so well for him.

Ophelia's become an excellent cook. Surely his mom will love that about her.

The naan is ready and Ophelia will be back soon. Better keep Marshmallow entertained!

Marshmallow: an illuminated intruder! surrender yourself, foe! i have slain many enemies in my nine lives.

Now that he's showered, Xander's doing his own legacy challenge but he's actually gotten his Sim pregnant with the next generation in a reasonable time. Can't relate.

Marshmallow: father, cease your witchcraft with that wicked box and give me snuggles

Xander sees Marshmallow's pissed so he gives her her fave ball to play with.

Marshmallow: that is more like it. i would plunge into the depths of hell for this ball.

Ophelia's home!

Ophelia: Aww, she's clipping through the ground! That means she likes you.

Ophelia: Something smells amazing. You didn't have to make dinner.

Xander: I wanted to. I wasn't just going to sit on my ass and let you eat cold leftovers after working all most of the day.

Ophelia: You're too good to me.

Ophelia: What'd you do besides play chef?

Xander: Not much, just did some thinking.

Ophelia: There's a first time for everything.

Xander: Watcher, I love you.

Ophelia tells him about her night, but his mind can't help but wander. He really does love her, doesn't he? Yeah.

Xander knows he doesn't just want to move in with Ophelia. He wants to keep building a life with her. It's just the first of many next steps they'll take together.

#The Sims #The Sims 4 #The Sims 4 Legacy #The Lemon Legacy #TS4 #The Sims 4 gameplay #sims 4 #generation 1 #ophelia #xander #marshmallow #mila

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jamiesfootball · 12 days

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Tagged by @jamietarttsnorthernattitude and @asteria-argo

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

191,977

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Ted Lasso is the main one right now

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

A German, a Russian, and an American Walk into a Bar (The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015))

oh god, you're gonna get it (you have not been given love) (Ted Lasso (TV))

The Garrison Reserve (The Musketeers (2014))

The Dick String Incident (Ted Lasso (TV))

somebody's hands who felt like mine (Ted Lasso (TV))

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes, though I am woefully behind

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

It's a toss up between right next to the heart of me and somebody's hands who felt like mine. I think the first one is technically the sharper angst, but it at least has a sequel in the works to make things a little better. The second one is a softer whump, but open-ended and with no follow up planned.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

In terms of fics that have actually ended, A German, a Russian, and an American Walk into a Bar wins by a mile

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not yet???

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes. Whatever kind. If I am feeling inspired by a thought, I'm gonna write it.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I've written AUs but no straight-up crossovers yet, though I've lazily batted a few around in a sort of 'what if x met y' sort of way

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes, A German, a Russian, and an American Walk into a Bar and The Garrison Reserve were both co-written

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

Right now it's Jamie/Whump

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

It's not that I won't finish The Garrison Reserve (literally the last chapter is half written), but finishing it is going to mean a rewatch because I have straight up forgotten half the side characters' names

16. What are your writing strengths?

Maybe descriptions? Also my willingness to try to tell a joke

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

This is one I try very very hard to edit out, but I am literally the worst at writing my thoughts down out-of-order or forgetting to finish a thought entirely. Oh, and dialogue. It either comes naturally or I am forging that garbage with a hammer.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I think there is a time for using another language in-text and a time when simply implying the other language or leaning on the perspective of a character who doesn't speak the other language is the correct decision.

That said I am currently writing a story about Dani and Jamie which involves some Spanish dialogue, but I feel fairly good about it because 1) when in doubt, I can (and do) just quote my mom, 2) if it sounds too simplified / non-colloquial I can always make the excuse that Dani, like my mom, doesn't want to confuse Jamie while he's learning, 3) any mistake I make could easily be a mistake that Jamie would make anyways. Wins all around!

Somewhat related, there was an absolutely fantastic Sherlock (BBC) fic back in the day (which was sadly removed from AO3) told from John's point of view where Sherlock decided he would go about his day in Italian. It included Italian dialogue that you could hover over for the translation, but the thrust of the fic was John playing along with his best guess of what was being said. The result was a fic that concurrently told two entwined stories by emphasizing two different povs by giving the audience the choice to ignore one in favor of experiences the other one first with no subtitles. It was very cool.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

a two-page handwritten DBZ fanfic when I was 11.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

oh god, you're gonna get it (you have not been given love)

tagging: @sighonaraa and @altschmerzes because I've not seen either of you yet

#tag game

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serpentsurgency · 2 months

Note

(Question for Mod)

Hi! I was planning on doing something based around the CI, but I wanted to get an outside opinion on how I view them.

What I'm operating off of is the idea that the CI is the result of a major disagreement between Foundation Higher-ups, resulting in the splintered organization. From there, I figured that things got more and more out of hand because a lot of people who join up do so because "Fuck the Foundation" combined with a...less then stellar command structure, resulting in instability and inconsistent actions and views.

Like, sometimes, the CI is very well coordinated, while other times they seem like just a bunch of psychos with guns.

Sometimes they are incredibly efficient with minimal casualties, sometimes they just seem to kill everyone.

(I hope this isn't too much. I don't want to impose anything.)

I'm just asking for your opinion on what I've got and maybe some advice on where to go from here or what to read.

Sorry to bother you.

OOC Response: You’re not bothering me at all, it’s nice to see more potential CI blogs/muses!!

This is very similar to how I am running the CI over on this blog currently in the form of having one main branch that splintered from a disagreement with how the Council was being run with one of the members leaving to start the Insurgency as a sort of ‘alternative’ to the Foundation!

As time passed, this one became pretty organized but now there are separate branches (such as D.W./Dogwood’s branch) who have recently formed and are a lot less organized. In turn, this effectively creates a sort of dual-version of the CI with one being highly organized with far more resources and still viewing itself as an alternative and the other version portraying itself as the only ‘correct way’ — both working congruent to each other’s branches!

Where I think yours and my ideas differ is in the area of control between the splinter branches; as mine is set up so that Cat’s branch is the main with Dogwood’s functioning as a sort of secondary almost ‘red right hand’ sort of function, whereas it sounds like yours is set up so that the branches are mildly competitive against each other — assuming I am reading it correctly!

Overall, I would suggest making sure that all of your CI branches have some sort of mildly competitive edge or a valid reason for favoring their own methods over the others, therefore creating some mild disagreement between each of them that is generally good for a plot! In addition, I would advise having a sort of ‘figurehead’ for each so that people following along with the blogs can have a point of reference for each’s ideals, morals, and methods!

I hope this helps, let me know if there’s any other things you’re curious about! :>

#ooc.post

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nightcat2609 · 1 year

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I just have to get this off my chest lmao: what I wanna say about Owl City's latest album Coco Moon, released on March 24, 2023.

If you see this post and haven't listened to Coco Moon yet, here's the Spotify link. The album's also on Youtube, Youtube Music if you have that, Apple Music and iTunes.

and on Bandcamp, you can also purchase the album there for as low as $1 (name your price basically) and iirc you can also get the studio master versions there.

On February 10, 2023 Adam posted this long but lovely post. It's also on his official Twitter and Instagram pages. I'm gonna quote some lines from this post along the way

First of all, this album has been a revelation. The five or so years of waiting for a new album since 2018 has been truly worth it. Adam didn't dissappoint me as usual and forever may it continue.

"Some songs on “Coco Moon” are metaphorical in a story kind of way. I like to read books because books take me places. When I pick up a book, I leave planet Earth. I wrote a few songs inspired by this." Ah a fellow book lover, I love the way books and stories can take us anytime and anywhere even for just a few moments

"And then some songs on “Coco Moon” are odd. Meaning, some have unusual structures, some don’t make a lot of sense, a few are extremely wordy, others are a little too long." Maybe this is me getting old but I love the long and wordy songs on Coco Moon, Adam truly has a gift with words and storytelling. It'll be a welcome surprise if any Coco Moon songs go viral since online virality these days tends to favor short songs, not that's it's a bad thing. just a sign of the times I guess.

"Creative oddity is beautiful to me so I embraced it." this is the Adam I know and love since I heard Fireflies on the radio back in 2009. And true to these lyrics from "Fiji Water" from his Cinematic album:

"And I'd say "Hey, there is more to me than meets the eye

Let me be who I wanna be"

And I'd say "Hey, I'm an oddity and that's alright

Let me fly and follow my dreams"

"The point is that “Coco Moon” is a very Owl City album. It is quirky. It is odd. It is unapologetically myself. I made an album that is exactly the way it was supposed to be, not an album that popular culture, or algorithms, or analytics, or anyone else on planet Earth told me to make. I wrote me. Average, ordinary, weird me."

Imo nobody in pop music these is doing it quite like Owl City. It makes for more unique and progressive vibes. And as a reminder because of some songs in Coco Moon with a Christian undertone, Adam's Christian faith has been a part of him since day one. At the very least, we should respect that and let him cook.

"CS Lewis said to Tolkien, “If they won’t write the kinds of books we want to read, we shall have to write them ourselves.”" - I feel this on a deep level since at this rate I have to write some the stories I wanna read.

"I started by imagining an album I wanted to listen to. The result is “Coco Moon.” I’m so grateful and honored to be able to share it with you soon."

After finally hearing all of Coco Moon this week, it's been an honor in return to listen to a masterpiece of an album. Adam has come a long way from being a kid in a small town, dreaming about seeing the world, to who he is today, experiencing the good, the bad, and the ugly of life. And he's even found the love of his life along the way! I'm so happy for him and Abbey. They deserve everything good in this world. Thank you very much good sir Adam.

Right now I need to listen to the album some more times to pick favorites. I'll update this post when I've made my picks.

#owl city #adam young #coco moon #music #brainfart #Spotify #Bandcamp

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atzfilm · 2 years

Text

as the world caves in (6)

pairing; hongjoong x reader, mingi x reader, ? x reader word count; 6.1k genre/warnings; fantasy-ish, apocalyptic au, angst, fluff, blood (a lot), weapons, fighting, blood, panic attack, injuries, bruising summary; a mysterious virus has taken over the world, resulting in the undead and the new ‘eden race’ of humans. desperately trying to find your brother jongho with your friends, you stumble across another group in an abandoned hospital tent. strangely, they’re looking for him as well.

previous chapter | next chapter

Yunho insisted that you stay in bed for a few weeks, visiting you every so often to make sure you were healing fine. But after the first week you were already restless. San never came back to see you, and neither did Hongjoong. All you had was Wooyoung, and he didn't hesitate to sit in there with you for hours at a time. You decided not to confront him about what he did at that small town. Maybe when you felt a bit better. Or never, San's words repeating in your mind. You hate to acknowledge it, but he isn't wrong. You treated them like they weren't even your family. And despite denying it, there was some truth to it. You've been so focused on Jongho you didn't think of anything or anyone else. And you hope you can help somehow change that.

But today, instead of Wooyoung, you have Seonghwa. And the man barely says anything to you, flicking through a book as he hums an unfamiliar tune. His black hair is pulled back, some loose strands framing his cheeks. He's attractive. You've quickly noticed all of them are, only making you more irritated. It's a silly weakness, but handsome people always make you nervous. And they smell good. It's an odd thing to point out, but limited water access leads to…

Well, you get the point.

"Are you going to stare at me the whole time?" His voice is monotone, eyes flicking up to meet yours. He flips the page. "At least say something."

"Why are you even here?" You murmur, turning your head back to the window.

"Your friend couldn't visit you today and told me to keep an eye on you. What'd you do to your friends? Seems like none of them want to be around you anymore. Shocking, since they were crying about you being hurt not too long ago."

"If you want to say shit about me go ahead, I could care less."

You hear his book close, his chair creaking. You turn to him, his eyes on your bandage. "I wouldn't provoke you while you're not well. But truly, I'm here on Wooyoung’s behalf. I'd rather not do any of you a favor but being alone in a small room with just a little window for days would drive a person mad. So," he stands, wiping off his hands as he walks behind the bed. "I'm here to keep you company. No malicious intent."

"A bit hard to believe since all you've wanted was for me to leave."

He nods in agreement. "I'm not denying that. But since you'll be stuck here for a while because of that wound, I'd rather just get along than argue everyday."

“Well, you’re off to a good start then,” you follow him as he stands by the window, looking out. You can see a few of the men walking around in fields, farming. Despite having this large land, you’ve seen small fields of food. Enough to fill their stomachs. “Did you ever think of bringing refugees here?”

Seonghwa nods. “There was a time. Yunho was a big advocate for human survival so he brought in anyone who needed a place to stay. He converted that farmhouse your friends are living in into quarters for more people. I was one of the few who stayed.”

“And the others?”

His gaze hardens. “They tried to take over the farm. We stopped them, but they still stole some things on the way out.”

Seonghwa stood on the outskirts of the fields, watching as the group stole cars, food, and anything they could grab. Yunho stood next to him, hands tucked in his pockets as he sighed.

“Why aren’t you doing anything to stop them?” Seonghwa asked, gesturing to the people. “They’re stealing everything you worked hard to find.”

“My father, not me,” Yunho said, smiling. “And if they need to take those things for them to survive out there, then so be it.”

“You’re being too nice.”

“I’m being human, that’s all.”

“So he’s been this carefree for a while then,” you note, glancing around the room. You noticed that Yunho cleaned it up a bit while you were staying in, despite your protests that it was fine. He made it really hard to hate him. Not that you wanted to, anyway. It’s just strange to see someone that kind in a world like now. “What did the others do?”

“They watched alongside us. By then I’ve realized that the cars that they took were useless. Most of them had a half tank of gas, and that’ll barely get you anywhere safe. They wanted to travel to a city, and the four of us didn’t. I mean, who’d leave behind a farm to risk walking around a Sick-infested city? It’s insanity,” he scoffs. “I don’t think they survived that long, anyway. Yunho still dwells on how he could have fixed that situation. But some people want power, and there’s nothing that you can do to stop them.”

“You trust Yunho a lot.”

“He hasn’t done anything for me not to trust him,” Seonghwa glances at you. “But you trust him a bit too much. He could have killed you with that injection but you let him do it anyway.”

“It was either die or die,” you grin, noticing his eyes narrowing. “What?”

“You care little for your life. I can see why San yelled at you.”

“You heard?”

“Everyone in this house did. These walls are paper thin, there’s little secrets hidden around here,” he knocks on the wall, the sound hollow. “You should take his advice. I can tell they all care for you and you do too, but you place your feelings above theirs often. Not in a purposely selfish way. But putting their wants lower than yours when it pertains to you will only lead to arguments in the future. Well, not so future anymore,” he grins.

“You don’t have to tell me what I already know,” you say simply, scratching the area around the wound. It’s still covered with bandages, but you can tell that it’ll be a while before it’s fully healed. And it’ll definitely leave a gnarly scar. “I’ve been thinking about it on my own.”

“And your conclusion?” He raises his brow.

“Is none of your business, Seonghwa.”

He shrugs. “As long as you know it yourself.”

“Don’t you have something to do? I don’t know, sulk in a corner or something?”

This time he laughs genuinely, rolling his eyes at you. “Is that what you think of me?”

“There’s not much else to think about you when I’ve known you for less than a week.”

He purses his lips. “Fair.”

The door swings open. Wooyoung walks inside, a bag full of fruits and vegetables, and a large box in his hands. He grins at you, expression changing slightly when he meets Seonghwa’s eyes. He drops the box on the floor, walking over and giving you an unnecessarily loud kiss on your forehead. Your face twists in disgust as he sits at the end of the bed, holding up the bag of food.

“I grabbed some fruits you like from the field. They grow strawberries here. Strawberries! I haven’t had fruit in so long,” he whines, digging through the bag. He passes you one, plopping another in his mouth. “O’ ‘Ood,” he says through chews, looking back at Seonghwa. “Thank you for hanging out with her. You can go now.”

Seonghwa grabs his book, tucking it underneath his arm. He nods at you once, looking at Wooyoung’s open mouth chews in disgust before walking out. He passes you another berry, humming softly.

“Wooyoung.”

“Hmm?” He glances at you, eating another berry. You can’t help but smile, the juices staining his cheeks and fingers. “What’s up?”

“Why did you tell Seonghwa to come in here?”

He raises his brow. “He’s the only one I saw in the kitchen at the time. He’s a bit of a recluse, but I didn’t think he’d hurt you. Plus, these walls are thin.”

Alright, so it’s true that everyone heard every single conversation you’ve had here. You chew the berry, frowning. “So you heard what San said to me, then?”

He looks away from your eyes, fingers playing with the bag. “Just because I did doesn’t mean I think what he said is true–”

“It had some truth to it, Woo,” you murmur. “I needed to hear it even though I didn’t want to.” You adjust your body, ignoring Wooyoung’s swift, worried gaze. “I’m sorry for treating you three like I didn’t care about you when I do. I didn’t want to admit it, but I was being selfish. I only cared about my feelings and ignored yours, even when you were worried. I put my life on the line several times, not thinking of how you’d feel if I was hurt. I was just being stupid overall, but I do care about you. I really do, and I haven’t shown it properly.”

You bite your lip, thinking. “From now on, I won’t push your thoughts aside. We’ve followed Hongjoong’s words majority of the time, but I know that I had some influence over them since I never took no for an answer. We’re all equal, and I need to embrace that. If you… if any of you think that trying to find Jongho isn’t a good idea, then we can talk about it.”

A scoff from the doorway makes the both of you turn. San stands there, arms crossed against his chest as he narrows his eyes at you. “We’re not abandoning your brother. I was pissed at you, but it was because you were hurt and you just didn’t care,” he walks in slowly, hands tucked in his front pockets. “I was harsh on you.”

“Not harsh enough,” you say, and he only shakes his head.

“No, I was. We should have all talked about what was going on instead of me just venting at you without your input.”

“Family meeting time?” Wooyoung says, squeezing your leg. “Let me get Hongjoong.”

You grab his arm, stopping him in his rush. “No, no. Not Joong. Not right now.”

“yn, you can’t still be mad–”

“I’m not mad, Woo. It’s more complicated than that. I fucked up, but that’s a completely different issue. I don’t want to confront that right now.”

“He’s been waiting,” San starts, sitting on the floor in front of the bed. He looks at you, grabbing a grape vine and handing it to you. “Did you know ever since he left the room he’s been sleeping on the living room couch?”

“I--”

“He hasn’t left,” Wooyoung says, lying back on the bed. “No matter how much San and I told him that he can just sleep in the barn with us, he hasn’t moved. Only to go to the bathroom or check on you once in a while when you’re fast asleep. Nothing too creepy, just a peek to make sure you’re alive.” Wooyoung points at the fruit bag. “I didn’t pick those, he did. He was at it all morning trying to get enough for you. So trust me, we know how angry you are at him, but…” he turns his gaze to yours. “He knows he fucked up. And it’s weird, not seeing you two together. It’s like the world has ended.”

San rolls his eyes, “That’s dramatic.”

“But it’s true! He told me to lie and said I got it all when it was from him,” Wooyoung murmurs. “I just think the two of you need to talk things through and stop delaying it, you know? It’ll only make it drag on and it’ll never be fixed.” he pokes your leg. “I’m serious, y/n. Go and talk to him.”

“Alright Woo, alright,” you rub your face, groaning. “Did Yunho leave a wheelchair around here somewhere? He told me I can’t be up until it heals more.”

“You’re not getting out of that bed,” San raises his brow, moving the wheelchair into your bathroom. You watch your only bit of freedom slowly disappear around the corner.

“Sannie--”

“He’s right, it was just a figure of speech. I’ll tell Hongjoong you want to see him,” Wooyoung leaps from the bed, stumbling a bit against the small rug and disappearing through the door.

San looks at you sympathetically, “You know he’s been at it for days now. He’s used to everyone getting along, it’s hard for him to see it otherwise.”

“I know,” you say softly. “But that’s not gonna happen all the time. No matter how hard it is on him.”

He shrugs, “Seems like we’ve been okay for a bit. Tensions always boil over when something bad happens. But once you sort things out with Hongjoong, it’ll be okay.” he walks over to you, squeezing your shoulder. “We’re okay, too.”

“I’m really sorry, San,” you say, grabbing his wrist as he walks away. “I was an asshole this whole time, and I’m sorry. I’ll do better.”

He smiles, “I know you will. Next time make sure it’s not after you almost died, alright?” He fake sniffles, but you can see that there’s some leftover anguish in his eyes. “I can’t see you like that again. None of us can.”

You let go of his arm, and he nods. Both of you look to the door, seeing Hongjoong standing there. He looks around nervously, glancing at Wooyoung for silent support. Said man pushes him inside the room, grabbing San and immediately slamming the door behind him. You hear the click of a lock, and sigh. Wooyoung always has something under his sleeves, even when you told him speaking to Hongjoong was fine.

“Why did he pull me out of the bathroom?” Hongjoong says, looking at you. When your eyes meet his, he immediately breaks your shared gaze. “You didn’t have to talk to me if you didn’t want to. I told him to not mention anything to you about what I’ve been doing.”

“Woo isn’t one to keep his mouth shut, you know that,” you snort, pushing the blanket off your body, Hongjoong immediately looks at your stomach, the darkened, bruised skin only making his expression drop. You grab a pillow, covering it from sight as you drop your legs over the side. He immediately comes to you, but you hold up your hand, shaking your head. “I’m not getting up. Just stretching my legs.”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, moving back to his spot.

“You don’t have to act like we’re strangers, Joong. I know that I’m upset with you, but don’t do that,” you ignore the dull ache of the wound, adjusting yourself on the edge of the bed. “I need to get out of this room, it's making me crazy. But anyway,” you turn to him. He’s standing awkward next to the door, eyes on the ground. You can tell he hasn’t been sleeping much, the deep bags underneath his eyes evidence. If you didn’t know any better you’d think he was the one injured. “Why aren’t you taking care of yourself, Joong?”

He furrows his brows, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, this. You, right now. You look like a truck ran over you. I’m not saying don’t care about me, but take care of yourself along the way too. Please sleep,” you say. His eyes finally meet yours, red and watery from lack of sleep. You wish you could run over and hug him, tell him that you’re fine. But all you can do is sit here and look at him. Hope that he can tell how genuine you are.

“I know it’s stupid,” he says, pushing his hair away from his forehead. “I should sleep, yea. It’s just hard to know you’re up here hurting.”

“There was nothing you could do about it, Joong. But I’m okay, I promise you,” you hold out your hand, beckoning him forward. He’s a bit hesitant at first, but he lets his hand fold into yours. “I’m fine, thank you for worrying about me.”

“Okay.”

“Hongjoong,” you squeeze his hand, “I know you want to say something.”

He nods, slowly sitting on the bed next to you. He takes the pillow from your hand, placing it behind you. You look down at your bandage. It’s not as soaked with blood as it once was, now just speckles here and there. A sigh escapes his lips, relief smoothing his features. His eyes move to yours, warm.

“Don’t give me that look,” you snicker nervously, looking away. “Makes me nervous.”

“I’m glad you’re okay. And I do want to say something,” he plays with your fingers, thinking. “The time I spent away from you this week or so has made me realize that even though I try hard not to, I do treat you like a child when I know you’re not. You’re independent and strong, and I shouldn’t act like I’m responsible for you when you can take care of yourself. I can worry and I can give you advice, but I can’t make decisions for you. I’m sorry that I’ve overstepped and disregarded your feelings.”

You lean over, letting your body rest against his. Your head drops to the curve of his neck, taking a slow breath. “It’s okay, I’ve forgiven you already. I let this linger for too long when we should have talked about it. It’s not only your fault, it’s mine. I bullied you a bit into that role because of how I was, am. San told me off, as he rightfully should. It made me think things through a bit. We all have our flaws, but we have each other. I love you, and I love Woo and San. We all just need to communicate a little more.”

“A little?” He snorts.

“Maybe a tad bit more than a little?” you grin, and he laughs. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too. Do you know what I’ve done without you? I had to listen to San and Wooyoung speak for longer than five minutes. It was absolute torture,” he groans, and you only laugh louder. “I’m serious! They were arguing about sex positions and I wanted to die then and there. Evaporate.”

“Did you learn anything?” you joke, and he rolls his eyes.

“I know about sex, tiger.”

“Do you?” you raise a brow, and he frowns. “What? We were barely into our twenties when all of this happened and I’ve been with you ever since.”

“You were barely into your twenties. Did you forget I was graduating college already?” he nudges you. “Don’t forget I’m older than you.”

“Barely,” you murmur. “Two years is nothing.”

“It’s enough. We were close back then, but not as much as now. I’ve had plenty of hookups.”

“Gross. Don’t want to hear about you getting your dick wet,” you shudder, only causing him to laugh. “No details please.”

“You asked!”

“Yea and I don’t wanna know anything about the sex life of a man in his prime years. You’re old now, you know. Almost thirty.”

His eye roll only seems to deepen. “Someone in their mid twenties is not thirty, thank you very much.” He wiggles his brows, “But you do like mature men, don’t you?”

“Ew, Joong. Gagged,” you stick your finger in your mouth, fake coughing. He rolls his eyes, eyes flicking down to your stomach again.

“Are you sure you’re alright? Did Yunho fix you up well?”

“Believe it or not, that giant man actually did an amazing job. Even the stitches look pretty,” you lift the bandage, watching as Hongjoong’s eyes avert away from you. “It’s just my stomach, you big baby.”

“You’re still a woman, y/n. And I’d like to respect your boundaries, even if I didn’t do it well before,” he says, eyes still looking away. You nudge him.

“You can look, gentleman.”

He slowly looks back, watching as you pull the bandage off. You hiss, slowly placing it on your bedside table. It looks horrid but not as bad as before. Skin bruised around the would, several stitches keeping your skin tight together to heal. It looks terrible, honestly, but you wanted him to see it. It’s not as bad as it looks, of course, but you can tell it’s bothering him. His mouth opens and closes, teeth clenching as he stares at it.

“Please don’t jump in front of bullets anymore,” he murmurs, eyebrows furrowed.

“No promises.”

“Tiger…”

“What? I can’t push away that instinct,” you shrug, looking down at the injury. “I told you it’s not as bad as it seems. It hurts a lot and I wish I could take a whole bottle of ibuprofen, but I can tolerate it. It’ll be away before you know it, and we can go back on the road again.”

“Not for at least another month,” he says.

“Why not?”

He swallows slowly. “We were all occupied with you being hurt, that they didn’t tell us they found something on one of the government guys. A clue that may lead to where Jongho is.”

You grip his hand, shaking him. “Jongho? They found something?” You try to get to your feet but he pushes you down harshly by your shoulder. “Hongjoong-!”

“I’m only stopping you because you can tear open your stitches, y/n! Be careful,” he hisses, standing up. “Just because I said I won’t be as protective doesn’t mean you can walk around doing stupid things. It’s too close to the bottom of your stomach for you to take steps. I’ll grab the wheelchair.”

You think they’re being dramatic, but you let him go. He comes back in no time with the one Wooyoung hid in the bathroom. You reach out, but he picks you up with ease, placing you in it lightly. You can feel your cheeks burning, avoiding his gaze. He tilts his head at you, trying to catch your eyes.

“That was kind of hot,” you whisper.

“Hm?” He raises a brow, a slight smirk on his lips. Oh, he heard. He definitely heard.

You wave him off, “Nothing. Let’s go down with the others. I want to know what they have to say.”

You sit in the living room, the window open and blinds lifted. Hongjoong told you to wait there for a bit while he got the others, so that you all can discuss what was found. You insisted that you didn’t want to inconvenience anyone, but he said that they’ve been waiting until you were well enough to discuss it. So you sit there with San and Wooyoung, both on the loveseat right to your wheelchair. They help Hongjoong carry you downstairs, San holding you carefully as Hongjoong descended down the stairs with the chair. You hated being so dependent on them, but you were grateful for their presence. You disliked the situation, but you’d despise it even more if one of the others helped. You’d never live that down.

“Sleeping beauty is finally out and about?” the first person to walk in, Yeosang, says. He’s covered in a layer of sweat from outside, dirt covering his skin as he pushes his hair away from his forehead with a flick of his arm. Wooyoung rolls his eyes, looking away from him. “What’s his issue?”

“I don’t know, maybe not seeing you with the bullet wound for starters.”

Yeosang’s playful expression drops. “I didn’t tell her to jump in front of me.”

“Because you weren’t even paying attention to your surroundings, idiot--”

“Hey? Cut it out, it’s no one’s fault.” You shake your head, stopping them mid-argument. “We don’t have time to argue when there’s bigger things to talk about, yeah?” You glare at Wooyoung in particular. He grumbles under his breath but stops, avoiding Yeosang’s gaze.

Mingi and Seonghwa come not too long after, Yunho and Hongjoong last. The last one takes his seat next to you, resting on the arm of the sofa. He gives you a slight nod, his eyes moving to Seonghwa. He stands in the middle, waiting for everyone to take a seat. Once you’re all settled (the room is completely crowded now) he takes out a paper, handing it to you. You look down, squinting at the small font. There’s various numbers and symbols you don’t understand, most of them in an unfamiliar language. But your eyes move to what you can read.

Choi Jongho.

Your brother’s name is completely bolded and underlined. You look up at Seonghwa. “What does this say? I can’t read most of it.”

“It’s in code, that’s why. It reads ‘Choi Jongho, find him dead or alive. Last known position is Jeollanam.’ Do you know what this means, y/n? It’s dated--”

“Wait.” Hongjoong stops, eyes narrowing at Seonghwa. “How the fuck do you know her name?”

Seonghwa stops, glancing at the others next to him. Yunho takes a step forward, but Hongjoong holds up a hand before he gets the chance to explain.

Yunho holds up his hands in defense. “Hongjoong, let’s take a second to breathe.”

“Breathe? Don’t tell me to fucking breathe, Yunho. We already didn’t trust any of you, and now you’re saying her name like you know her. Like you knew her before all of this shit happened. Who the hell are you people?” He stands slightly in front of you, a shield for whatever’s coming next. You’re too shocked to speak up, looking between all of them. Your eyes meet Mingi’s, his expression unreadable. But he doesn’t lose your gaze, brows flicked up quickly. As if he’s daring you to speak.

“Why are you even hiding her name? Is she something important?” Yeosang says, shrugging. “You told us all of your names except hers, why are you so concerned about it?” Yunho glares at him but Yeosang only rolls his eyes. “What? I’m just being honest.”

“Hiding your real name is different. You told us that you couldn’t trust us, so we’ve provided everything that we can. And yet, you’re still hiding something that’s so miniscule. Why?” Seonghwa persists, looking around Hongjoong at you. “What’s the secret?”

“Everyone quiet down. It’s none of our business what it is,” Yunho holds his hands up, eyes flicking between his friends. “We said that we’d work together to find him.”

“I’m not working with anyone who doesn’t even tell me their real name. Are you even his sister?” Yeosang moves to you, but San stands, blocking his path.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“Oh?” Yeosang scoffs, “Now you’re protecting her? Maybe this is a harem--”

A fist lands on his cheeks before you can blink, Yeosang stumbling back slightly at the hit. Wooyoung immediately grabs San, but he pulls out of his grip, reaching forward. The room gets loud, everyone grabbing one another to pull them apart. You can barely see from where you’re sitting, eyes all over the place as you try to make sense of it all. Your breaths rise and fall quickly, heart pounding in your ears. You grip the armrests, trying your best to not spiral. This was all your fault. If you just said no, if you left before all of this happened, it wouldn’t be this bad. You shake your head, trying your best to push through the room spinning, your palms sweating profusely.

You don’t feel the push of your wheelchair out the room and outside, too overwhelmed with it all. Hands encase yours, trying their best to get your attention.

“y/n, take slow breaths. Come on, I know you can do it. In and out slowly. Just focus on my voice, alright?”

You follow his instructions, the world slowly not seeming too overwhelming to bear. You breathe in and out deeply, the trembles in your hands dissipating. You can feel his thumbs rub your hands softly, a soft hum filling the space between the both of you. After you’ve calmed down enough, you nod. He lets go of your hands, still crouched in front of you.

“It’s done. They stopped fighting, everything is alright.”

You nod quickly, eyes flicking over his face. There’s a bit of blood on his neck, but nothing too crazy. It doesn’t even look like his. Mingi keeps your gaze, waiting for you to say something. But all you feel is looming guilt, too nervous to even say a word. He sighs, running his fingers through his hair.

“We shouldn’t have kept it a secret that we knew your name. It wasn’t fair to any of you, we were just trying to gain your trust before we started with that. It’s true that I’d rather you all gone, but this is how it just ended up to be. The only reason we know your name is because we saw it once. It was so simple back then, we just should have told you from the beginning.”

“What?”

“Jongho… he wrote your name down. Right before he left. Seonghwa was the one who saw it first.”

Seonghwa stands over the letter, eyes focused on one name in particular. Choi y/n. A slam of a door pulls him away from the paper, eyes flicking behind him. Jongho stands there, saying nothing as he grabs the paper, tucking it into his pocket.

“Why are you looking through my things?” he hissed.

“It was just lying there--”

“Don’t look at my stuff again, alright? You have your secrets and I have mine.”

“At the time, we didn’t know it was a sister. We assumed it was a letter to his mom or another relative, but when you showed up… it just all made sense.” he swallows slowly. “A week later is when he left.”

“Do you think he left because Seonghwa saw it?”

He shrugs. “Maybe. But it’s all a guessing game now. No one knows why he left except himself. And I know they were interrogating you back there, but it’s an honest question. Why are you hiding it, y/n?”

It’s odd to hear your name fall off his lips, already used to them calling you tiger. But Hongjoong and you have protected this secret for so long, why would you tell a group of strangers why? It’s barely been a little over a week.

“It’s complicated.”

“But--”

“What are you doing out here with her?” Both of you turn to look behind Mingi, seeing Wooyoung standing there. His wound on his lip is opening, a black eye already forming. He sees your wide eyes, pushing past Mingi to get to you. “They’re fine, it was just a misunderstanding. Wanna get back to the med room?”

“I was talking to him, Woo. And how did you get a black eye? You weren’t even fighting!” You furrow your brows, watching as it slowly darkens.

“San elbowed me in the face,” he frowns. “But it’s fine. We can go back, everything's calmed down.”

“You can go back to the barnhouse if you’d like,” Mingi says, rising to his feet. He doesn’t bother to brush the dirt off his knees. You noticed that he’s as dirty as Yeosang was, probably farming before all of this happened. “Yunho cleared you to leave the room. You can sleep there. He’ll probably walk over and check every once in a while.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yea. And it’s better if we separate for a bit,” He nods at the both of you. “Seems like all we do is argue and fight. Thought it was best to have our own spaces unless it’s absolutely necessary. Don’t move too much, alright y/n?” he pats your shoulder, walking around Wooyoung and going inside.

Wooyoung looks down at you, confused. “Did he change personalities or is it just me?”

“Definitely not just you,” you say. “Let’s go to the barnhouse. We have a lot to talk about. And I’m sure you know about Jongho.”

Yunho wipes his hands with rubbing alcohol, humming to himself in the medic room. Seonghwa sits on a chair to the side of the bed, glancing at Yeosang sitting on it. Mingi walks in not too long after, shutting the door quietly as he stands in the corner.

“She’s alright. Calmed her down enough. I’m sure the other’s are going to tell her about Jongho.”

Yeosang wipes his lip, laughing dryly as he spits blood to the side. “Fuck that guy. They can all rot in that barn, I don’t care anymore.”

Mingi shakes his head. “You’re the one who antagonized them, you have to take some responsibility.”

“Oh, so I can’t say anything without them trying to beat the shit out of me?”

“You know what you said, Yeo,” Seonghwa says, slowly wrapping gauze around his arm. “Mingi’s right. You’ve gotten too comfortable talking to strangers like you know them. One of them was bound to get triggered eventually.” He rolls his eyes. “And harem, really? You know they care about her like she’s their little sister. Even I can see that after spending a few days with them. You gotta learn how to interact with people other than us. We know you’re not being serious, but they don’t.”

“Are you kidding? I wasn’t the first person to say harem around here,” he points to Mingi standing in the corner. “Suddenly he decides to punch me instead of Mingi?”

“Things are different compared to back then. I wouldn’t say what I said before knowing their relationship now,” he sits on the chair next to the door. “But that’s beside the point. Hwa, why did you say her name?”

“It was a slip of the tongue.”

“Really?” Yunho speaks up now after listening silently, dabbing Yeosang’s lip with antibiotics. “I doubt that. You’re the most careful out of all of us. You’d really believe that we think you just let that slip? Hm?” he raises his brow, glancing at Seonghwa. “Hyung.”

“Aren’t you tired of hiding? I mean for fuck’s sake, how long are we gonna pretend we didn’t used to work for the government? We have to let them know or else they’ll never trust us. We should just tell them--”

“No,” Yunho says, his voice final. “We can say everything else but that.”

“It’ll be worse when they find out later,” Yeosang says, whispering as Yunho wipes his lower lip. “They won’t believe anything we say anymore. That’s why Jongho left.”

“We’re not telling them.” Yunho repeats.

The rest say nothing else after that, watching Yunho as he cleans their cuts and bruises.

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tags: @haechanniesunflowers @kpopnightingale @vanishingboots @moonctae @bangtanxberm @honeysbbae @havetaeminforbreakfast @mirror-juilet @knucklesdeepmingi

#ateez x reader #fic: atwci #hongjoong x reader #mingi x reader #ateez fanfiction #ateez angst #ateez smut #ot8 x reader

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writerforfun · 3 years

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8 Rules for Writing Fiction: Tips to Guide Your Writing Process

Protect your writing process. Every single writer will tell you how important it is to stay organized and devoted to your daily work—this will help you get through the rough patches you’re likely to encounter. It can be extremely difficult to get published, and rejection is the norm for most writers. Coping with it will require a balance. You’ll need humility to accept that your work can improve, but you’ll also need a blazing confidence that will allow your creative inspiration to continue flowing.

Find your space. Some authors like to carve out intensely personal space. Authors need to write, no matter the distractions: Jane Austen wrote in a busy family parlor, E.B. White wrote in his crowded living room. Ernest Hemingway and Kurt Vonnegu all worked in the early mornings to limit distractions. Maya Angelou famously rented hotel rooms to get away from daily nuisances. Try to find a space that works for you. It should be free of distractions (a definition that will depend upon your tolerance level) and provide a source of inspiration to you.

Make your writing flow. Some authors are sticklers for the placement of apostrophes, others swear by modern, free-form structure. Regardless of which you align with, your writing should still flow well and be easy to understand. Cut out any superfluous adjectives and adverbs (a likely result of an overly enthusiastic dive into the thesaurus in search of just the right word) and try to eliminate passive voice in favor of active voice. Make your writing more active by looking carefully at your word choices, getting rid of generic words and clichés, and choosing concise phrasing.

Experiment with narrative point of view. Point of view is the “eye” through which you’re telling a story. Most novels are written in one of two styles: First person, which involves a narrator who tells their story. (“I ran toward the gate.”) Or third person, which is the author telling a story about a character. (“He woke up that morning.”) While first person narration can provide intimacy, it is also limited by the perceptive abilities of the character. This can be useful when creating an unreliable narrator or when creating red herrings. Third person narration is a more flexible choice. It allows you to switch between characters’ points of view. You can even zoom in and out from complete omniscience (a narrative voice that has access to all information in the novel) to what’s called a limited or “close” third point of view (a narrative that adheres to a single character).

Believe there’s no such thing as writer’s block. Writer’s block is often an overwhelming feeling of being stuck. You’ve written part of a novel, maybe you’ve even finished an outline, but you just can’t move forward. Every time you sit down at your desk, your mind goes blank, or you can’t decide what to do next. This experience is common among writers, and there are ample tools for working through it. Take a break from the work, do something else for a while, and return a few days (or week, or months) later to view your draft with a fresh eye. The most important rule is to keep moving, whatever that means for you.

Focus on character development. Character and event are inseparable—a person is defined by the series of events that happen to them. In a novel, a character interacts with events over time. Your job as a writer is to learn about your main character by observing how they interact with the world around them. Characters—like real people—have hobbies, pets, histories, ruminations, and obsessions. They have a backstory. It’s essential to whatever you’re writing that you understand these aspects of your character so that you are equipped to understand how they may react under the pressures of events they encounter. Ideally, your characters will be distinct enough to be memorable, but for all those minor characters who are emerging in your novel, it’s good practice to provide hints that will help the reader distinguish who each character is, so they can remember their various story arcs.

Find balance in the types of sentences you use. In all writing, there are two types of narration: scene and dramatic narration. In scene, you show the characters performing an action or having a conversation. This tends to speed up the pacing. In dramatic narration, you simply tell the reader what the characters did, but the event remains “offstage.” This type of narration can slow the story down. To keep pacing from feeling monotonous, it’s a good idea to vary the two modes of writing. For some writers, that means breaking up long flowing sentences with sentence fragments on a paragraph-to-paragraph level, while others switch tones between chapters.

Get your story down on paper. Focus on getting through your first draft from start to finish, and remember that you can always go back and change things later. If novel-writing feels too intimidating, try writing a short story instead. (Though short stories can be deceivingly more difficult to write than novels since they require a concise and extremely economical narrative containing all the elements of a novel—in a fraction of the space.) You can begin with the first chapter, or you can use an outline—you can choose to approach your story in any order that feels right for you. You will inevitably make changes to your original plan along the way, and this is a good thing. If tracking your word count feels empowering, set up daily goals. If you prefer to let your words of prose flow in a self-determined fashion, be kind to yourself and respect whatever output comes.

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

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Prompt: Wei Wuxian has achieved time travel! He's gonna fix so many broken things. Unfortunately, WWX has miscalculated a teensy tiny variable and instead of arriving in his original 15yo body in Lotus Pier, he's crash landed in MXY's tiny 7~8yo body at Mo Manor. But no problem, he can fix this if he can just find his real body. (Meanwhile, Yunmeng Jiang's head disciple is acting the wrong kind of childish, aka, Mo Xuanyu is having the weirdest day of his young life.)

Switcheroo - ao3

Mo Xuanyu thought that this Wei Wuxian person whose body he’d stolen must have been a really interesting person, mostly because he’d been here for three days so far and nobody’d noticed the switch yet.

Possibly it had to do with the fact that Mo Xuanyu still wasn’t exactly sure how he’d stolen the body – he’d just gone to sleep in the shed, same as always, and then he’d woken up in the softest bed he’d ever encountered in his life…no, softer than even his dreams! He’d thought it over and concluded that he must have died from cold out in the shed, turned into a fierce ghost out of resentment, grown powerful (somehow), then stolen some rich young master’s body when they weren’t paying close enough attention and, once he’d possessed the body, promptly lost all his memory of being a ghost.

It seemed like the only logical course of events.

He was very sorry about it, though. Wei Wuxian seemed like a nice, if very unusual person.

The first day, Mo Xuanyu had barely even noticed the body-switch, being quite so enamored of the soft bed he was in – he’d refused to get out of bed at all, declaring that he was going to lie in and sleep for a century or more, and the people who’d come to the door to get him didn’t beat him or anything over it, but rather just laughed or rolled their eyes and then left him to it. Luckily, at the time, he’d just assumed he was dead or something and proceeded to ignore everything in favor of napping.

He only acknowledged that he was alive later in the afternoon, when his stomach started growling – it seemed like a very unlikely thing for a dead man’s stomach to do.

Mo Xuanyu had by that point figured out that he wasn’t himself anymore, which was fine since he didn’t much like himself; he’d also figured out, through looking himself over, that he was old now. At least fifteen or sixteen, which was twice the age he last remembered himself being. That was fine, too, though: being older meant that he was stronger and faster and would be better able to handle it when people wanted to beat him or something. Most importantly, though, it meant he was old enough to enter the kitchen on his own!

Mo Xuanyu already knew that he wasn’t allowed to eat at the main table, being only the bastard son of the younger daughter, and the cook back at home was a fierce woman who didn’t allow anyone under the age of ten into her kitchen; as a result, he had to wait for his mother to bring him back some food, and it was always cold and not quite enough. Now, though, since he was older, he figured he might as well try to go to the kitchen and fill his belly that way.

Luckily, while his current body’s house was much bigger than the Mo house, all houses were generally built along the same lines, so it wasn’t hard to find the kitchen. Everyone there laughed when he showed up, even though he’d tried to be very quiet and sneak in and then screwed it up by tripping over his own feet – it seemed like everyone thought he was doing it on purpose to be funny – and then the cooks gave him a meal of his own that was hot and fresh and wonderful.

He'd wolfed it down.

“Honestly, Wei Wuxian, you eat like a hungry ghost, you’d think the Jiang clan starves you,” one of them scolded him, but with a smile, and from that Mo Xuanyu learned that the rich young master was called Wei Wuxian and that he lived with the Jiang clan. The different surnames confused him a little, but he didn’t dare ask any questions about it, so he just stuffed his mouth and pretended that was the reason he couldn’t answer.

No one questioned it.

No one questioned it when he went wandering all around instead of doing whatever chores or duties he’d been assigned, either. Someone had actually seen him hovering by a door and asked him to bring back a pheasant when he returned, so out of lack of better options he’d headed outside to try to go find one.

He had a pretty good time walking around the forest, then remembered what he’d been asked and chased the pheasants for a while, without success . Fortunately, he then got lucky and stumbled over an old snare that had three pheasants caught inside, so he’d picked up the whole box and carted it back home.

“Three,” one of the boys in purple-blue marveled as he saw Mo Xuanyu walking towards the kitchen. “You know, people say that the birds around the Lotus Pier have gotten too smart to be caught easily, but look at our da-shixiong; he makes it look easy!”

From this, Mo Xuanyu could figure out that Wei Wuxian was (apparently!) part of a cultivator clan, apparently located at a place called the Lotus Pier, and that he was the oldest or at least head disciple, to boot. He knew all about cultivator clans from his mother, since apparently his father had been a sect leader, and that meant he knew enough to call the other boy ‘shidi’ as he passed, making the other boy beam happily.

It also meant that when he chanced a guess and called the young woman in a pretty pink dress who waved at him ‘shijie’, she smiled and nodded, which meant to him that he’d done the right thing.

“I heard you slept even more of the morning away than usual,” she told him, but didn’t seem too upset about it. “I bet that means you’ll be skipping dinner and staying up all night, hmm?”

Mo Xuanyu had no intention of skipping dinner if it was anything like what the kitchens had given him earlier, actually, but while he was still trying to figure out a way to say that, she said, leaning in close to whisper, “It’s probably a good idea, anyway – Mother and Father are fighting again. Just go to the kitchens to grab something…I promise I’ll make it up to you with some soup tomorrow, pork ribs and lotus roots, your favorite. All right?”

“Shijie, you’re the best,” Mo Xuanyu said effusively, willing to die for her at once, and she laughed and tousled his hair.

“I am,” she said, looking happy. “And if my little A-Xian stays good and obedient, I may even feed him.”

She did, too, the next day when he finally tore himself out of the beautiful wonderful soft bed and went to go find her. She’d made him soup, just as he’d promised, and laughed and laughed for some reason: apparently, she interpreted him being quiet and not talking too much as his efforts to be ‘good and obedient’, which was apparently so out of the ordinary as to be a deliberate joke.

From this, Mo Xuanyu concluded that the young master he’d possessed, Wei Wuxian, was a jackass.

Well, perhaps that was a bit harsh. Arrogant and self-centered, talented and brave and probably brilliant, definitely charming and maybe even kind, but also spoiled and inclined to step on other people to get where he wanted to go, if Mo Xuanyu had to guess – why else would everyone constantly react as if him not being obnoxious was the world’s biggest stunt?

No one seemed to expect anything of him at all: he didn’t do any chores, and no one batted an eyelid; he didn’t go where he was told, and everyone just sighed…at one point the sect leader himself came and patted him on the head, scolding him in a joking tone that he hadn’t seen him leading any of the training the way he was supposed to – but when Mo Xuanyu quailed, he’d burst out laughing, telling ‘Wei Wuxian’ to stop pretending to be a scared little rabbit, that it was fine if he’d gotten distracted by some clever new invention or whatever, that someone else would handle it, that he should take as long as he needed.

Mo Xuanyu had pasted a great big smile on his face through force of effort and agreed cheerfully.

The sect leader had accepted it.

Probably a jackass, but clearly a beloved one, Mo Xuanyu thought to himself as he packed up clothing and a few small treasures that no one would miss, a little wistful. The scare of the whole encounter had put things in perspective – he wasn’t going to be able to keep up this sort of façade for long. In fact, he was shocked he’d managed it so long already; surely, no matter how many pranks this Wei Wuxian played, no matter how childishly he behaved, surely someone should’ve noticed that he was actually an eight-year-old masquerading as a sixteen-year-old?

Mo Xuanyu couldn’t decide whether it was sad that no one paid too much attention or something that this Wei Wuxian fellow had brought down on his own head by being so consistently annoying.

Either way, there was nothing for it – he was going to have to leave.

Now that part was really sad: he’d never in his life had such good food, or such a soft bed, or even so many people that just seemed plain old happy to see him as since he’d arrived in this place. But he wasn’t the one all those things were for; he was just a sad ghost possessing a person, and if he stayed, the cultivators would eventually figure out something was wrong and exorcise him.

Probably violently.

Mo Xuanyu probably deserved it, too, but despite that he wasn’t willing.

So he packed up what he could and headed out.

He got all the way to the gate before a new purple-clad disciple – about his age, if he had to guess, and holding a pack like he’d just come back from a trip, with a scowl on his face – called out for Wei Wuxian.

Mo Xuanyu waved a little, hoping that that would be enough.

For the first time, it wasn’t.

The boy’s face settled into an even deeper scowl.

“Hey, what’s wrong with you?” he demanded. “Wei Wuxian! You’re acting all weird – hey! Where are you going?”

Mo Xuanyu was running away, obviously. He wasn’t about to get tied up and exorcised, no thank you.

He didn’t think he’d make it, but it was still worth trying.

Sure enough, the purple-clad boy who was probably called Jiang Cheng, based on what everyone was calling out as they ran by, got tired of running and jumped on his sword, and there was no way Mo Xuanyu would be able to outrun a sword, not even if he tried as fast as he –

Someone picked him up.

It wasn’t Jiang Cheng.

Mo Xuanyu turned his head and stared.

It must be some sort of yao, he thought. Humans were definitely not that pretty.

“Lan Wangji!” Jiang Cheng howled. “What are you even doing in the Lotus Pier?! Put my shixiong down!”

The rescuer, Lan Wangji, frowned a little at Mo Xuanyu.

Mo Xuanyu didn’t know exactly what expression he ought to be making in return, and was a bit too dazed to even dare to guess. He’d just noticed that they were flying – flying! on a sword! – and he was clutching onto this Lan Wangji’s shoulders for dear life.

“You are not Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said. His voice sounded very definitive.

“Uh,” Mo Xuanyu said. “Sorry? Please don’t drop me.”

“I will not. What is your name?”

“Mo Xuanyu,” Mo Xuanyu admitted, and Lan Wangji’s eyes widened as if that meant something to him – except it couldn’t, of course, because Mo Xuanyu was sure he’d never met anyone even remotely like this Lan Wangji fellow in his life. “I don’t remember taking his body. I’m sorry. Can you not exorcise me? I don’t want to die.”

Lan Wangji was silent for a long moment.

He was still flying very fast, and Jiang Cheng was still following, shouting out curses and demands that he stop, not that Lan Wangji was listening.

“There will be no exorcism,” he finally said, and Mo Xuanyu exhaled in relief. “We will, however, fix this.”

“…we?”

“Wei Ying and myself.”

Mo Xuanyu nodded. That sounded more likely than anyone relying on his participation.

“Where are we going?” he asked. Jiang Cheng was falling further and further behind.

“Mo Village.”

Mo Xuanyu tensed up at once.

“You will not be left there,” Lan Wangji clarified, and – how did he know that Mo Xuanyu didn’t want to be left there? “But we must collect Wei Ying, who I suspect is currently in your body.”

“In my…I’m still alive?”

Lan Wangji was quiet again, and then said, “Yes. And you will remain so.”

That was reassuring, mostly.

“Okay,” Mo Xuanyu said, and found that he mostly felt relieved. He’d be very happy to have his normal body back again, if possible, especially if he didn’t have to stay in Mo Village…“Wait, if I don’t have to stay there, where will I go? I don’t have anywhere else to go, unless my father comes back for me. He's a sect leader –”

“He will not, and even if he did, you should not go with him. Once Wei Ying returns to his body, you will be able to stay at the Lotus Pier. If you do not wish to stay there, I will bring you back to the Cloud Recesses – that is my home – instead.”

“Oh,” Mo Xuanyu said, feeling bewildered. That was an awfully nice offer, even if Lan Wangji was feeling guilty about Wei Wuxian stealing his body by accident – which seemed like what had happened here rather than Mo Xuanyu being the one who did the stealing. Maybe he should go with Lan Wangji instead, he seemed much more responsible than Wei Wuxian was, rushing over to rescue him and explain things instead of throwing him into a body and leaving him all alone in a strange place. But on the other hand… “Is the Cloud Recesses…I mean…no offense, but…does it have…”

“Yes?”

“Does it have soft beds, too? And – and hot food?”

Mo Xuanyu didn’t need much, not really. He looked eagerly at Lan Wangji, who had an odd expression on his face briefly before wiping it back to neutral and nodding in confirmation.

“Okay,” Mo Xuanyu said, and curled up in Lan Wangji’s arms. “Then I’ll stay with you. You can take care of me.”

“I will,” Lan Wangji said, sounding strangely serious. “In return for the gift you last gave me – I will.”

#mdzs #mo xuanyu #jiang cheng #lan wangji #my fic #my fics #switcheroo

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sepublic · 3 years

Text

Alador the Abomination

Mind you, I DO like Alador and think he’s interesting, as Dana said, but;

I also want to be careful about him. Because not only is this the dude who still went with his wife on forcing Amity to cut ties with Willow, but also…

While Alador does have a sense of honor that he’ll hold his wife towards, it’s worth noting that he also points out that Amity’s strength in Abominations is important and useful, because it means she could become the new head of the Abomination Coven, the way Rayne replaced the first one for the Bard Coven and all that.

Alador seems impressed by Amity’s work, and thus seems to be a lot more opportunistic about it; And, I think that kind of fits his magic! Alador specializes in Abominations. Like his Abominations, he’s much more go-with-the-flow, the path of least resistance. He’s adaptable, moldable, shapeable, and not very talkative…

He sees that Amity is stepping up for herself, and instead of trying to fight back, he just goes with it! Alador adapts, he decides to make use of Amity’s growing strength in Abominations, and change the plan from having her join the Emperor’s Coven, to leading the Abomination Coven instead! Not to mention, Alador is the person who makes things happen for Odalia, being the inventor who crafts her tech and helps carry out her will- One might say that in some ways, Alador is Odalia’s Abomination in a sense! Like his creations, simple-minded, easy to distract sometimes…

But also VERY focused on his own goals. Loyal, obedient, and capable of stepping in to direct his own ‘master’ in a sense. And Alador is, as I said, a flexible person; He can work with Amity’s defiance while Odalia gets angry enough to go back on her own word, because she refuses to be wrong.

Odalia is strict… Because she’s an Oracle. Oracles expect things to go a certain way after all, what with their visions- So when things don’t go the way she wants or anticipated, she’s very flustered and angry. Odalia hates being proven wrong, her certainty in what will happen, that things will go exactly as she expects and anticipates, it makes her rather lofty and arrogant.

Odalia is a planner and a schemer, so she really considers and predicts how things will go for the business. Odalia is the dreamer, the leader, the person who comes up with ideas, while Alador? He makes them happen. He makes solutions to Odalia’s problems and desires with his Abominations, but he’ll also provide a solution to Amity’s defiance… Not in trying to fight back, but with rolling with that. Letting it be, and changing this plan they had for years on the spot, because Amity has a LOT of talent.

Like an Abomination, Alador doesn’t really try to fight back, he just goes along… Except this Abomination does have his own ideas of course. He can make this setback work, like he does his inventions and Odalia’s plans. With how the Golden Guard explained to the couple that Belos doesn’t want a private army used against him, I actually have to lowkey wonder if Odalia and Alador HAD meant or considered it, or if they were just fine with selling to the highest bidder…

But with how Al is clearly an opportunist in his own right, just a lot more subtle and ignored in favor of the ‘brains’ of the operation, the way an Abomination is… Who knows? Maybe he’s had his own ideas about grabbing some influence for the family. It’d be interesting, as Dana might put it, if in a lot of ways Alador can be more clever and adaptable than Odalia, but even have more imagination when it comes to schemes –he IS an inventor after all- but he’s still happily subservient to her, because Alador is doing this ALL for her.

He might get the job done for her, it might result in Alador knowing how to handle Odalia’s problems better than her; But it is for HER, and so he acts like a second opinion that his wife takes seriously. Alador is usually content to roll along and make into reality whatever Odalia wants, so if he’s deciding to speak up, if he decides this idea of his is more important; Then it clearly must be worth something. Alador is someone who talks scarcely but meaningfully, putting a lot of weight into his rare moments because this is when he NEEDS to speak up.

I think Al was being NICE to Amity, but only really so he could use her. Nice in the way you’re nice to someone so you can get them to do something for you, and not out of the actual inclinations of your good heart, or your responsibilities as a good person. Which, Al does bring up Odalia’s honor as a Blight, but he still has that ulterior motive;

With Amity, he seems to have realized that he needs to give her what she wants, so Al can get what HE wants as well… Maybe that’s what he’s like with Odalia, lowkey? He gives Odalia what she wants, so he gets his own goals accomplished; And that’s why he’s generally so subservient, but capable of putting his foot down whenever he wants?

So maybe Alador has a lot more power and control in this relationship than we think. Maybe… He’s savvy enough to recognize that being chill, having compromise, can sometimes yield more reliable results, while Odalia needs control no matter what. In that way, you could argue Alador would make a pretty great beast-keeper as well…

And likewise, him and Odalia are giving Belos what HE wants with an army of Abominations and automatons… And in turn, getting what they want; Power and profit. They’re a business after all, they give people what they want, providing supply to a certain demand… And they might have other ulterior motives, which the Golden Guard might’ve implied to their faces. Either way, I think Alador could be a neat idea of negotiation not necessarily meaning someone is weaker, just… More adaptable and in some ways clever. He’s underestimated…

Al CHOOSES to obey his wife, is what I’m saying, because compromise works out better in the end- And that’s not entirely wrong, either! It’s a pragmatic viewpoint, which fits an inventor who has to figure out how to realistically make things work; While Odalia has visions, she sees futures and things, she gets an idea or dream, a scenario in mind, and predicts it. She comes up with an idea, Alador then carries it out. And the fact that he LETS this happen, instead of being helplessly out of control, that he can step in anytime like he did at the end of Escaping Expulsion… Yeah, that’s genuinely WORSE in so many ways.

Odalia floundered and for a moment was scared and terrified, she was angry and indignant and desperately trying to damage control… And it was ALADOR who reassured her, Alador who showed her what to do in that moment, how this was good- It was Alador who helped Odalia seize control of the situation again, without having to do anything else other than widen her view a bit and adapt. He has her back and manages to salvage this for Odalia, so she trusts him.

Alador is definitely, as Dana put it, interesting…

#the owl house #the owl house alador #alador blight #the owl house odalia #odalia blight #character analysis #meta #symbolism

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theepisceswriter · 3 years

Text

Sending nudes/sexting w/ AOT characters (Erwin, Levi, Reiner, Zeke, Connie)

TW: mature things obviously, fembodied!reader, typos probably bc I didnt proofread, 18+, MINORS DNI

ERWIN

Okay but having Erwin as a sugar daddy who never really expects too much of the “sugar” part out of you, but he’s so sweet and nice and such a gentleman that you can’t help but feel bad one day and send him a teasing photo of you in some lingerie he bought you a while ago and oop—now you totally just started something between you two.

It started off as just pictures in you in lingerie. You mostly covered with maybe a nipples or two poking out through the fabric, but eventually you felt comfortable enough to send him picture of nude parts of you body. And eventually you built your confidence up to send him full body nude picture in stances that make him go crazy. Like you on your knees with your hands flat against your thighs or bent over something with your ass and cunt on display.

One time you sent him soapy titty pictures and a video of you putting the soap on your titties and when I tell you this man went feral with horniness, I mean it.

I wish I could write out sexts for Erwin but he strikes me more of a video call type person rather than text. He’ll FaceTime you in a heartbeat after you send a picture, instructing you on what he wants to see and what he wants you to do with your body. Often times the video calls end up with you either fingering yourself or fucking yourself with a toy he bought for you as he watches from the other end.

“Good girl, just like that. Now spread those lips for daddy so he can get a good look at you.”

Sometimes he’ll even join in with you for a mutual masturbation. Large cock on display in the camera and in his hand as he jerks it at the same pace you’re fingering yourself so you can both reach your orgasms at the same time.

After you both but you think that’s the end of that until the next time he wants to have a session like that, but seeing you over the phone only edge him on more. “I’m sending someone to come pick you up. Be ready in 10 minutes.” Not even a goodbye or anything, but an order.

LEVI

Nudes and sexting between you and Levi are not a common occurrence at all. You two would much rather be in the physical company of each other to do anything to each other and plus, Levi doesn’t like using his phone a lot.

That’s why when Levi sent you a picture of himself with the cockring you had put on him earlier in the week as a reminder that it was still on, you were shook to your core. Not only because of the fact that he just sent you a nude, but because he looked so good in it with his cheeks flushed, eyes low just begging to orgasm, and his pink cock standing straight up screaming for someone other than him to touch it.

It was almost like he sent it to you knowing that it would rile you up and hopefully cut down on his punishment so the two of you can hurry up and use each other to your liking. And you would be lying if you said that thought wasn’t peaking at the back of your head, but this week was all about your self control along with his. As you’re thinking on how you should reply, maybe with a picture of your own or a few words to tease him, he sends you a string of texts:

(txt) I’m so needy for you baby

(txt) I don’t think I can wait three more days with this thing on

(txt) it hurts, I need you to make me feel good

(txt) so I can make you feel good too

But, just to torture him longer and get him at his neediest, you send him a picture of your cunt along with a text:

(txt) only 3 more days and then you’ll be able to have me any way you want 💜

REINER

As an adult it’s so clear that Reiner really lacks confidence at times and can be quite shy and uneasy when it comes to things. Especially when that thing is something like taking nudes that requires so much confident because let’s be honest, sending nudes isn’t always easy.

Plenty of times you’ve blessed him with lewd photos of yourself to add to his spank bank or tried to sext with him, but he just couldn’t quite catch on, but you really don’t mind at all! As long as you’re helping him orgasm and not making him uncomfortable then you could care less about his poor sexting and nude taking skills. But he wants to learn how to be more comfortable in his own skin, so he enlists in your help. At first you thought he was joking, but nope, he was dead serious.

It was kind of awkward at first trying to give him directions on how to pose if it was a nude as if you weren’t the one taking the pictures for him, but it didn’t take long for the two of you to get the hang of it. At one point he looked so good, so hot and flustered with his cock in his hand spread out on the bed that you couldn’t resist pouncing on him then and there. Which resulted in hun taking the camera from you as you rode him and taking pictures of the two of you fucking.

It sparked a tradition between you two from there on out; taking pictures of each other in sexual context whenever you can. You two don’t even need to send each other nudes at this point because you have so many nude pictures of your phone already on each other’s phones.

Not saying you dressed Reiner up in a maid outfit once and took pictures of him with his erect cock poking out underneath the dress, but you dressed Reiner up in a maid outfit once and took pictures of him with his erect cock poking out underneath the dress and you keep it in the favorites tab in your camera roll for whenever you need spank bank material.

Now he’s much more confidence with taking nude photos of himself and sometimes he’s the one to start up sexting conversations between you two.

ZEKE

There’s no one in this world who sexts better than Zeke sexts. His messages are like poetry, so descriptive and easy to visualize and leave you melting in your seat with hot cheeks. They’re just as effective on you as his dirty talk in the bedroom and if you sat there for a good thirty minutes just reading them and thinking about all you experience with him, then you could probably make yourself cum just from that.

(txt) I just want to make you tremble in my arms so bad while I pound into you from behind, my fingers playing with your swollen clit to push you into sensitivity while you orgasm

(txt) want a cock covered in cum by the time I’m through with you

What’s so funny is that he’s behind the screen doing a mundane task like eating cereal while texting you all this. He’s not even too turned on or overly horny at all, just messing with you because he knows the two of you are so far away from each other at the moment.

It’s not until you send him a video of your wet cunt on display with your fingers knuckles deep into yourself moaning out his name trying to mimic his touch, that he really gets riled up. Sitting his cereal down and all to focus on the short snippet of a video, feeling himself get harder and harder in his pants as he watches it on repeat.

(txt) Aw the needy little slut can’t get off properly without me there, can you?

He knows you’re using these texts to coax yourself into your orgasm, probably imagining him behind you whispering them in ear. So, to mess with you further knowing how much you want him right now, he sends a video back to you of him palming his erection through his pants. Knowing it’ll drive you crazy that you can’t have him right now in this moment.

CONNIE

Connie sends you pictures of his dick all the time and not even necessarily in sexual content either. You’ll be minding your business at work and get a picture of Connie’s dick with tiny sunglasses and a mustache on it with a text that reads: “Look babe 😌 I dressed him up. He wants to go on a date with your pussy tonight.”

You cannot take this man seriously at all, simply replying to him with an emoji like ‘🤨’ thinking that’ll be the last of that for today, but boy oh boy were you wrong. Minutes later your phone is buzzing with a notification from Connie. It’s a video and because you think it’s going to be a meme or something you open it without considering your surroundings.

Immediately, the sounds of his whines and moans exit the speakers on your phone and you have to run to the bathroom to finish the rest of the video. This time you’re able to actually look at it; Connie’s hand stroking the base of his cock with a lubricant all over his hands at a pace that was going to have him cumming in only a couple of minutes. And no, the mustache and sunglasses were no longer on anymore.

You take pity on your poor boyfriend and decided to do him a favor, pulling down your shirt and bra so you’re breasts were on display for them. Angling them and holding them up in a way you knew would make him go crazy before you sent the picture to him.

(txt) enjoy 🥰

And in return? He sent you a nut video with the sound on.

#aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #aot imagines #aot smut #erwin smith smut #erwin smith x reader #connie springer x reader #connie springer smut #zeke jaeger x reader #zeke jaeger smut #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman smut #reiner braun x reader #reiner braun smut

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babyitsfallin · 3 years

Text

i'm setting off, but not without my muse | chan

pairing: bang chan/reader

word count: 1.4k

genre: romance, fluff

warnings: none! just some nice cuddling and words of reassurance

summary: chan works too much, you think he should take some time for himself.

Chan is a workaholic.

It’s not a quality that particularly goes under the radar by really anyone; not his groupmates, not his fellow staff, his family, him, but more importantly: you. There are at least four different cans of Monster littered across his desk, the lights dim in the small, confined space. His monitor hangs above him while he works, eyes darting from screen to screen while he clicks into different sections of the song he’s working on. A lazy bass pours out of the speakers as he clicks and drags it, pulling a distorted cymbal sound on top of it until he’s satisfied.

You like watching him work. He’s intent and focused, quite frankly it’s a little sexy, but mostly it’s relaxing. You get to sit and lounge, reading or playing on your phone or working on your own stuff while he does his. It’s a type of togetherness and closeness that’s comfortable, you don’t feel the need to talk or really say much of anything; just being in one another’s presence is enough. Plus, it’s pretty fascinating in the times you do pay attention to what he’s doing. He tends to do things without realizing, muttering under his breath, a mix between Korean and his thick Australian accent, for example. Sometimes he groans, pouting at himself for not getting the result he wants until he sighs and gets back to it. You usually don’t interfere, it’s part of his process. It’s not until he’s doing it in a timespan you deem a little too short for him to be doing it that often that you suggest a break, and he’s forced to sigh and agree with you.

“What do you think of this?” he asks, breaking you out of your thoughts. Your Twitter feed shines on your laptop next to you on the couch, long forgotten in favor of admiring your talented boyfriend. He clicks play, and the instrumental he’s been working on practically bounces off of the walls. It’s slower than the usual song the boys use, something more adjacent to the song he and Hyunjin worked on, but not quite as sexy. A cool electric guitar curls in a few seconds into the intro and you smile, nodding along with the beat. It’s good, no it’s better than good.

“I think it sounds like a new single,” you praise, letting yourself fall into the sound as it envelops you. “What’s the topic for the song, anyways?”

“Dunno, Felix is actually supposed to be set to write this time, they really liked some of what he did on Surfin’,” he replies, and he dons that sweet, adoring smile whenever he talks about Felix, warm and caring. “But he wanted me to produce the instrumental for it, we’re supposed to discuss how it’ll all sound with the lyrics sometime this week.”

“Wow, you sound so professional,” you tease, and Chan rolls his eyes playfully as he turns the track down, swiveling his chair to look at you. “I’m excited to hear it, though. I can’t believe he gets to write his first full, real song.”

“I know right?” Chan smiles. “I’m so proud of him. Hey, maybe you can be in when he records it, give some thoughts, yeah?”

“Wow, what an honor,” you intertwine your fingers together, and place your chin on top of them. “Of course I can.”

“Ah, perfect,” Chan stretches his arms above his head, the edges of his cut shirt revealing his sides as a yawn finally escapes him while the track runs to the end. It isn’t until then that you realize it’s well past any decent time to sleep, flicking your eyes to your laptop to see the clear 5:38 AM right in the corner. Oops.

“We should get some sleep,” you suggest, and you catch Chan closing his eyes for a second, narrowing your own at him.

“Mmm, soon, I just need to –”

“Babe,” you put a touch of an edge in your voice, more of a warning than anything, and he purses his lips at you. “It’s almost six in the morning. The track can wait for finishing touches, it’s not going to run away,” you tease.

“But –”

“C’mere,” you close your laptop, placing it onto the floor as you scoot over, patting the spot next to you on the couch as he eyes it. He stands up, and you hear a light pop in his knees as he makes his way to you. He settles in next to you, wrapping his arms around your middle, as he buries his face into your neck.

He’ll never admit it, you think, but he needs the break. He’s always doing something, writing or producing or giving an interview or learning choreography or taking care of the other members. He doesn’t mind, you know that, but Chan’s always been one to overextend himself. He always gives so much of himself to others, you included, and has a tendency to forget himself. You catch a glimpse of his eyebags, deep and heavy from the corner of your eye and it has you bringing a hand to curl in his hair as he properly relaxes into you.

“You shouldn’t work yourself so hard,” you mumble, letting your nails scratch lightly at his scalp. He gives a sound of appreciation and squeezes you tighter.

“I know,” he whispers into your neck, and it tickles just a touch.

“I’m serious,” you keep your voice low. You don’t want to yell at him, but more so…to remind him. Chan’s always taking care of others, watching over them and making sure they’re taken care of. You think it’s time someone was there to take care of him for once. “You shouldn’t worry about being up into the morning hours to just work on something. It’s not good for you.”

He stays silent, his hand rubbing circles into your shirt, like he’s contemplating your words, actually taking them to heart. His breath is soft and warm against your skin, and despite the conversation, it’s a comforting feeling to be surrounded by him, held by him.

“Okay,” he says, and he shifts, resting his chin against your shoulder to look at you. “…I’ll ask for some time off. It’s been a while, anyway. We could all use it.”

“…Really?”

“Yeah, really,” he smiles, and he presses a kiss against your shoulder. “Let’s take a trip somewhere, just the two of us.”

“…Really?” you ask again, and he laughs, bright and like honey, your favorite sound in the world.

“Yes, really,” he grins, teasing tone in his voice, a light giggle mixed in. “Feels like the only time alone we get is in here, you deserve romance! A picnic and a night sky!”

“I like watching you work,” you insist. “It’s nice, and relaxing.”

“Did you not just tell me I work too much?” he grins, and you narrow your eyes at him good naturedly.

“You do,” you say, and move to kiss the tip of his nose, earning a sound that crosses between a giggle and fake disgust. “I’m just saying don’t feel bad that this it the time we have to spend together. It’s not a punishment to watch you create masterpieces.”

“I’m so glad you think Cheese is a masterpiece.”

“It is, you helped make it,” you grin, and he returns it, letting his eyes slide shut. “It doesn’t matter where we are, or what we’re doing, I’m just glad I get to be with you doing it. But,” you pause, and he lifts his brows in wait, keeping his eyes shut. “ I do want us to feed each other and be totally gross while you point out constellations.”

“Then I guess I’ll just have to give you exactly what you want, huh?” he hums.

“I guess you will.”

He smiles in response, and you start to feel the evening out of his breath, a whispered, groggy “I love you,” before sleep finally pulls him in, rested against you, his arms loose around your waist now as he leans into you. You rest your cheek onto the top of his head, letting your own lids slide shut, cuddling in next to him.

It’s not the most ideal sleeping arrangement, you know you’d both be more comfortable sleeping laying down, even in the tiny bed back at his dorm, but having him draped all over you, finally getting the rest that’d been pulling at him for ages, well, the ideals could always be saved for later. Right now you had your boy, and a sweet promise of something even more exciting later; what more could you ask for.

#stray kids fanfiction #bang chan fanfic #bangchan fanfiction #bang chan x reader #bang chan x y/n #bang chan fluff #hello.....#this is my first time doing readerfic #chan overworks himself and it stresses me out so i needed. to write something #i made this as...gender neutral as possible hopefully that comes across #anyways just nice cuddles and side felix appreciation. thats yalls son/baby brother now.#fics

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