#* AS ALWAYS!!!! Please correct me if there's a better way to phrase this!!!

[royalarchivist]

Ludwig: He can't keep doing this thing where he speaks with a cute French accent and you let him off with murder. 🙄

Etoiles: I'M NOT CUTE! I'm not cute! I'm just myself.

Everyone: ['Aww's over him] You are cute!

Cellbit: Yeah... Fofo. Fofo, fofo.

Etoiles: [Talking to his chat] He said "fofo" [Laughs] He said "cute" in Portuguese.*

[writella]

Reckless Romantics

Synopsis: Can be read as a stand alone or part two to getting ready for me; a return to innocent, inexperienced!reader and her relationship with Rick Grimes; two weeks after their first time together there has been some distance, but now Rick wants to make up for how hasty he was when he touched her last.

Details: Rick Grimes x fem!reader, smut: oral (f receiving) and teaching reader how to give a handjob, unspecified (of age) age gap, sweetness + kissing + a little mutual pining maybe, probably cliche, and leaning more into Rick as the dutiful leader and gentle lover (I feel this is just as in character as dom!Rick). Reader is a music lover— any kind of music you like— but she also likes a specific band only because I watched a documentary about them at the theater in July so it made its way into the story. Slightly proofread— will be corrected more later. wc: 5-7k (I lost track after finishing it on tumblr).

A/N: I wrote this message before I returned for the summer, but I still want you to read it: Been spending time outside this summer, trying to reach some goals— time got away from me. I don’t think I’ll ever stop saying I miss you, but please know it’s always true.

— with love from writella, my beautiful reader. ♡

Rick Grimes was not a man to give in to temptation.

My mercy prevails over my wrath, he’d say— his secret keepsake phrase. The one he whispers to himself in moments of hardship; the one he uses when he needs to make decisions only a leader would. Rick was a man of discipline; honor. He never boasted about how seriously he took these qualities, but when others did— admired, applauded, stuck by him for it— it would be a lie to say that he didn’t take note and use their pride to keep him going. This is how he knows he is strong-willed, why he wouldn’t fall for foolish, forbidden things. He was better than that. The safety and prosperity he brought to Alexandria proved it, reaffirmed it.

So why couldn’t someone remind him of that two weeks ago before he touched you?

As for you, you believed yourself to be a girl who wouldn’t fall so easily for the first man who showed you any kind of affection.

From an adolescence of peers who never seemed to take notice of you to one filled with walkers and adults who were either dead or seldom your age, you learned how hard love, let alone any connection, is to come by. It has made you quite the perpetual daydreamer because of it. One with a heart and mind filled with fantasy worlds, creating what you lacked externally. It often made you see yourself as much younger than you were despite all you’ve been through. No regular person your age in the old world has probably escaped as many deaths and wannabe cowboy dictators as you have. Still, they probably knew what it was like to have a high school romance, or at least go to the movies with friends, and have graduated from well, anything. You were simply born too late and shoved into this new world too early to experience even half of it.

This upbringing has brought you up to believe yourself precocious, although— maybe you were already too old for that word now. No, you were, so maybe– sensible, realistic despite the overactive imagination; you could decipher between right and wrong, real versus fake. This is why, for as long as you could, you did not entertain any thoughts of Rick Grimes.

Other people would though, women mostly. But you did have your suspicions of others who thought the same— they just weren't as shameless. Those who were, could be found during lunch breaks from work on house porches; or laughing and whispering at community gatherings and at the back of town hall meetings. Basically any time or place they could turn into a gossip session, which was often. And it didn’t always have to do with Rick. It could be about any one of the men in town; or retelling funny moments to their friends or complaining about their co-workers. But anything of true, great interest always had to do with the community leaders. You wish you could say you were the exception to this interest, but hypocritically, you loved a good inside scoop, and luckily for you, you had a trustworthy way about you. Almost everyone who spoke to you or allowed you to sit with them and their friends for meals agreed: you were a intent, quiet listener making you the best kind of person to say things to without judgment; and people assumed you as shy, yet you loved to laugh which was great for boosting egos. They often treated you as a little sister in that way, as if the pleasure was all yours to get to hear their ramblings because they were either older or perceived themselves to be more sociable and experienced than you. You tried not to care too much about what they took you for. It was nice to feel trusted, even if people could be a little too mean or weird for your liking because no matter who it was, they made you feel as if you were watching television, and you missed television. They told you things from period mishaps– (it’s the apocalypse, there are a lot of free bleeding queens okay)— to which people in their workstations annoyed them most with very detailed explanations as to why and, of course, rumors or general talk about the leaders: who they thought each of them has slept with, if there seemed to be any fighting between them and what side they were taking, and obviously, anything that had to do with one of the guys. Some were downright obvious that one or the other was their type, while others might try to be more sly about it, always bringing whichever man it was up more than the others. But unless they were diehard Daryl girls, wanted to dominate Glenn, or had some military man, hot priest, or doctor kink for Abraham, Gabriel, or Siddiq, most of them apparently felt that Rick was the love of their lives. He was like a local celebrity. A band’s frontman.

“So, what about you?” One of your scavenging partners asked on the ride home. “Which one do you like?”

“They’re all attractive guys,” you say, keeping your eyes on the road. “But I don’t really think about them like that.” You feel a flush coming on. Crushes, or anything romantic, is a part of your internal world, not something you discuss aloud.

“Come on,” she prods. “You never join in. You just laugh at us for being delusional.”

“Whose us?” Rosita asks, her voice sharp, humorous, and not without judgment. “I don’t talk about that shit.” But secretly, she loved the drama as much as you and would have many questions for you later tonight about why you have yet to tell her of the town obsession of treating her friends like the cast of a reality show.

“I don’t laugh at you! I like it when you guys talk about that stuff.”

“But what I’m saying is that I didn’t let you ride shotgun this time so you can hold out again,” the girl jokes half-heartedly.

“What do you mean this time? I get to ride shotgun because I’m the one with the CDs.”

And it’s true, the only thing that cancelled out the silence of drive in moments where conversation ceased was your Oasis album playing in the background. Learning about the band was your new obsession. Much like listening to the crazy imaginations of the girls in town, you found the Gallagher brother rivalry riveting even if you only knew pieces of the story from the music, scraps of magazine articles, and by asking whoever in town happened to be a teen in the 90s. Thankfully you had hit the jackpot today though. One of the houses you visited was once occupied by a dad and daughter with an insane music collection in the living room and a smaller, more curated one in the girl’s room. After gathering what new music you wanted to try from downstairs, you also found some old issues of QuizFest in the girl’s room, filled with activities that were themed with shows you remember from when you were a kid, but the most important discovery— the find of all finds— was one of those Ultimate Guide, Complete Life Story magazines of none other than the band Oasis.

You would now probably know all of the drama between the brothers to tell a coherent story about the band’s history to anyone who wanted an escape from walker related events and farming talk. When you weren’t listening, that’s what people would come to you for: to borrow music, get recommendations, or to tell them a story. In all, you were getting the reputation of being the town’s music historian, meaning you usually used your knowledge to avoid talking about yourself. And it mostly worked.

Except for now.

“Well, if I had to guess,” the girl persists despite your silence, “I think it would be Rick.”

“What?” Noticing the incredulity in your tone, you calm your voice. Shrugging you say, “Why Rick? Everyone likes him.”

Rosita sends a look your way. It’s innocent enough, probably just showing that she is still listening on as she drives but you were refusing to look at anyone now to know for sure.

“Exactly,” the girl says. “He’s a classic knight in shining armor type. I feel like he’d talk you through it, which I think would be good for— someone like you.”

Your face is on fire, you can’t even speak properly. “I- first of all, what do you know about my experience?” you ask, the incredulous tone returning. But all you get as an answer is knowing snorts and chortles from the two women. Ouch. Nonetheless, you continue, “Second, you think shooting a guy in the head in front of his wife and the whole town is chivalrous?”

Oh—

That makes car goes quiet.

You know you made a mistake.

You didn’t mean it as crassly as you said it, and you did feel bad for saying it knowing that the situation was more difficult than you summed it up to be, but you didn’t apologize. All this talk about crushes and especially Rick made you embarrassed. It’s not that you didn't see what others saw anyway. Of course you noticed how nice Rick’s curls are, how he doesn’t have to use any product for them to look as they do; or those blue eyes and how when you get closer, they become that much more stark and crisp; or how good he was at talking to people, convincing them of things or simply just reassuring them as a friend; and that southern drawl that still sometimes catches you by surprise by sounding so pronounced at the end of certain words, making his voice that much more intoxicating. Of course you saw the appeal, but that didn’t mean you had a crush on him.

Right?

Maybe it doesn’t matter. You just felt you knew better. He was like a president. You know of them, and you believe in them, but you don’t get close to them. And it didn’t matter that he told Carl to personally deliver you a stereo he and Daryl found while out once. How he remembered how you liked music. How he told Carl to tell you this one was probably better than the old one you had, that it was louder. You only showed him your old stereo that once when he was helping you move. He was just a perceptive guy with a good memory. All leaders are like that.

Right?

Anyway, let’s get back to your crass… joke.

“Hilarious.” Rosita says and you hear the low contempt in her voice at your insensitivity.

“That was ages ago though,” the girl chimes in, saving you just a little, “and he did it to help her. He didn’t care about the mess he made. He save her. I’d say that’s pretty romantic.”

“Let’s not call that romantic,” Rosita scoffs, and despite the slight frustration, there was a quiet sadness in her voice at the memory. “That wasn’t love.”

“That was reckless, not romantic.” You agree. Partly because you truly do, but also in attempt to win back favor from your friend. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

But after that day, it was all you could think about.

The idea of a knight; a romantic; someone that would do anything for you, ruin his reputation for you; find gifts from the outside that he’d send is son to give to you. Maybe you did find it charming, idyllic.

These thoughts soared in your mind so much so that on one night when thinking about boys from books or your favorite artists wasn't enough during moments under your sheets when your back arched and your fingers trailed up your thighs, your mind switched from people you would never meet to him, to Rick. Your eyes scrunched tighter, and you tried to shake it away, telling yourself it was just the women in town and the talk in the car getting to you. But then you thought about how rich and hot pink his lips looked on a bright sun-burning day and how it would feel like flames firing inside of you if he kissed you with them.

Ideas like these went on for nearly a year now. You even started questioned if maybe you had always liked him, maybe you were always just like the other girls even though tried to not be. You had thought it made you respectful, realistic; after all, how could Rick be the love of your life if he was everyone’s? Wonderings like this became even worse and more confusing when Rosita had asked if you’d like to move in with her. Becoming closer with her meant being around the leaders more often, which meant coincidental encounters and conversations with Rick as well. Quickly, he wasn’t just that president or celebrity anymore who talked to you sometimes and got you that stereo that once. He was becoming a peer— at least in some ways. One who was curious about your interests as much as your opinions. But it’s not exactly like you were in the in-crowd now as some people assumed. You didn’t get to go to leader meetings, and as much as you knew Rosita must have been telling you more than others know, she couldn’t have been telling you everything. But you did see him more than other people now, when he and the leaders came over to the house or when Rosita was invited over to theirs and she’s tell you to come too. And now, with these thoughts spiraling, you can’t help but to look back at the at the times where Rick approached you, gave you all his attention no matter how small it was and asked you about what you were listening to or reading that week, letting you ramble. He was an older guy, yes, but he cared, he actually listened, and he didn’t make you feel like the childish little sister others do.

Sadly, you did become the fawn like you had told yourself you wouldn’t be. But you couldn’t stop picturing him when you closed your eyes, and in fact, it was nice to imagine someone to fall asleep with, to wake up to. It was just going be your secret. Part of your fantasy world. But then— it all caught up to you.

Through the sliver of the open door he saw you, fingers between folds, goading yourself on as you chanted his name in whispers.

And to your surprise, he encouraged it. No, he did so much more than that— he helped you, made you come; gave you your first orgasm and made you his like no one has before.

You loved it. You gave into it. Even if it was just one secret moment. It made you give into the idea that this would continue but of course, it didn’t. He hasn’t spoken to you in almost three weeks until—

“Woah-” you gasp, almost crashing into just the person as you exit your room.

“Sorry,” you both say in unison, holding onto each other's forearms before quickly letting go. Your arms cross over into your chest before dropping as you enter your room again, clearing the hallway, and his hands go behind his back. He’s still as unsteady as you are, his mouth is slightly open, thinking of what to say.

“Hi,” you whisper tentatively.

“Good morning,” he politely replies. His eyes now smile slightly as he nods to you. You don’t miss how the light emanating from your bright room makes them shine. And he doesn’t miss how the light shining behind your figure makes you, in your white cotton sundress, look like an absolute angel.

“Good morning,” you repeat, giggling slightly, not knowing what else to say.

“Good morning,” he says again, lost and as giddy as you are.

“Oh wait— is the leader’s meeting here today?” Rick starts to nod and answers yes as you continue to speak, “I totally forgot! I’m sorry. I know I should be gone by now.”

He shakes his head, “It’s fine. I was just going to the bathroom.”

“Here? Was someone in the one downstairs?”

“Just wanted to be away from everyone when they came. Daryl and I came early so we started talking and I just- we didn’t see eye to eye on something. I needed a minute.”

You nod. That seems to be your signature when to talk to him. You hated it honestly. Often over-analyzing your words, worrying you’ll sound immature or stutter in front of him. “I'm sorry,” you tell him sympathetically. For a moment there is only silence which makes you worry he will go away, so without thinking, you ask: “I know you’re busy but, if you need a moment, maybe you would like to come in here instead?”

Rick freezes but then, inevitably agrees. As he enters, you close the door and quickly go to shut off the low playing stereo and rehang some of the dresses on your chair in the closet— you had been getting ready for the day. Rick goes to sit on the chair after you empty it but you stop him. You sit on the vertical side of your bed and guesture Rick to sit in the spot next to you, closer to the headboard. You wanted to sit next to him.

Rick doesn’t question this, maybe he wanted to be as close to you as you had, so as he sits, your thighs touch. You try not to move too much at the first contact. Still, the heat that starts to burn inside you makes you realize how much you’ve craved this. Can two weeks feel like a lifetime? It’s like you haven’t felt him in ages.

“What were you playing today?” He asks and you realize you eyes went straight to the area where yours and Rick’s legs touched. You know he noticed but still you try to answer normally.

“Selena. Rosita loves her. It’s one of her most famous songs: Amor Prohibido.”

He nods. “I probably wouldn’t understand a bit of it,” he laughs.

He would probably remember the singer from the news if you gave more context but you don’t. There is a silence that follows until you ask, “So,” starting slowly, “what’s wrong? Is Daryl aright?”

He doesn’t answer. His mouth is open as if he’s deciding what to say, but nothing comes out, so you continue, “You know, nothing is ever right in the world when Rick and Daryl fight. It makes me sad.”

The joke makes those lines at the sides of his eyes appear— a quiet laugh. “Well you know I’d never want to make you sad. Especially not you.” You two exchange a light smile while that heat rises fast to your heart. “We’ll be fine,” he finally says, but then he goes quiet again. Rick seems unsure if he wants to continue. He even looks at the door, wonders if the others have shown up yet, but— he knows he doesn’t want to leave. And even more, he knows he shouldn’t after ignoring you like some teenage boy. He decides to tell you what’s happening: “Daryl wants us to bring new people in. You know how he’s always going out there. But I think it’s way too soon.”

You hum agreeingly, but at the same time, you understand Daryl. “I think he just likes to give people what he never used to have,” you suggest.

“I know,” he nods a bit annoyedly; “and that’s a nice way to put it, but you know him, when he has his mind set on somethin’ he can be so damn stubborn. It’s frustrating. He won’t compromise or listen to anything.”

Endearingly, you try to withhold a laugh, your lisp pursing. Not only because when he says anything, it actually sounds like anythang, but because Rick sounds like he’s describing himself and he doesn’t even realize it.

“And,” he adds, pausing for a moment before he continues, scratching his beard. It looks as if maybe he shouldn’t tell you what he’s about to. His head hangs low to say: This is not information for everyone to know, okay? But the last time he went out there with Glenn, the reason Glenn’s arm is in a sling right now, is because they met a group, tried to bring them back and before they could make it even close to home, the group fought ‘em, tried to steal what they scavenged, and almost kill Glenn.”

You widen your eyes at the statement. You actually already knew this from Rosita, but that will stay between you two. All you feel is humbled that he felt he share it with you, despite it being a dark thing. It was a close call. Rick was right for being very cautious right now. “Wow,” is all you can get in before he speaks again.

“Imagine if we lost him. Fought this war with his wife and unborn baby at the time for nothing? So he couldn’t even meet him?” Rick shakes his head, and you notice his foot tapping lightly, making his knee bounce. This had happened a month ago now but it was obviously affecting him. “It was reckless and I told him that. That right now we need to be focusing on what’s inside these walls. People have only just started getting back to being comfortable now; to feeling like this is a home.”

Your eyes remain wide, “We did so much rebuilding you.”

“We did complete rebuilding.” He corrects, though not rudely. Shaking his head, he goes back to talking about Daryl: “I think I made it seem like what happened to Glenn was his fault. So not only were we arguing but I must’ve hurt him,” Rick realizes, “and now he definitely won’t be back today— maybe not even until next week.”

A silence hangs in the air after this; it seems he finished. Now, you know you should speak, but as the silence continues, you grow more unsure of what to say. Issues like these are things you’ve never dealt with. You didn’t want to say something stereotypical.

“I’m sorry I’m putting all this on you.”

“No, no,” you quickly console, trying to think. “Um, well,” you say, starting unsteadily, “this is probably going to sound stupid and not helpful. I don’t even remember the exact context or what was truly said so it might not make any sense either but, do you remember when I had my Oasis obsession? Earlier this year?”

“I do,” he laughs, turning his head over to your music table. His eyes scan any of the visible album titles to see if he can find it, but the print on most of them are too small. He turns back to you as you continue:

“This is going to sound a little far off but I think you and Daryl are like Liam and Noel.”

His eyebrows furrow, “Didn’t those two hate each other?”

“I mean, yes— but it’s much more complicated than that to me— but no, I don’t mean in that way. It just that there is this quote Noel says that I don’t remember exactly, but I really liked: he said that even though he wrote the music and Liam did the singing that Liam meant the words just as much as Noel did because they’re brothers and he wrote them. I thought that was beautiful, but…” you trail off.

He stays silent, trying to give you space to find your words but you feel like you’ve gone too far. It’s all pretty convoluted and not a true comparison to what’s going on that you’re even confusing yourself a little. “I think what I mean is that even though they have their different roles, they still feel very similar things and believe in the same purpose. I think that’s like you and Daryl. You two are so similar yet so different. But there’s still a binding force that always brings the two of you together. So, like I’m sure you already know and I didn’t even need to tell you, but you two will be okay. You two have different ways of doing things, but the music or the life you’re trying to create in Alexandria still has the same meaning to the both of you.” You laugh small and breathily as you end. “That probably didn’t make sense.”

Rick smiles to himself. “I didn’t get that first bit, with the quote, but no… that made a lot of sense to me.” He nods toward you and you return his smile. “You’re so bright. You know that? Not everyone knows how to stitch things together like that the way you do.”

This makes you feel good. Rick thought you were smart. You know you should say thank you, but instead, something else comes out: “May I, may I kiss you?”

“Yes,” he answers, almost stuttering it out, a hint of hesitation before he did, but he nods so kindly, so reassuringly as he tells you again: “yes.”

Your fingers touch his lower cheeks lightly, feeling the bristles of his beard. You’re slow, and careful, and scared. Your fingers linger on his jaw for a moment until they completely caress his right cheek and then you move in, swiftly— worried you’ll lose your confidence, worried he’ll change his mind. You catch his lower lip and seal the kiss. Your lips are locked for a few seconds until you retreat. It was nice, and exciting, but short. You knew you could have put your tongue in his mouth. You believe he would have let you because you remember when he did it last time, but you didn’t want to embarrass yourself by doing it wrong and once again reminding him how much you don’t know. But you’re sure giving him a grade school kiss like this one was enough of a reminder.

Your eyes roll down, chin low. Your cheeks are on fire and your hands do not know where to go so you start fiddling with the hem of your dress and then you laugh. You were trying to be courageous this time, and you were, but you also weren’t.

Rick grabs your left hand, holding it at the end of your thigh, “I liked that,” he says softly.

“You did?” You ask as softly as he, eyes meeting his.

A short, airy snicker comes out, “Mhm,” he hums, giving you a closed-mouth smile. He found you simply adorable.

“Can I… try it again?”

Rick pulls on your forearm, attempting to bring you closer to him. “Yeah,” he nods, voice gentle. “Do you want me to help?”

You nod before you speak, happily accepting, “Yes.”

He puts your hands on his shoulders. One of his grabs onto your waist and the other holds you lightly under your chin, adjusting your head to meet his lips. The first kiss he places holds just for a couple of moments as the one you gave him did, gentle but packed with longing. The next two are slow, pretty pecks that already have you melting at his touch, lips agape waiting for the next one. The fourth is the one where he brings his tongue into your mouth, carefully bringing it in quarter by quarter. He tastes the top of your mouth and tongue and you feel him as he slowly starts to explore how far you may like to go, but truly you become stagnant other than your hands that press into his shoulder. Luckily, Rick either doesn’t notice your hesitation or is already silently helping you as he takes the lead, pulling you closer by the hips and slipping his tongue in and out of your mouth to kiss you more. It makes you smile— the excitement of your first make-out session. You giggle, and then it makes him smile too and your teeth slightly bump into each other. Accidently you nip his lip because of it, making you pull back.

Your fingers hover over your lips as you impart a quiet apology but Rick just shakes his head giving you another quick kiss instead. He starts to move back on your bed, back pressed again the headboard and he tells you quietly, “Come here.”

You get up and sit higher up on the bed as well, calves folded under your thighs. He takes one of your legs and starts to put it over his as he asks, “Is this okay?”

You nod, vigor growing as you do it now, thrilled to sit on his lap. Your dress bunches around your hips and the tops of your thighs. You move closer to press your chest into his and you kiss him first again, another small one but with intent as you look at him afterward, feeling the scratch of his beard on your fingertips as you smile at him, in awe that this is happening.

“You want to try this time?”

“Uh,” he means you put your tongue in his mouth this time, but you’re afraid to do it wrong but you know you want to say yes so you do, “Yes, okay.”

So he brings you in again and you kiss him. He mouth opens a little and you try to bring your tongue in slightly but you teeth clash. “Sorry,” and quickly he responds that it’s okay and rubs your cheek, telling you to just open your mouth a little wider, no teeth, let your tongue go on top of his.

You try it. Your tongues meet again, licking each other tips before you slowing press in more, your chest touching his as you try to close the gap.

Rick starts slowly rocking your hips against his and he takes control of the kiss again. It helps you not think, you like it. And you like the feeling of that incoming tight bulge starting to form under his jeans, but then you let go. “Wait,” you say, “I like this.” You pause for a moment, confusing him more as to why you stopped. “But… there is something I wanted to ask you.”

“Okay,” his hand stay fixed on your hips and waist, rubbing soothily, “What it is?”

Another pause. “I feel nervous,” you whisper.

“You have no reason to be, sweetheart. You can ask me anything.”

You laugh, smiling as you look off to the side. Anythang.

He smiles too, although unknowingly to what you found funny. His head tilts as he tries to find your gaze and turn it towards him again.

“Well, the last time we were together here you taught me how to do something. You taught me how to pleasure myself better so,” you stutter, “I want to pleasure you. If that’s okay. And I was wondering if you’d teach me how- to touch you here.” You remove yourself from straddling him and point in the direction of his cock.

Instantly he feels a stir of his already hardening dick.

This is not how he expected things to go this time. Or truly, he didn’t expect any of this at all, but when you asked to kiss him he decided he would be gentle, more giving. It felt like you wanted him to take again, the exact thing he was trying not to do. “I feel like I took advantage of you last time.”

“Rick…” you shake your head. “I’m the one who didn’t close the door all the way. You asked if it was okay and then you asked if you could go faster. I said yes to everything…” You start to worry— is he second guessing everything now?—“I feel maybe we remember this differently.” You bow your head again now. Feeling ashamed, wondering if he did.

Rick places one hand on your knee to comfort you although he still says, “It’s just that I’ve never done something like this before.” His thumb sways on your skin. “I just don’t want you to end up feeling like you’re wasting your time. Your first times.”

You’re surprised, “It’s so funny how you can be so self-assured in front of a crowd and now you don’t think you’re good enough.” You take his hand and press it towards your chest. Your heart was racing. “I like you. So much.” You swallow as he says your name softly, realizing how fast your heart was going. “No one in town is truly ever mean to me or anything, and Rosita has been so kind with letting me move in with her and we talk and its nice but, you know— she has her flings and her friendships that are separate from mine and everyone just always seems like they have their person and I just don’t. I don’t have my person, or any person.” You remove your hands from your chest but Rick still holds onto it, squeezing your hand as you start speaking again. “You’re kind, Rick, and you make me excited, and you remember things about me… “ If your face could get any hotter, it does, “And, well, you’re very handsome. If you could teach me again, I would like that.”

God… Rick was trying to be a romantic yet you were so adamant on getting him off. He laughed inwardly, shaking his head, deciding that the best way to handle this situation— and make up for some of his guilt as he was trying to— would be to give you the thing you say you want and not what he thinks you want. Suppose that’s one for widower’s wisdom.

Decidedly, Rick gets up from the bed, giving you a once over, still admiring how adorable, and how sexy, you look to him with your feet under your lap, hands on your knees as you look up at him from the bed and your white dress. He starts undoing his shirt buttons. “Remember when I did this the first time?”

A smirk came on, there’s the Rick you remember. Blue eyes intense, and voice getting cocky as he gets ready to give you what you need, what he knows you only want from him.

“Yes,” you say quiet yet with budding excitement. You start going for the hem of your dress, “Should I start taking this off too?”

“Mm, stay like that.” He’s taking off his belt. “Thought you looked beautiful in it right when I saw you.”

Your thighs squeeze together slightly. Rick Grimes was undressing before you, for you, and calling you smart and beautiful all the while.

As Rick lowers his boxers, his cock springs up. He returns to his spot on the bed, back leaning against the headboard. All of a sudden he seems to truly recognize that he is the only one exposed. He would tell you what to do, guide you, but in a small way, in a way you probably didn’t realize, you were in control. It seems that each time this happens— although it’s only been twice— and each time he talks to you— which has been plenty— you steal a little more of Rick’s heart and he just can’t stop it.

“So,” he clears his throat, your eager eyes on his cock making him twitch, “you usually just wrap your hand around, start from the base and keep pumping up.” He shakes his head, “there’s not too much too it but it’s best to keep your hand light at the start, you—”

You nod quickly, “May I?”

As he nods back you, “Yes.” And as he says it you’re already licking your hand.

“Is it okay if I spit? That helps right? Or is that nasty to you?”

He’s caught off guard, “No, no, that helps.”

So you do and you place your hand lightly at the base as he said and you start to pump. Instantly, he lets out a gasp, and the next noises that follow are repressed grunts and groans. You want to ask him to stop doing that but you’re a little scared to speak up that way just yet and you’re too engrossed in how you can see the light veins of green and blue on him and how he’s so red at the tip. It was honestly exciting. Just this, touching him with your hand, staring at his member and watching him twitch as his mouth opens to pant lightly. It still felt unreal but you liked it and you were happy to learn. You start to pump him more towards the top, placing your thumb on his slit- pressing in. His abs clench at that. You push in a little harder and you squeeze your fist around him a little— testing it out to see what happens—and he groans, unadulterated this time, “oh, fuck.”

The heel of your foot that’s under your lap pushes into your center at that.

You start pumping faster. “Am I doing good, Rick?”

Hearing your voice sets him off, “Fuck, sweetheart. Yes.” He’s honestly choking out each of his words, he didn’t expect to get so turned on by all of this. He realizes the last time he had sex was with you that first time, and before that… he can’t even remember. “You’re doing an amazing job.”

As you pump, you start to slow down, only doing it shallowly towards his base. You’re feeling confident and you kiss the side of him, licking a fat stripe up to the top and then you pump him fully again.

“Oh, fuck, yeah,” he breathes out. He wants to tell you to slow down but it comes out of nowhere, he stutters before he can even speak. An unintelligible groan mixed with a moan comes out abrupt and louder than he intends and white spurts of liquid come out.

You go faster for a few moments, then start to slow down, a little unsure of what is best to do, but you notice when you start squeezing him a little more as you continue to pump up and more whiteness fall out from inside of him.

“Did I, make you come?”

“Yeah,” he says, huffing.

“I did?” your cheekbones rise as you ask with awe— it was another first for the books.

Rick’s tries to let his embarrassment fade, he can tell you were just excited about it, but still, he looks down and to the side, avoiding direct eye contact— almost like you typically would. You peer at him, almost nervously because of it. Rick is usually the confident one. “Doesn’t always happen that fast,” he explains.

“Well before a month ago I didn’t know how to make myself come so I wouldn’t know,” you say with self-deprecating assurance. You had heard from the girls in town that it was easier to make men orgasm. You already had it in your head as something not to judge. You wonder how hard he must have been restraining himself the first time he placed himself inside you, or if it just happened to be easier for him that time around. “I didn’t expect I could do it or anything really. I thought it was…” you smile while giggling, “interesting.”

“A good interesting I hope.”

“Very,” you assure. “I liked it.” You kiss his cheek as you take some wipes that are by your night stand and you start cleaning him up. He doesn’t tell you that you don’t have to; he helps along with you.

“You sure you’ve never done any of this before?”

You shake your head. “I just read fiction books.”

He smiles to himself, a quiet snort of laughter leaving his nose. You always surprise him.

When you two are done cleaning, he puts his boxers back on. Quickly, he is on the bed again and starts to kissing you. Rick holds your shoulder and pushes you down. Finally, it’s time for his redemption, he feels. It was your turn to be pleasured. Just like he wanted to do from the beginning.

Rick kisses down your neck to your collarbone, and the parts of your exposed chest and he pushes your dress up past your hips. His lips move back up to yours, kissing you more before saying, “I really wanna show you something sweetheart.” He presses his thumb into your clit over your underwear. “Can I kiss you down there? Have you ever had that before?”

You shake your head slowly, eyes wide. “I-” you start nodding your head, “-I would really like that.” And in such a small voice you add, “Please.”

Rick kisses your cheek. Deep and softly he breathlessly tells you, “I would love to.”

Rick moves his head lower and gives you slow kisses over your underwear from your mound to the end of your lips. He starts to drag your panties over your legs and once they’re gone he kisses up your thighs. Then his nose rubs and sways ever so lightly on your lips. He breathes in and it makes you shutter. Your heart is going crazy again. Finally, he licks upward. One long and languid stripe ending with a kiss to your clit and then he truly begins.

Tongues are wet and sticky and everything you ever dreamed of. Your eyes roll back instantly from that first lick and kiss. You remember a time when you started touching yourself that you used to never think of receiving oral. You thought it was scary, nasty, that you wouldn’t like it until the moment you thought about it as a million kisses on your most sensitive lips, or someone liking you so much that they’d get drenched by your wetness just to touch you, to taste you. After that, you thought about it all the time and now it was finally happening– someone needing you so much they just had to know what you taste like. Here he was: kissing, licking, sucking, not caring about how he looks but only how you feel— you now knew what it was like to be desired.

Rick presses his tongue flat on your clit, rubbing deep circles. His eyes are open, looking up at how your mouth opens wider and wider. You let out little whimpers, enamored by his tongue, still deciding if you like the scratch of his beard, but your eyes stay glued to the ceiling, scared to look at the scene below.

He gives you kitten licks in between speaking, “Look down. Don’t miss your first time.”

Your eyes go down slowly, watching as he gives open mouth kisses to your clit and right lip, tilting his head. He stays there for a moment, hearing your short and breathy pants, kissing and licking your clit and lower lips like they were the ones above your chin. His eye contact sends bursts of sticky wet fluid down your hole and you release a whimpered moan, they’re always sp short and soft and high pitched. He can tell you like it but he can also see you’re nervous. You don’t trust yourself, you know it, and he’s starting to realize it too. You’re scared of completely letting go.

He peppers kisses to your clit before moving upward, his tongue rolling and mouth kissing from your lower stomach to your breasts till his face reaches yours again. “No one’s here,” he tells you. He then kisses your lips allowing you to taste yourself for the first time. “Relax,” he whispers, rolling out each syllable. He holds your chin with one hand while he inserts a finger into your hole with the other, his pointer is instantly drenched and you shudder at the feeling. His single calloused finger reminds you of the time he was last inside you. He pumps slowly, looking into your eyes as he speaks, “Don’t think about who could come downstairs.”

“What if Rosita or Daryl come back?”

“What if?” He says it so simply as if he’s ready for everyone to know. Truly, that would be an issue, but right now it was not about him and it was completely about you; he wanted to give. It was short-sighted, reckless, yes, but… you were just so pretty, so bright, so insightful, and he felt like he needed to make up for all the taking he did last time, of your first time. Rosita had went to run after Daryl, hopefully no one was here anyway. But again, he didn’t care. It didn’t matter. “Lay back,” he gently commands, “forget what I said before- close your eyes. Just give in to it. Like I’m the only one who's here.”

Rick licks zig zag stripes down your slit and then he decides to insert his tongue in your hole. He goes as deep as his tongue allows, collecting your wetness and trying to swallow it in moments when he turns back to kissing. He his nose is brushing and rubbing up against your clit as he sucks wetness from down below and you start letting out stringy moans you can’t control. Soft, pretty, and continuous, “uh, ah, uh, uh” that turn into “sorry, I’m sorry.” You’re still self-conscious about your own noises. This was still only the second time you’ve heard the sounds you make when someone else is fucking you.

But Rick shushes you. Giving small kisses to your clit as he looks up at you, seeing your scrunched eyes and open mouth. “I like knowing you like it, pretty girl. I like all those pretty sounds you’re making.”

Your pussy tightens around nothing at that phrase.

“Keep going. You don’t have to be shy.” He grabs your chin and you look down at him. His beard is wet. “We’ve already made a mess anyway.”

He starts kissing your labias, licking up wetness when you decide to ask, nervously, “Can you make sounds too?”

Instantly, Rick goes again to kiss your clit, humming into it as he sucks. Breathing against you he says, “Want me to tell you I like it, sweetheart?” His tongue slides down again, tongue reaching into your hole and he moans into your pussy.

Your back arches and you mewl, you could almost scream.

That’s it, he thinks. Rick keeps humming and groaning into you now. His voice is so seductive. “I love tasting your pussy, baby.”

You couldn’t breathe.

Rick starts rubbing your clit with his thumb and going fast with his tongue in your hole “My bright, pretty girl gonna come for me? Hm?”

“Oh, Rick, I want to. Please, Rick.”

Rick starts to go faster and your brain turns to mush. Only noises coming out and when he stops his tongue movements to say something more you push his head down. “Sorry,” you say. You’ve never been forceful before but he says nothing, just continues going down on you and taking his free hand to place it over his, gesturing that he wants your hands in his hair. You tug on his curls and he grunts into you. You start chanting his name and then he switches to placing his lips on your clit and putting two fingers in your pussy. It reminded you of the first time but instead of your three fingers they were two of his and it felt so much better than you ever knew before, better than you could ever do it yourself. It sets you off. Your eyes shut tighter if they could. “Rick! Oh my god,” you moan and then again and again and then you come.

Rick laps at your cunt, vigorously trying to wipe you clean. He makes it look like it will be the last and only time. It makes you worry but at the same time he looks so sexy like that; needy for you even after you finished.

He takes your wipes and cleans his lips before cleaning you up as you did for him. He kisses you thighs and your lips and your cheeks as he continues. “You did such a good job,” he says. “You always do.”

You’re filled with pride at that. “Thank you.” Then worry sets in. You realize how public you’ve made everything. “Did I just ruin your life?”

He laughs while caressing your thigh. That anxious expression of yours that he just got rid of returns after all the work he did.

“I’m gonna check downstairs. Okay? If they’re there, they’re there.” You nod. We already made a mess anyway, you remember him saying. “They might want to start the meeting when I go down so, whatever happens, happens alright? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Your eyes are still nervous, but it’s all too late anyway. “Okay,” you respond.

“Okay,” he says back, kissing you once more. As he dresses himself again, he tells you, “I promise I won’t wait two weeks to see you again.”

“I’d like that.”

“Me too,” he says as a send off and goes into the bathroom to clean his face.

When he reaches the living room, there is no one. Rick is thankful but confused.

As he nears the coffee table there is a sheet of yellow lined legal pad with a talkie next to it.

Call when you’re done, it reads.

“Rosita?” He questions into the device. Who else could it have been, right?

He can almost hear the grin on her face. “They should start calling you Reckless Rick for all the agony you put these Alexandria girls through.” She pauses for dramatic effect. “There’s just something about that stupid hair cowboy accent, I guess.”

Before he can respond, telling her that it’s absurd to think of him as a playboy, that he was far from it, she continues:

“So, fucking my roommate? You’re glad Glenn and Maggie called everyone over to theirs instead. Hershel took his first steps while you were teaching someone else how to take theirs.”

She unpressed the button to suppress her laughter. “Just get over here,” she concludes, putting down the walkie and going back to meet the rest of the group with a perfect poker face. She tells everyone Rick will be here shortly.

Oh, Alexandria’s leader and her new little best friend who has been hearing the townswomen’s fantasies of him for years: Reckless Rick and his reckless romantic girl.

Rosita would give you so much shit for this when she gets home.

[mockerycrow]

hii! i love the way you describe the 141 so far, and i would love to see how you would write an konig, ghost, soap, price and alejandro reaction and headcanons with a s/o who has an accent?

i taught myself english from a young age so i never really had someone to practice with, so my accent is very strong (im from south america, which also helps lol) and i would like to see how the cod boys can react to this in your style <33

Reader With An Accent - MWII

GIF BY: @collinnmckinley - masterlist

A/N: thank you so much for your patience and thank you for liking my writing!! please let me know if i executed this right!! i am american and i don’t want to misrepresent. also this is lowkey coded for people w/ accents from non-english speaking countries, so sorry everyone who is from a english speaking country and has an accent oops — i also kinda took your “i taught myself english from a young age” for alejandro’s chunk. hope that’s ok!

König

König wouldn’t react to your accent very much, unless it’s a very thick accent because then he would have trouble understanding you.

If your accent is thick, he probably asks you repeat yourself a couple of times; English isn’t his first language either, so I can imagine maybe a couple of times you both sit there in silence with each other because neither of you guys can understand each other. He has a semi-thick accent, too.

Sometimes, he does understand you but he just wants to hear you continue to talk.

Maybe König and you practice English together, while teaching each other your native languages on accident. You guys didn’t mean to, but you end up trying to explain what a word is in your different languages and by the end of it, you begin to understand full sentences in german; the same for him with your language.

He considers this a bonding experience :)

Ghost

Like König, he probably wouldn’t react to your accent too much unless it was incredibly thick. Ghost has met all different types of people and his native language is English, so he has a better understanding of what you’re trying to say, but he pokes fun at you like he pokes fun at Soap.

On the topic of Soap, you two together is his worst nightmare.

“Speak English.” Is his favorite phrase when you are speaking English, but your accent is just overpowering literally everything.

You like to throw his words back into his face when he says some sort of British slang—you get a surprisingly loud chuckle out of him when you pick up some of his slang. He thinks it’s funny whenever anyone who isn’t British begins to talk like him.

If Ghost isn’t already fluent in your language, he pretty much becomes damn near fluent by the time you’ve known him for a good couple of months. He picks this stuff up easily.

Soap

Oh, this would be actual hell on Earth. Not for you two, but for the others.

Soap doesn’t comment on your accent initially, but you two begin to share a brain cell and a half (on accident) when Ghost’s eyes show visible frustration.

“He can barely understand me, the two of’us will be a real party trick!”

You and Soap gang up on everyone else if your accent is thick. He understands the frustration of people not understanding you.

Sometimes it takes Soap a moment to process what you’re saying, but he only asks you to repeat yourself a couple of times. (He has a good method of deciphering words, even if he cannot understand through an accent).

Soap likes to teach you his Scot phrases and you teach him your own in return.

Price

He gives you an eyebrow raise as a reaction, but that’s about it. Price has worked with so many people all over the world, he doesn’t really care to comment on your accent.

Price has gotten pretty good at understanding thick accents through the years, so he probably only asks you to slow your speaking when giving him a verbal report about something.

Price 100% is the type to accidentally pronounce something wrong but say it with full confidence and you always correct him, leaving him dumbfounded.

“My lips just don’t move that way, love.”

It’s likely he’s fluent in your language so he doesn’t mind if you talk to him in it; just give him a few seconds to translate in his head, okay?

Alejandro

If you meet outside of a total progressional setting, he probably has the most reaction to your accent out of anyone.

Alejandro’s language is a very big part of him so he assumes it’s the same for anyone else.

Alejandro doesn’t have an incredibly thick accent, but he knows people who do and he’s known them for years, so it’s easier for him to understand than a lot of other people.

If you taught yourself English and you end up pronouncing something wrong, Alejandro casually corrects you to help you out. He doesn’t make a big deal out of it either, he knows sometimes people get embarrassed from it. His first language isn’t English either, so he understands the struggle.

He DOES start laughing if you try to pronounce something that you so clearly cannot, even after being corrected.

[cozycottagetarot]

What Do They Fantasize About You 18+

How To Pick A Pile:

Everyone has their own technique for choosing a 'pile'. My recommendation is to clear your mind and focus on each image for a few seconds. The image you find yourself coming back to even when you focus on the other images is the pile for you.

Quick notes on this reading:

I'm experimenting with a different style. -- I've been working on shorter, less structured, formal pacs (and some longer ones). I'm not sure how I feel about it but I'd like to hear your thoughts too! It's 18+ but not explicit. -- I've always shied away from these kinds of readings because I didn't know how to make them authentic and within my comfort zone but I figured it out. It does involve sexual themes but it's not explicit (as in graphic or using strong language.) However, it is not intended for minors, so if your are a minor check out this one here instead.

It's purely for entertainment purposes. -- Don't think I need to explain more. Take what resonates be it all of it, some of it or none at all.

PILE 1 

Your person fantasizes of just watching you. Admiring your body, naked or clothed. Watching you enjoy the little luxuries of life. They might fantasize about you being better than them in a way. I'm not sure what's the correct way to phrase it. More like you're of a higher status than they are, and you giving them your attention is enough. You letting them touch you, not even in an inherently sexual way, is a bonus. They might feel like their status is elevated when they get to be in or on your arm/s. They could fantasize about you turning them on or pleasuring them in a coy manner... You know you’ve got it (it being looks, charm, them wrapped around your finger) and you tease them about it-- but it’s so subtle, so gentle, it dances on the fine line of being oblivious versus intentional. Star/Starlet vibes. They love everything about you, all parts of your body gets attention. They could love your hair, especially if it's of lighter hues, or has red undertones (even for brown hair because some brown hair has hints of more yellow while others are more red).

For some of you it maybe that you’re mildly intimidated by them in some format. Shying away from them in some manner so they give off that let me worship you energy to get you more comfortable with them. Another vibe I pick up on is learning to love something about yourself and being more comfortable in who you are and they’re your cheerleader unconditionally cheering you on. 

PILE 2

I feel like this is someone you had to warm up to. Their energy is one of being very doting, but the energy I’m reading for you is like "ugh, really?" When it comes to this person initially. It feels like someone who wants to reassure you (or wants you to reassure them), wants to make sure they are pleasing you in every and any way they can properly. This extends to outside of the bedroom. If you’ve got a craving, they’re off to get it before you can even think to bat your eyes. They’ve got eyes for no one but you. Heavy on the princess treatment. They may fantasize about taking control, but still in a gentle or compassionate way. They’re in charge but you’re still royalty for the day. They'd want to make sure you're comfortable and enjoying yourself (more than 'normal'). They may fantasize about having sexual encounters with you in places surrounded by nature. Not anywhere where you could be easily caught though. Fantasies of stealing you away from your responsibilities to have a moment with you. They may favour your chest. I'm also getting soft brushes of the skin with the occasional more forceful touch— how do I describe it? I've talked about this gentleness, but this is more like pulling you closer because they need you in your arms but it's a tad rougher than you'd expect. They could fantasize about light bondage as well. Getting you all dressed up and wining and dining you all while anticipating to take it off. 

Pile 3 

The energy here feels a little bit magical or unreal, like you two mirror each other greatly, or complement one another well. It's as though you two operate as a unit and less so two individuals trying to make something work together. I feel like that makes no sense but whatever. I very much get a "let's stay in and roll around in the sheets all day and night" vibe with this one... although it's more like any surface or room is fair game. This person may favour your behind over anything else. But it's very much a balance of both of you being in control. Very much in sync. There could be lots of taking turns or incorporating different sensory elements as well. An exploration of one another truly. Fantasizing about aftercare is another prominent possibility as well. Cuddling and pillow talk. There's also being spent after you two are through with each other. Or maybe it's a sense of relief and release. They may fantasize about you the most when they need to blow off steam, (they) just get lost in the thought of being with you. I actually repulled the cards (because there's always one pile) but a few of the same cards kept coming out and it was packed with major arcana. Justice, The Wheel, The Emperor AND The Empress. There’s also the Magician and while I'm not exactly reading the cards how I normally do, it feels like this relationship/connection isn’t ready yet. It's a feeling of something momentous that when it happens, you'll know. That's all I really pick up on there. They could fantasize about just staying in. Maybe both of you are under some kind of scrutiny respective to your social circles or careers. Leaders or innovators of some kind. Or maybe on a more general level, you’ve grown the resolve to not only wear your 'crown', that thing that makes you special, but own it too. A lot of abundant energy and energy of growth. They could really fantasize about shutting out the rest of the world with you. 

Pile 4 

This person seems so much in their feelings I don't know if to laugh, cringe, or cry for them. So much is going on in the cars, like an internal storm wreaking havoc on someone's life. There are undercurrents of them feeling or being selfish too? This person could be a traditionalist of sorts. It comes across as very possessive like they’re off their rocker worrying about you being into other people. BUT HEAR ME OUT! With my post-reading clarity, I think this person is a catastrophiser. So instead of 'hot fantasies' being at the forefront of their mind when thinking of you, anxiety, limiting beliefs or something else may get the best of them. It sounds absurd but if you've been there you know and if not then tell me your secret! Anyway, it could be long-distance relationship and that's the reason why. They may fantasize about being able to touch your body. They may like to play footsies. You could be very attractive and so they’re worried about losing you to someone else and it’s literally making them crazy. A third-party situation seems likely as well, real but most likely imagined. 

Because this isn't a psych analysis, I pulled more cards. Quickies and stolen moments are the vibe for this pile. Initially, I wrote something about it that just seems so wrong but again I think it's more of not allowing oneself to fantasize about good things happening. I could only keep describing it as if being in the mind of someone tormented. Fantasies of finding home within you but something lingering in the distance, never really enjoying one to fully enjoy the moment unless their eyes are closed. They could have fantasies of having influence over you... being able to convince you to stay. (more so if you two are together physically instead of having to separate in distance again). Fantasies of holding you tight. Wishing they could give themselves to you fully.

While I was reading a song that came to me was 'Lose You' by Sam Smith — word for word that song embodied a lot of the emotions and energy I was picking up.

[staytheword]

kind regards

kind regards — one shot [general masterlist]

this series (and this blog) are 18+ !! minors, please do not interact!!

• changbin x female reader; lee know is briefly featured.

• non idol au. workplace au. rivals to lovers (workplace rivalry). some physical description of mc, drinking, explicit language, explicit smut.

•  smut warnings (spoilers ahead) — dom!changbin, switch! reader, unprotected sex, sex in an empty public space, angry sex, elevator sex, use of pet names, lingerie, praising kink, dirty talk, slight degradation kink, dumbification, throatfucking, creampie.

• word count: 10.5k

Seo Changbin. Every time you get an email from me, you feel your blood boil. What a conceited, terrible human being. You have to work together, but it doesn't mean you have to like him. In fact, you only feel hate towards him. So what if you have no idea what he looks like, so what if you have never met him? Nothing could change your mind about him. Right?

• author’s note: Just a silly little one shot to take our mind off things. I wrote this completely for fun so I hope you can have fun reading it as well! Thank you for being here, sending lots of love your way. ♡

You stare at your computer screen, hoping that if you do it long and hard enough, it will magically conjure up the word you’re looking for. It starts with a g, that much you’re sure of, and it’s an adverb. It’s not gradually. It’s not gaudily. You have right there, on the tip of your tongue, but frustratingly out of reach. 

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. You’ll find it. You’ll find it. 

“Y/N?” 

Your eyes flutter open on your coworker, Gahyeon, who gives you an apologetic smile. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Just can’t find my words today.” 

“Hm,” she nods knowingly. “I hate days like that.” 

You slide a hand through your hair and sit up in your chair. 

“What’s up, Gahyeon?” 

“I just wanted your advice on something…” 

She circles your desk and puts a document on it, asking about the revision of a tricky sentence, offering you a welcome distraction. You discuss it for a few minutes before she heads back to her desk, long hair flowing down her back. You turn back to your screen, ready to get a good amount of work done before you head to lunch. Your fingers dance on your keyboard for a few minutes when you get an email notification.

Immediately, your blood grows hot and you stop typing. The notification shows you who the email is from: Seo Changbin, from marketing. 

You haven’t even opened the email yet but you’re already angry. You know his email will be dripping with his usual passive aggressive tone, blaming you for this and that, asking you to make corrections to something that has already been done and approved. You just know it. The guy is never happy with anything, especially not your work. He’s the only one, though. You work well with your colleagues, and your team manager likes you. You always hand in your work on time. You’re always meticulous. You care about what you do, and you make sure it’s well done. 

But this guy. 

Not long ago, one of his emails angered you so much you almost punched your computer screen. You almost took the elevator to his floor to let him hear a piece of your mind. Luckily for him you have some self-control - and you know he is still your senior in the company. You don’t want to lose your job over some loser who clearly has nothing better to do with his time than bring you down to raise himself up. 

It wasn’t always this way. You’ve worked at this company for years as a translator and never had any major issues with anyone, except for some classic bickering and gossip. Then this guy integrated the marketing department as a star talent and proceeded to make your life a living hell because he, too, spoke several languages and didn’t approve of your phrasing or your choice of words. 

It’s not the tone we are aiming for is the sentence you’ve read the most from him. Sometimes you hear it in your nightmares. 

You really don’t want to open the email, but you have to. Then you can treat yourself to a good lunch. You had planned on just grabbing something from the cafeteria, but you will definitely head out outside. A brie and spinach panini from the cafe next door, perhaps? Maybe even some sushi. 

You inhale slowly and click on your inbox. 

The email starts as usual. Dear Y/LN. It also ends as usual. Looking forward to your collaboration. You clench your fists, imagining they land on his nose and break it in a thousand pieces. The guy is polite - too polite. So polite you also want to break his teeth. You can just feel the arrogance oozing from his words. 

You read the content of the email and take a deep breath. It’s not too bad today, considering, but it still puts you in a bad mood. There is something I would like to suggest, he writes. 

Suggest it to my fist, you arrogant fuck. 

You stare at your screen, your face frozen into an expression of disgust. You hate every single word he uses. You hate that he puts his font just a half a point bigger like he has something to compensate for. You hate the little gray icon next to his name at the top that indicates the jerk still hasn’t uploaded his picture like the company requires. Maybe it’s best you don’t know what he looks like, because then your hate would know absolutely no bounds. 

You work for a big company. So big it occupies multiple floors of a sky-high building, and you’ve probably only met about 5% of the totality of your coworkers. That does not include the marketing team, except for a few faces you can recall from a Christmas party. That department is a floor above you, right on top of your head even, and the thought makes you rage. 

I won’t let you step on me, Seo Changbin. You can burn in hell. 

You imagine he’s a sixty-something year old guy with a fancy suit and a big watch, a family he does not know how to show affection for, and probably a mistress although his dick hasn’t worked properly in years. You just know he’s the sort of man to look down on women, to never say thank you to cashiers and to play golf with his buddies on the weekend. Hell, he’s probably a part of a country club of some kind. 

You’re probably taking all of this too far but you don’t care. 

You need to hate the guy. You want to hate him. It makes it easier.

With a sigh, you quickly reply to him, your tone cold and expeditive as always. You sign with your usual kind regards, words you’ve decided during a lonely night in your apartment after four glasses of wine. Just regards would be too easy, best did not convey your feeling and warm was just gross. Kind - that was perfect. Just the perfect amount of passive aggressiveness that could never be read as just that. 

You close your inbox, inhaling slowly. You’re not going to let the guy ruin your day. You are not. 

You get some more work done and ask Gahyeon if she wants to grab lunch with you. Minho yells from his desk that he’s coming too, so the three of you set off downstairs. 

In the elevator, you complain about the email. Gahyeon shakes her head, although smiling amusingly, and Minho lets out a chuckle as you spit out your murderous intents. 

“What are you laughing at?” you pout. 

“I was just imagining the day you’ll come face to face with the guy,” he says, eyes gleaming mischievously. “I need to witness this moment.” 

“Historical moment,” Gahyeon agrees. 

“It would be best for you to be there,” you reply. “I’ll need help getting rid of the body.” 

Once you’re sitting down with your platter of sushi not long later, you let out a sigh and plop one in your mouth. 

“So, are you guys going to the cocktail party Friday night?” Gahyeon asks you both. 

“You mean the thing with free food and booze?” you reply with a chuckle. “Why the hell would I miss it?” 

Minho shakes his head. “I can’t that night, I’m cat-sitting for a friend.” 

You glance at your friend, but then again, for such a sentence to escape his lips is nothing out of the ordinary. 

“You could bring the cat to the cocktail party,” you suggest.

“And what, put the poor thing on a leash?” Minho glares. 

You let out a laugh. “No leash. Just let it roam free. Hopefully my archnemesis will be there and the cat will scratch his face off.” 

You all laugh over your plates, covering your mouths with your hands so as not to be too loud. It’s a tendency you have - you’ve been warned before about making too much noise in this very restaurant. You love their sushi too much to risk being banned, so you do your best to be discreet. 

“Are you going, Gahyeon?” you ask your friend. 

She nods. “Probably.” 

Minho raises his eyebrows at her. “Hoping Mr Finance Department will be there?” 

Gahyeon blushes slightly. “Well…” 

You slap your hand on her arm, gasping loudly. “Oh my God, that’s still a thing?! I thought you were over him!” 

Minho leans towards you. “It was, but he broke up with Sunglass Girl.” 

“He did?!” 

“And he got a haircut,” Gahyeon whimpers. “I didn’t think it would be possible but he looks even more fucking hot.” 

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” you say. 

You put a hand on your friend’s shoulder and look deep inside her hazel eyes. 

“Don’t worry, Gahyeon. I’ll be your wingwoman Friday night.” 

“That’s okay, Y/N…” 

“I promise you to get you close enough to count the beauty marks on his face.” 

“He has two.” 

“I thought just one,” Minho frowns.

“No, two,” Gahyeon assures him. 

“After Friday you can tell us how many he has on his entire body.” 

“Y/N!” Gahyeon cries out, hiding her face.

She can’t stop giggling, though, and neither can you - and as Minho starts to make soft kissing sounds, you all burst out laughing. 

When you settle at your desk for the afternoon, later that day, you’ve almost forgotten about your work nemesis. Almost.

Kind regards.

Changbin lets out a scoff, scrunching his nose in front of his screen. Kind regards. He’s not an idiot. He can read between the lines. He knows exactly what that means, and it’s kindly fuck off. 

He’s not annoyed by it. Changbin knows better than to let things like that get to him. No, he’s definitely not annoyed. 

He just hates your guts. 

Before he closes your answer to his email, he catches a glimpse of your picture, right there, next to your name. It’s so small he can barely trace your features, but in a previous moment of weakness he opened the picture so it would be bigger and saw you almost too well. 

Wide doe eyes. Full lips. Smiling almost cheekily to the camera, wearing a black turtleneck. Wispy bangs grazing your forehead. Simple gold loop earrings. A faint white scar on the right side of your nose, probably from your childhood. 

Yeah. He might have looked at the picture a few times. 

It was just to get to know his enemy better, he swore to himself. That way, he had an advantage over you - he knew what you looked like, but you had no idea who he was. You could meet him in the elevator or the cafeteria and you would have no idea - but he would. It happened once. He saw you in the main hall of the building one morning, holding a coffee and wearing headphones. You were bobbing your head to the music, completely oblivious to the rest of the world. He tried really hard not to stare, but it was beyond him - luckily, you didn’t even notice him. 

Why would you, anyway? Thousands of people work in the company, hundreds of them wearing plain black suits like he does. Once Changbin understood that, he knew one day it would come to his advantage. He’s just waiting for the right moment. It will come. He just has to be patient - which has never been his strength, but for you, he trusts it will be worth it.

He takes the last bite out of his sandwich - homemade - and leans back on his chair. If only he could deal with someone else, if only you weren’t the translator assigned to his projects 90% of the time. At one point it started to feel like a joke, so much he wondered if someone was doing it on purpose. Your pettiness, your rude tone, it all rubbed off on him in all the wrong ways. He doesn’t do well with games and smugness, so you’re really testing his patience. Getting on his last nerve isn’t even covering it. Passive aggressive emails are starting to not be enough to convey his point. The fact that you’re pretty? It makes it even worse. You’re probably just a princess that thinks everything should be handed to her. He’s going to need to make himself very clear.

He just doesn’t know how. 

Of course it’s on his mind all day, and it pisses him off even more that he can’t focus on work because of you. You might be pretty but right now, for Changbin, you’re the devil incarnate and he needs to exorcize you out of his mind. Luckily, he has his gym bag with him so he can head right there after work. Small blessings.

At six o’clock, Changbin stands from his desk, gets his things and heads to the elevator. Many people have already left, which is why he likes to finish his day at six - it’s much quieter in the building and the subway. His briefcase in a hand, his gym bag on his shoulder, he gets in the elevator and sighs. A part of him just wants to get home, and another dreads the silence of his apartment. 

The elevator stops on the 11th floor - your floor. 

The chances for you to step in the elevator are slim, but present, so Changbin tenses a little, just in case. Good thing he does, because there you appear. Wearing a skirt and knee-high boots, your jacket around your arm, clutching your phone. His heartbeat immediately accelerates, and he has to violently remind himself that while he knows exactly who you are, you don’t. 

You step inside the elevator, giving him a small nod, and push the button for the main floor. 

It’s very silent. Changbin can’t help but glance at you - but you do the same at the same time, so both of you quickly look away. Leaning against the back of the elevator, you are pinching your lips, and you keep glancing at him. Changbin is more tense than he has ever been, keeping a solid frown on his face, his joints getting white at how tight he’s holding his briefcase. 

You pull out your phone and start texting frenetically. He keeps his eyes in front of him, hoping that the elevator would just stop to let somebody else in, but it’s well on its way to the main floor without interruption. He glares at you when you snicker at your phone. Are you talking about him? Are you making fun of him? 

He breathes out. Calm the fuck down. 

You have no idea who he is. 

And maybe it’s exactly why you are smiling like you are, stealing a few more glances. You’re not flirting, but he can feel it off you - if the context was different, you might have been. He’s trying very hard not to think about the fact that you smell really good. That your eyeliner is perfectly curved at the corner of your eyes, that he has a soft spot for knee-high boots. 

So as to set his mind right, Changbin recalls to his mind the email you sent him today, and all the ones before. All the arrogance and rudeness, all the times he wanted to punch a wall or yell at you. That makes it easier, just a little bit. 

The elevator finally pings at the main floor and he briskly gestures for you to get out first. You give him a cute smile.

“Thanks,” you say, your voice dripping like honey. “Have a good evening.” 

Changbin clenches his jaw and does not answer. You don’t seem bothered though, as you walk away with a spring in your step. Fortunately, you head towards the street, not the subway, and he lets out a sigh of relief. Truly, small blessings. 

You stare at your closet and let out a long sigh. It’s not that you don’t have anything to wear, of course, but there’s just nothing you want to wear. You don’t care about impressing or seducing anyone, you just want to dress up for yourself, to feel good even just for a little while. 

You hesitate but eventually settle on a simple black cocktail dress you adore because it’s extremely comfortable and has pockets. You slip it on, wearing only your golden hoops as your jewelry, and let your hair down. It would do just fine. 

Gahyeon is waiting for you outside your building, which is only a few minutes walk away from the office. She looks insanely good in a red dress and matching lipstick, and you shower her in compliments. You make it to the building quickly, showing your identification to the security guard. The lobby is already quite busy with people from all departments, who are sipping champagne and catching up.

You and Gahyeon get a drink from the open bar, looking for Mr Finance Department in the crowd. Luckily, your friend has a radar for him and she spots him by the windows standing with his colleagues. He has gotten a haircut, and the short hair gives him an edgier look that really suits him. 

“All right,” you say, holding your friend’s shoulders. “You remember the plan?” 

Gahyeon nods. “Walk up to him, say hello, be myself.” 

“And, what else?” 

“Be direct.” 

You hold up a palm so Gahyeon can high five you, and she sets off towards her crush, nervously playing with the strip of her handbag. You look at her go, trying not to squeal as you watch the guy turn to her and give her a sincere smile. From what you can see, although you can’t hear, they seem to be hitting it off. You feel a rush of pride, like your evening’s work has already been done. Now you can just let Gahyeon enjoy herself, have a few drinks, and go home in peace. 

You head towards a quieter spot, considering going out to the terrace to enjoy the evening breeze when a familiar face stops you in your tracks.

“Oh, Y/N, long time no see.” 

It’s your boss - not the boss boss, but high enough on the company hierarchy so that he is not the kind of person you can’t ignore. You give him a polite smile although you’re not really in the mood for small talk. 

“How are you, sir? It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise, likewise. Now I wanted to mention to you the…” 

He starts talking to you about a recent project that he wants to expand, and you nod at him, listening more or less intently - and that’s when you notice the guy standing next to him. 

His black hair is slightly combed back, small strands falling back on his forehead. He’s dressed all in black, his shirt without a tie, and there’s an elegant, discreet watch on his wrist. He just emanates charisma. 

Sexy Elevator Guy. 

That’s the unoriginal nickname Minho gave him in your group chat when you told your friends about your encounter with a mysterious, brooding stranger in the elevator. 

All week you hoped to see him again, although you never really counted on it. You didn’t even know if he worked at the company - maybe he was just a visitor. But from his attire and the fact that he is standing next to your boss, you can guess he’s your colleague.

How delightful. 

Your boss seems to notice he hasn’t introduced you, and so he points at the guy, who has been staring at you since you appeared. 

“Oh, but you two must know each other, right?” your boss says. “Don’t you work together?” 

You frown. “Hm, I’m not sure..”

“Sure, we do,” the guy answers. 

You look at him in surprise and confusion. This smile - it really does look like he knows you. Is it because of the elevator? You don’t understand. 

“How delightful to finally meet you, Y/LN,” he continues, and your blood gets boiling hot. “Seo Changbin, from Marketing.” 

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, no.

Your heart drops at the bottom of your chest as you stare at him. Does he know who you are? He has to, smiling proudly as he is. You’re too shocked to feel angry, but you know it’s coming. 

“I -” you stutter. “I’m not -”

“Can you believe this, sir?” he laughs. “We’ve been exchanging emails for months but we’ve never met.” 

“Yes,” your boss nods, “well, that’s what happens with such big companies.” 

The two of them keep talking but you completely lose track, your eyes fixated on him. Seo Changbin. He is your nemesis? He is looking forward to your collaboration guy? You can’t believe it.

Yet you have to face it.

That’s him. Seo Changbin.

The guy you’ve been hating and insulting and plotting to murder.

He’s standing in front of you - and he is also Sexy Elevator Guy. 

No fucking way. 

“Excuse me,” you mutter and walk away without another look. 

You don’t care that you’ll come off as rude - you need some air. A lot of it, actually. You head directly to the terrace, stare up at the dark sky and inhale deeply. You feel dizzy, the wine coming up your throat. 

You can’t believe what just happened. It’s one thing to discover his identity - but you can’t get over the fact that he clearly knew who you were. He is playing with you. He’s had the upper hand this entire time. Of course he does, you realize. His picture isn’t on his profile, but yours is. How dumb you are.

Your eyes fixated on the horizon, you let out a bitter laugh. What a fucking dick. What an enormous piece of shit. You clench your fists, ready to go back in and punch him in the balls for humiliating you like that. Your physical idea of him might’ve been completely wrong, but it clearly wasn’t in terms of personality. 

“Here.” 

At the sound of his voice, you spin on your heels, ready to spit venom - but he’s no longer smiling. His eyes are dark, his face serious, and he’s handing you a glass of white wine. 

“Noticed that’s what you were drinking earlier,” he explains. 

You squint your eyes at him. 

“Get the fuck away from me,” you hiss. 

He sighs, looking at you as if he is disappointed. 

“C’mon, now. Now that the cat’s out of the bag, maybe we can be professional adults about this?”

“Excuse me?!” 

“I’m talking about the attitude,” he says, raising an eyebrow nonchalantly. “We don’t like each other, and that’s fine. I don’t care, I don’t need to like you. But I’m tired of working with you feeling like a fight.” 

It’s like you sober up all at once, fixating on him a dark glare. 

“I don’t think I’m the problem here,” you spit out. “You came in and started criticizing my work like I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve been working here longer than you.” 

“I’m still your superior,” he replies, taking a step towards you. “Whatever I say goes.” 

“You don’t have to be a dick about it.” 

“I’ve always been polite.”

“Polite, my ass. You’ve been looking down at me ever since your first email. I’m not stupid, don’t talk to me as if I am.” 

“If only you did what is expected -” 

You bark out a laugh, shaking your head. He stops.

“You did not just say that.” 

He squints his eyes and exhales deeply. “All I mean is, it doesn’t have to be that difficult. Just make the damn changes.”

“I do,” you hiss. “But you could ask for them a little bit more nicely.” 

“What, do you want every single email to come with a bouquet of flowers and a serenade? I have better things to do.” 

“You’re such a patronizing asshole.”

“And all you do is insult me. Why can’t you act like an adult for once?” 

“You know nothing about me.”

“I know enough.”

You take a deep breath. It feels like arguing with a wall - clearly, there is nothing to be done, and really, nothing to say. You just don’t get along, and that will be the end of it. You suddenly feel tired. You take the glass of wine from his hand. 

“Here’s one more insult for the road: fuck you.” 

You just want to go back inside, finish your drink and get home, but Changbin grabs your upper arm as you’re starting to walk away. He doesn’t do it gently, but it’s not rough either - you look up at him with spite. 

Or you try. 

Because Changbin is so very terribly your type, smells wonderful, and has the kind of voice to get anyone weak in the knees. 

Focus, woman.

“What?” you hiss.

“This conversation is not over.” 

“Oh, I think it is,” you laugh with scorn. 

“It isn’t,” he retorts, his eyes focused on you. 

He’s standing a little too close for your liking - you can’t help but glance at his lips. Plump. Inviting. 

“We have to figure out a way to work together. It’s not like we have a choice.” 

You lift your chin slightly. “If you don’t let me go this second, I’ll scream and tell everyone you’re a pervert.” 

He bites his lip, clearly holding back an insult, and you wish he would just say it. He doesn’t, though, and simply lets you go. You shake your hair out of your face. 

“I’m sick of the games,” he chews. “Tell me what you want.” 

You smile at him. “The games.”

He sighs and you chuckle. 

“Don’t think for a second you’ll get away with this trick you just pulled. If you thought I was difficult before, you have no idea what’s coming for you now, Mr. Seo.” 

He looks exhausted and slightly worried, but angry most of all. That delights you, and you finally walk away from him, finishing your glass of wine in one sip.

He can’t let you walk away like this. 

This is all Changbin can think of as he watches you cross the terrace to go back inside. If it ends like this, then it will all be for the worst. You might follow up on your promise to make his life a living hell, or even worse, things might get awkward and even more tense. No, definitely, you and him need to continue this conversation and find some kind of agreement. 

He licks his lips, turning away from the building in annoyance. He never signed up for this when he decided to leave his previous workplace for this one - yes, the salary was better, and so were the benefits, but it was never about that. It was about challenging himself, about growing and learning in his workplace environment, about finding his place. You couldn’t get in the way of that. Nobody could. 

Changbin glances inside to make sure you haven’t left the building - he catches a glimpse of you near the bar, sulking. Good, he thinks, as he finishes his own glass. Let the both of you be miserable and angry, at least. 

The world feels so quiet out on the terrace, but when he steps back inside, his ears are filled once more with the sounds of music and conversation. Since there are a lot of people around, maybe it won’t be as easy for you to start spitting venom at him - but he doesn’t really count on that. He takes a deep breath, tries to settle his anger. Just a conversation. Calm, polite, reasonable. You can do that. 

However, as you lock eyes with him across the room, Changbin knows it won’t be that easy. Your eyes are full of fire, your mouth pinched in spite. It could be unattractive if only that black dress did not perfectly hug your curves and set his mind wandering against his will. 

“For fuck’s sake, can’t you leave me alone?” you whine. 

It would be so easy to fall back into the same energy as you, but Changbin holds on. He breathes in, leaning against the wall next to you. He’s not a difficult person. He doesn’t usually get into conflicts with people. Why he does with you is beyond him. 

“Look,” he says. “I just want to be able to work in peace.” 

“So do I,” you sigh. “But you never let that happen.” 

“How about this,” he snaps, turning to face you. “I hold back on the passive aggressive, but so do you.” 

To his despair, you only give him a smug smile.

“So you admit to the passive aggressiveness.”

“Is this what you pick up on?” 

“Didn’t you hear me earlier?” you say, frowning. “You humiliated me. Made damn sure I’d feel like a fool not knowing your face. I’m not going to let you walk away from that.”

“What the hell do you want from me?” 

You scoff. “You think I’m going to tell you now? No way. I want you to live in fear.” 

It’s entirely against his will, but Changbin laughs. He quickly frowns afterwards, sliding a hand across his face. The look of surprise on your face quickly fades away, though, to a certain revolt. 

“Are you laughing at me?” you ask. 

“No,” he sighs, making sure his face no longer holds any kind of laughter. “You’re just getting on my last nerve.” 

“Well you’ve been on mine for a certain time.” 

“It’s useless to talk to you, isn’t it?” 

“If you wanted to talk, why didn’t you just come and see me? Why did you have to do all that shit with the picture and the boss? Why did you have to mock me like you did?” 

You are so full of fire, Changbin can’t believe his eyes and ears. You’re like a flame he can’t look away from - a flame he desperately wants to extinguish for his own preservation, and yet one he desperately wants to graze with his fingers, even knowing he’ll get burned. 

Your conversation is going nowhere, Changbin is aware of it. Things have gone completely out of hand, so much it all feels like a fever dream. So confused between his different feelings for you, Changbin breathes out, pulling on his suit to replace it on his shoulders. 

“I need another drink,” he mumbles. 

Without him expecting it, tables turn - this time, it’s you grabbing his arm as he is turning away. He looks up at you in surprise.

“I have an idea,” you say.

It might be the booze, or it might just be the adrenaline, but you find yourself dragging Seo Changbin by the wrist across the lobby, all the way to the elevators. To your surprise, he doesn’t even try to shrug you off, and you don’t let him go. 

You both get in the elevator and you push the button for the 12th floor. Changbin waits until the doors have closed and you stand in silence to ask. 

“Where are we going?” 

“Where do you think?” you sigh. “Your office.” 

He turns towards you, eyes dark.

“Why?” 

You do the same, turning to face him. Your index pushes against his chest.

“You’re going to do something for me,” you state. “Even if I have to endure your shit, I’ll make sure nobody else does.” 

“I’m not going to - It’s not even - and how are you going to do that?” 

“Simple,” you grin. “Upload a picture.”

The doors of the elevator open on this perfect timing, and you wave your hand.

“After you.” 

He lets out a long sigh but he still leads you to his office. You’ve never been in this area of the building, but now is not the time for sightseeing. Besides, most floors look the same. 

Changbin opens the door to his office, and you follow him inside. It’s not a very big room, but it’s still wide enough for a large desk and bookshelves. There are two large windows, and the walls facing the rest of the floor are made of glass. Not much for privacy, you think. But then again, your own desk stands in the middle of a wide room, which you share with ten other people. 

You nod towards his chair. “Sit.” 

He rolls his eyes, but he does. You stand next to him, arms crossed, thinking about the fact that this was probably the spot from where he sent most of his day-ruining emails to you. You bite your tongue a little. 

“C’mon. Open the computer and upload the damn picture.” 

“I don’t have one.” 

“One what?” 

“A picture,” he explains. “An official one, I mean.” 

You groan. “I don’t give a shit. Find another one, it’ll have to do.” 

“I was told it had to be -”

“Hey,” you snap. “You’re in no position to argue.” 

He scoffs but he doesn’t answer, although he clearly disagrees. You don’t care you’re being petty, and that he’s being the bigger person - you’ve never had much of a reasonable nature. As Changbin searches through his computer, you walk around the office, staring at the window, staring at him, and then at his screen. You catch a glimpse of a group picture, of him with friends, smiling widely at the camera. 

He shakes his head but reframes the picture and uploads it to his email profile. You squint your eyes. 

“There. You happy?” he lets out. 

“It’ll do for now,” you say. 

He closes the windows on his screen, standing up. His shoulders are wide, his arms too. You remember that gym bag he was carrying.  

“Let’s go, then,” he says.

You chuckle. “Oh, do you think this is over?” 

He blinks at you, chuckling in disbelief. “Isn’t it?”

“Not even close.”

“All right, this is enough,” he growls, taking a step towards you. “I’ve done what you wanted, can’t you move on now?” 

“No, I can’t,” you spit. “You’ve made my life difficult ever since you’ve started working here and -”

“What about my life?” Changbin hisses. “You think your fucking tone and attitude has made my days easier?” 

“At least I’m not a self-righteous asshole!” you cry out.

“God, you’re fucking detestable,” he says. 

He’s standing too close to you now. All you can see, all you can smell, is him, him, him. The tension is so tightly drawn between your two bodies you feel like it can only snap. You desperately hold on to your end, though, because you’re scared of what might happen if you do let go - but it’s out of your control. 

Changbin breathes in, and his eyes linger for a second too long on your lips - and that makes the tightrope snap. 

He doesn’t kiss you first, but neither do you - it just happens at the same time. Your lips crash halfway in a feverish dance, and you can’t understand what is happening to you. It feels like your entire body just caught on fire, like everything makes sense, like every step you’ve taken, every word you’ve uttered, has led you to this moment. 

Changbin’s hand slides behind your head, holding the back of your neck, and your arms circle his waist to sprawl on his back. He kisses you deeply, breathing you in, and you can only collapse in his arms. 

Your hands go against his chest, and then in his hair, as he keeps pushing your head against his lips, as if to deepen your kiss, more and more. Your back hits the desk behind you, but you barely notice. All you can feel are Changbin’s lips devouring yours, his arms holding you close. You open your mouth wider but he’s quicker, sliding his tongue inside before you can do the same. 

A moan escapes your throat, vibrating against his lips, and he draws you in even closer. It seems like forever before you lean back, breathless, just in order to catch your breath. Your lips feel swollen already, but you don’t want to stop kissing him. Still, the slight distance gives you enough perspective to realize what is happening. 

“What the fuck am I doing,” you whisper, shaking your head. 

A part of you wants to slip away, just so you have time to put some order in your thoughts, but as you are about to do so, Changbin’s fingers, which had been resting on your waist, grab your chin tightly. You whimper. 

“Is this a part of your little game?” he says in a low voice, breathing heavily.

“What?” 

“Tell me the truth,” he hisses. “Are you playing with me now?” 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

You angrily grab his wrist, trying to pull his hand away - but he is stronger than you. You struggle against him, gritting your teeth. 

“Answer me,” he insists. 

“Fuck you,” you spit out. 

He relaxes enough for you to push him away, squinting your eyes at him in anger. 

“Way to ruin the moment, asshole.” 

You do the only thing that makes sense for you in that instant - walk away. You’re ashamed and horribly angry at yourself for letting this happen. He’s attractive, yes, but he’s ruined so many of your days, made you feel miserable and worthless at your job. You have to hold on to your anger - and it has to be directed at him. 

Your heels make no sound against the carpet and it’s infuriating. You don’t hear anyone behind you either, so you guess Changbin has decided not to follow you. It’s probably a good thing, although now you feel entirely at a loss as to how your workdays will go. Should you be quiet? You scoff. No - if anyone should, it’s him. 

Your hand smashes the button for the elevator. It takes too long to arrive, but it does. You enter the elevator, push the button for the lobby and cross your arms. 

Fuck, if only he wasn’t such a good kisser. 

The doors are nearly closed when he comes in. He slides between them, stands in front of you. He’s not that much taller than you but someone in his demeanor makes you feel like he’s towering over you by several inches. 

“Just leave me alone, will you?” you hiss. 

He scoffs, shaking his head. There’s a wildness in his eyes, and you can’t look away from him. 

“Can you really blame me for asking?” 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” 

“About playing games,” he says, articulating each syllable. Each sounds angrier than the last. “You told me you’d make me regret what I did.”

You pout. “Aw, are you really that scared? It’s not my fault you made it your job to piss me off.” 

“Look who’s talking.” 

You stare at each other for a second. It’s like the tension has magically reappeared, unresolved. It’s clear you both want the same thing, but can’t bring yourselves to say or show it. You’re so angry at him. 

He takes another step towards you. Your faces are inches from each other - just a nod and his lips would be on yours again. 

“Fine. I’m sorry about the picture thing,” he says, his voice low and deep. 

“Just that?” you ask, arching an eyebrow. 

His smirk only curves half of his mouth, and it’s humorless. “Don’t push it.” 

You are the one to tilt your head forward, just slightly. 

“This does not mean I’m not angry at you,” you breathe in his mouth. 

“And we still need to talk about this,” he adds. 

“Later,” you nod. 

He turns to slam the button to stop the elevator, and as his body comes back to face yours, you pull him in your arms and kiss him. 

It’s even more desperate and angry than before, maybe because neither of you are held back by the surprise and doubt. It’s unsaid, but you hear it from his lips, it doesn’t mean anything. You’ve just both been tense and you need an outlet - what better than each other? 

Changbin pushes you against the wall of the elevator, his hands discovering your body. His warmth and his weight are completely enveloping you, and you push his jacket away. He shrugs it off, and the fabric of his shirt is soft against your skin. 

Changbin kisses you deep, like he’s been waiting to do it, like you’re not on top of each other inside a dark elevator outside of work hours, his tongue tasting of lemon and gin. 

One of his hands traces your hips and slides on your ass, squeezing softly. In a swift move, he lifts one of your legs and wraps it around his. It elicits a moan from you, your nails scratch the back of his neck. He growls in your mouth, biting your lower lip in answer. 

With his body pushed against yours, you can feel his hard cock, and he shifts you so it rubs directly against your wetness. You roll your hips, breathing heavily against his mouth. 

“You like that, huh?” he tells you. “Rubbing yourself against me.” 

“Easy, you’re so fucking hard already,” you retort. 

“Like you aren’t all wet for my dick,” he sighs, kissing your neck. 

You feel yourself clench at his words. When you don’t answer, only grab him tighter, Changbin chuckles.

“You are, aren’t you?” he whispers, his hands moving up your dress, lifting it slowly, warming your thighs. 

“Shut the fuck up.” 

He shakes his head, biting your earlobe hard. You let out a small whimper. 

“I’m gonna fuck that tight little pussy of yours so good you won’t be able to come into work tomorrow.” 

“You wish,” you answer, starting to unbutton his pants. “I’m not gonna let you go a day without getting an email from me. I’m going to fucking torture you.” 

As you mutter the words, you take his cock out of his pants and start to rub your hand around it. Changbin hisses, slightly bucking his hips. 

“You need a fucking lesson,” he sneers, pushing your underwear to the side to touch you. “I’m going to shut you up.” 

He is right - you’re soaked, but it seems to please him. He takes a few seconds to caress you, spreading your wetness, and inserting a finger inside of you. You let out a choked moan, wrapping your arms around his neck for a better hold. 

“That’s right,” he mutters. “That’s what I like to hear.”

He inserts another finger, stretching your walls, and moving his wrist in sharp motions. You breathe out erratically, grabbing onto his suit, his fingers curled inside your cunt. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight. Making me lose my goddamn mind.” 

You don’t want him to stop what he is doing, but you are craving the feel of his cock inside of you, so you tug at his hardness, kissing his jaw. 

“Fuck me already.” 

He doesn’t need you to ask twice, guiding himself against your entrance and penetrating you. You let out a choked moan, grabbing onto the wall of the elevator. He gives you time to adjust to his size, but he’s not being particularly careful either. 

“Holy shit,” you mutter in his ear despite yourself.  

“Fuck, I can feel my cock stretching you,” he grunts.

He thrusts his hips faster and faster, and in a matter of seconds he’s pounding into you. The elevator is silent except for the sounds of your heavy breathing and moans, and the lewd sounds of him fucking you, skin slapping against skin. 

Your nails dig inside the back of his neck again, and he grips your waist so tight you’re sure it will leave a mark. 

“Changbin, don’t stop,” you cry out. 

“So impatient,” he sneers, but he still doesn’t stop, like he can’t, like he’s a man possessed. 

He even accelerates, and you feel yourself coming. Your orgasm ripples through you like lightning. Your body shakes, your thoughts evaporate. Changbin fucks you deep, his breathing heavy in your hair. 

“I can’t -” he hisses. “I’m not -”

“Come inside me,” you surprise yourself whispering. 

You can feel his cock twitch at your words, and he comes inside you, hips bucking sharply, grunts escaping his throat like it’s hurting it. 

You stay like that for a few minutes, panting, recovering your breath. After a few seconds he takes a step back, breathing out. You got back on both feet, feeling dizzy and already sore. You both look like a mess, hair tangled, lips raw from kissing. 

You lean back against the wall, breathing slowly. He does the same on the wall next to you. You’re silent for a few seconds. 

“I have to go to the bathroom,” you say softly. 

Changbin nods. 

“Let’s go back up. There won’t be anyone there.” 

His voice is softer than you’ve ever heard - almost tender. You look at him, giving him a small nod, and he pushes the elevator button so it heads back upstairs. 

He lets you go to the bathroom alone, where you clean up, but he’s waiting for you outside. 

“All good?” he asks with a frown. 

“Yes.” 

You look down at the floor as he does, and then back at him - meeting his eyes in the process. The silence is awkward, but just like that, you find yourself smiling. Him, too. 

And then you start laughing. 

It’s not hysterical laughter, just chuckling. He looks almost shy, and you can’t stop giggling. You might even be blushing. 

“I don’t know about you,” he says, scrunching his nose. “But I feel a lot better.”

You smirk. “Took the words right out of my mouth.” 

He stretches a hand towards you. “Wanna go back to the party?” 

You nod. “Hell yes. I need a drink.” 

“So do I.” 

You head back to the elevator, and you let it head downstairs this time. Smirking to yourselves, you feel like the whole thing is unreal. 

But you do feel better. You don’t force your smile - it stretches on your face, plastered, almost annoyingly so. And Changbin. Fuck. You think he’s cute, with his cheeks still red and his neck a mess from the work of your nails. 

“By the way,” you say. “You look fucking hot in that suit.” 

“Right back at you. When I saw that little black dress I almost bit my fist off.” 

You grin. Changbin turns to you, placing a strand of your hair behind your ear. 

“Something’s not right, though,” he says. 

You frown as he leans towards you, whispering in your ear.

“I didn’t get to do half of the things I want to do to you. So once we’ve had a couple of drinks, I’m taking you to my place, and I’m giving you another lesson. And this one will last.”

You bite your lip as the elevator doors open on the main hall, which is still filled with your chatting coworkers. Nothing has changed - the world has kept on spinning. Changbin gives you a smile, and extends his arm. 

“Shall we?”

Changbin does not bring you to his place. 

You bring him to yours. 

Both of you started to get impatient after just one drink, eyefucking each other over your glasses although you had both just came hard in the elevator. It was like something finally snapped inside him, and he could let his thoughts roam free, unashamed, unbound. 

The way your dress hugged your cleavage. The way your lips curled around the rim of your glass, begging to be kissed, begging to be fucked. All the things he wanted to do to you, that he had never let himself really think about, just proliferated in his mind. He could not stop thinking about how you moaned his name, how hot and humid you felt around him, how he wanted to slide his tongue on every inch of your skin. It made it difficult to focus on small talk with your colleagues. He kept feeling himself getting hard and he knew his pants were too tight for him to be able to hide it. 

So he waited until you finished your drink and stole you away. Your place was just a short walk from the building. You made it there quickly, miraculously able to hold off making out and grinding against each other. 

Now the front door is locked and you are alone. 

Changbin stares at you in the darkness of the hallway. You look so fucking beautiful with your hair still a little dischelved from earlier, your lipstick tinting your lips a shade darker, your heels giving your legs the shape of heaven. 

You take a step towards him and grab his hand, leading him to your bedroom. It’s small and cozy, most of the space occupied by a large bed - how perfect. It is unmade, the sheets tangled, a smell of lavender lingering in the air. 

You aim for a kiss but Changbin shakes his head. 

“Open a light,” he says. “I want to see you.” 

You nod and turn on the lamp on your bedside table. It infuses the room in a soft yellow glow, and Changbin licks his lips. Perfect. 

In a blur you find each other again, kissing passionately, feverishly. Changbin slides his tongue inside your mouth, toying with yours, drawing soft sighs from you. It’s a delightful sound he already likes too much. Eagerly, you remove his jacket, your hands palming his chest over the material of his shirt, and Changbin unbuttons it impatiently. 

“Fuck, you look so fucking good,” you chuckle at the sight of his naked chest, immediately tracing the defined muscles with your finger tips. 

His cock is already hard as a rock, pushing against his pants, but he barely thinks about it - he only sees you. 

He takes a deep breath, because he wants to pace himself, because he wants to take his time with you this time. You made him impatient before, you clenched around his cock too tight, you sounded too good - but he won’t let it happen again. So he tilts your head to the left so he can kiss your neck, slowly unzipping your dress. His fingers brush the skin of your back at the same time, and he feels you shiver against him. 

The dress falls on the ground, and Changbin takes a step back to admire your lingerie, simple black lace that makes the blood rush to his cock so hard he has no choice but to palm it, just to relieve it a little. 

“You like?” you say cheekily.

“I’m trying to decide if I want to keep it on you or rip it off,” he answers, shaking his head. 

You chuckle. “Want me to decide for you?” 

Darkness flashes in Changbin’s eyes, and he closes the distance between you again, staring down at you. 

“Listen, pet,” he growls. “Don’t think you have any control here. I make the decisions and you listen. If you don’t there will be consequences.” 

The smile doesn’t disappear from your face, and Changbin can see that you like it when he speaks to you this way. 

“A dom, huh?” you breathe. “How predictable.” 

“Just as predictable that a brat like you is a sub.” 

You pout. “Just for you tonight, sir.”

You slide a hand in his air and lean against his ear to whisper.

“One day you’ll find yourself handcuffed to the head of this bed and begging me to let you come. But let’s stick to tonight’s narrative.” 

Changbin can’t help but chuckle at your words, feeling something swell in his chest. He likes you a little too much, and it makes no sense. Hours ago the only emotion you created in him was anger. But then again he hadn’t really met you. 

“That’s right, pet,” he nods, taking a fistful of your hair. “Now you lay down on the bed like a good girl before I make you, huh?” 

You nod, and Changbin follows you to the bed, when you lay down. He removes the rest of his clothes, letting his cock spring free, and catches you staring at it, licking your lips. He chuckles. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll get your taste. But I’m having mine first.” 

He pulls your legs so you are laying on the edge of the bed, spreading your legs so can stand between them. He bends forward to kiss you, stroking your hair, and carefully removes your bra. You sigh as he circles his thumb over your sensitive nipples, massaging the other breast in his hand. Slowly, Changbin makes his way down your neck, his tongue drinking in your skin. He leaves a few kisses on your breasts, then on your stomach, and then hovers over your panties. 

“Changbin…” you sigh.

“Still all wet and full of me, are you, pet? Is this sensitive?” 

He pushes his index on the lace material, sending a shiver through your body.

“Y-yes. Fuck, Changbin, stop teasing me.” 

“I don’t think so.” 

He kisses you above the fabric, sliding his tongue over it. Even that way he can taste you, your wetness drenching your panties, and Changbin can feel his cock twitch. Fuck, he cannot wait to be inside of you again - but he has to be patient. 

“So good to me, pet. So good. Let’s remove that.” 

He takes off your panties and pushes your legs apart, taking in the sight of your soaked cunt, all throbbing and waiting for him. He hums appreciatively, unable to stop himself from stroking his cock at the same time. 

“You’re so fucking gorgeous. Now you don’t come without me telling you so, right, pet? You understand the rules?” 

“Yes, sir,” you breathe out.

From your voice and the way you are already heavily breathing, he can sense you are desperate for contact. Changbin finds himself unable to really torture you much longer, and sinks his lips into your cunt. 

You immediately let out a whimper, arching your back against his mouth. Changbin holds your legs apart, swirling his tongue around your clit, slurping you in. Your taste instantly gets him drunk, the feel of your juices coating his chin making him want to possess you right this second. But it feels too good to feel you writhing against his caresses, moaning his name. You grab his hair, pulling it, and it hurts a little but it’s the best kind of pain. 

“Look at that mess, pet,” he smiles against your pussy. “Has anyone ever eaten you out properly before?” 

“Fuck,” you breathe, and he stares at the way your chest moves, your nipples hard. It’s such a beautiful sight he gives your clit a few licks to reward you. “Nothing like you, Changbin. You’re - fuck - you’re making out with my pussy so well…” 

“Good, pet,” he chuckles. “Keep it up with the praise and I’ll let you come.” 

“Changbin, please…” 

He slides his tongue inside of you, teasing your entrance, and he can feel you clenching even this way - you must be close to coming, but you’re holding on, and he’s proud of you. He could edge you like this all night, if only his cock wasn’t starting to hurt him, aching for you. 

“Fuck, your tongue, Changbin - keep licking me like that, please, don’t stop…” 

“You want to come, pet?” 

“Yes, please, c-can I?” 

As he inserts two fingers inside of you and starts pumping them, his tongue pressed against your clit, you cry out in pleasure, pulling his hair. 

“Changbin, fuck, I can’t - I can’t -” 

“Come, pet, come all over my mouth.” 

And just like that you do, your hips bucking under his touch, your pussy throbbing in his mouth. He can feel your walls tighten, your legs trembling, and he doesn’t stop his caresses throughout your orgasm, so you can ride it as long as you can. 

Once you breathe out, your body sinking into the mattress, Changbin steps back, placing a kiss on the inside of your thigh. He wipes your juices off his chin and stands up to push your hair away from your face. You already look fucked out, your skin covered in a thin layer of sweat, your eyes glassy. 

“Holy fuck, that was amazing,” you say softly. 

“It’s not over, pet,” he replies, kissing your pretty lips. 

“Can I suck your cock, now?” 

“You’re asking so nicely, pet. How can I say no?” 

You grin, looking down at his erect cock. Changbin takes a deep breath, letting you smear the pre-cum on the tip and giving it a few tentative strokes. 

“I like your cock a lot, y’know?” you tell him. “So pretty and thick.” 

Changbin slides a hand through his hair, easing his breathing, as you take him in your mouth. You suck him well, bobbing your head up and down, taking the time to wrap your tongue around him. Your hand accompanies your movements, stroking his base, and Changbin groans at the sensation. He would close his eyes and bask in the pleasure you’re giving him if only it wasn’t so intoxicating to keep looking at you. Such a beautiful sight, seeing you suck him off like that after having eaten your sweet cunt. 

“Am I doing good, sir?” you ask, slapping his cock on your tongue. 

Changbin grins. “Doing fantastic, pet. I knew you would look good wrapped around my cock, but it’s even better.” 

“Did you think about it a lot?” you ask. 

He frowns. 

“You saw my picture,” you say, arching an eyebrow. “Did you imagine me with my cock in your mouth before, or did you just hate my guts?” 

Changbin laughs, holding your hair. “I think I spent most of my energy hating you so I wouldn’t think about you sucking me off.” 

“Hm,” you say with a satisfied smirk. “If I’d known what you looked like I would’ve come to give you a blowjob under your desk way before.” 

“Never too late,” he grins. “If you do that for me I might bend you over my desk afterwards.” 

You giggle, and Changbin feels that warmth in his chest again. He’s starting to like you a little too much, and it has nothing to do with the fact that his balls deep inside your mouth right now. You’re funny. Witty. Pretty. Even worse, you’re fun. 

“For now let’s focus, pet, yeah?” he says. “This is good, but I want more from that pretty mouth.” 

He guides you back, gesturing you to lay down on the bed upside down. Your head placed on the edge of it, he towers over you.

“You tell me if this is too much,” he whispers to you, and you nod - but you just open your mouth wide for him. 

He guides his cock back in your mouth, able to move as much as he wants. You gag a little as he goes deep in your throat, but you’re taking him well - and so, Changbin accelerates. He fucks your mouth, perhaps a little too roughly, but it feels so fucking good he can’t stop. 

“Fuck, look at how you swallow my cock, pet,” he says, breathing hard. 

“It’s because you fuck my mouth so good, sir,” you answer. 

He grins, bucking his hips, staring at your gorgeous body as he does. You’re touching yourself at the same time, your fingers pressed against your clit. Your eyes are watering, the saliva around your lips making his thrusts easier, and he’s dangerously close to exploding in your mouth. 

“Such a good little pet,” he groans. “Do you remember when I filled that cunt of yours, earlier?” 

You nod around his cock.

“This time I’ll make you choke on my cum,” he smiles.

You moan, the vibration sending him on the edge, and Changbin has to pull out from your mouth. 

“Don’t move,” he grunts. “I need to fuck you.” 

He climbs on top of you on the bed, making sure your head is against the mattress, and pushes into you without hesitation. It’s like it brings him clarity again, as much as the feel of you around his cock is making him more insane. 

“God, this fucking cunt. I’m never getting tired of it,” he chuckles. 

“Yes, fuck me deep,” you moan. “Make me feel that beautiful cock of yours.” 

He thrusts his hips inside of you, stretching you deeper and deeper. You pant against him, your nails digging into the skin of his back, but Changbin doesn’t care. He pounds into you, feeling sweaty and drunk on the scent and taste of you. 

“C-Changbin, fuck, yes…” 

“Where’s that praise, pet? I need to hear it,” he grunts. 

“I - I’m trying…” 

“Am I fucking you dumb, or what? Keep talking.” 

But he’s fucking so fast and sharp, and it’s difficult for you to find the words. Changbin can only stare at your face, your closed eyes, your parted mouth. Your lips are a little bruised, your hair a mess, your makeup smudged. You look like a dream. 

“F-fucking me so good,” you breathe. “I love your cock inside of me. Please, k-keep fucking me…” 

You’re clenching around him tightly, so close to your orgasm, and so is Changbin - he’s breathing fast, trying to hold off, but it’s getting more and more difficult. Once he’s inside of you he can’t think straight, and he’s getting impatient. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” he slips out, your name feeling smooth on his lips. “I’m going to come. Let’s do it together, yeah?” 

“Y-yes, please…” 

How he wanted to come in your mouth - but his cock does not want to listen, and he explores inside of you instead for the second time tonight. You come as well, shaking around him as he fills you up, moaning his name loudly, the sound echoing in the room. 

Changbin wipes his forehead, staying inside of you for another second. He tries to catch his breath, and opens his eyes to look at you. You are already staring at him, smiling softly. 

“I thought you wanted to come in my mouth?” you tease him. 

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You really get on my last nerve, you know that?” 

You both laugh.

It’s yet another day at work. 

You twirl on your deskchair, typing your translation on a fair rhythm. You’re not particularly fast today, but you’re not slow, either. 

It’s just that your thoughts are a little elsewhere. 

You take a break to take a sip of coffee, and an email notification appears on your screen. 

Seo Changbin. 

You push your tongue against your cheek, smirking devilishly to yourself. You sent him a particularly fiery email a few minutes ago, and you can’t wait to see his answer. You click a little too fast on your inbox. 

Dear Y/LN, 

Your email has come to my attention but I am in a meeting and unfortunately cannot attend to your request. Please rest assured it will be my top priority once I get back to my office. I will make sure to personally attend to these matters. 

Ever yours,

Seo Changbin 

You bite your lip, trying to be discreet as you chuckle. You scroll down to see the email you’d sent him. Just a few meaningless words about asking for clarification about the dress code, and a picture attached. A picture you’ve taken from under your desk, displaying your blatant lack of underwear. 

You’re still playing a dangerous game - it’s just of another kind.

You send him a quick reply, your eyes shining. 

Looking forward to your collaboration.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. If you had fun, please consider leaving a comment below or reblogging the one shot. Don't hesitate to use the tags. Big hugs and see you next time! ♡

• permanent taglist: @ughbehavior ; @upallnight-s ; @changbinluvr ; @rosexjimin ; @nasiaisan ; @lotus-dly ; @cb97percent ; @j-0ne25 ; @hwan-g ; @jhopesucker ; @leedunno ; @septicrebel ; @imtoooyoungforthisshit ; @sikebishes ; @sai-kida134 ; @sstarryoong ; @alexis-reads-fics ; @luvsskz ; @beautifulcolorgarden

[ashley-foster-13]

Newt x Y/n Imagine

"Hold on, love," Newt cooed, bringing her closer. He was rubbing her shoulder soothingly - too bad it didn't help the pain. "Stay with me."

Y/n trembled in the boy's arms, occasionally whimpering.

They were in the Scorch. A few months ago WICKED had stolen Y/n right from the Maze, when she wad running. They kept running tests on her, one after the other, and still couldn't understand what wad do special about her, her blood in particular.

She wasn't immune to the Flare, yet it didn't destroy her mind nor her body. The veins slowly but firmly transformed into thick dark lines, like spider webs on her skin. She never felt hungry, not for food anyway. Whenever bloodlust would take hold of her, she'd find the nearset concrete wall and hit it until her knuckles bled. That way she was too exhausted to try and rip someone's throat out.

The worst part were her eyes. Pitch black on the outside, they painted the world in black-and-whites for Y/n. There were shadows. High pitched noises coming from nowhere in particular.

Y/n shrieked, causing Thomas and Minho besides her to jump. Newt didn't. He got used to it.

"Hold on, alright? You're gonna be okay," his British accent always calmed her down.

She hated when someone sugarcoated the truth, thought.

"Am I?" she chuckled. So much bitterness for such a short phrase in her voice.

Boys had managed to find and rescue her from WICKED's grip. They had been hoping she'd get better, or at least she'd know what to do.

She didn't, and, as days passed by, her state worsened rapidly.

"I mean, thanks for saving me and all, but you're wasting your time," she croaked through gritten teeth. "If you're smart enough, you'll continue tomorrow without me."

Everyone knew the illness still messed with her, whether she had some sort of immuntiy or not, so her sometimes not-so-gentle remarks didn't quite count as insults.

"Don't say that, Y/n," Thomas protested, "Whatever they've done to you, you're stronger."

Newt slightly nudged you, agreeing with him.

"Yeah, well, if you die here, I give you the permission to haunt every each of us in our sleep as a ghost," said Minho. "You'll sing us lullabies or whatever. But, please, no creepiness."

Y/n snorted, then coughed, almost spitting her insides out.

"First of all, when I die," she corrected, "And secondly, of course I'll do that. Of course I'll sing to you." She smiled at the last words, some cozy faraway memory trying to make its way to her mind but not succeeding. She closed her eyes.

Just for a second, she promised herself. Then, she'll continue suffering her way through the freaking Flare.

"Hey, love, wake up," Newt shook her. When she didn't, he raised his voice, "Wake up!"

Breathe in, breathe out.

"Newt?" she whispered, as if the conversation between them hadn't just happen mere seconds ago.

"You can't sleep, yeah? Stay here," he caressed her cheek with his thumb, noting how dry and cold her skin was.

He was scared.

"Stay here," she echoed, her mind slowly whirling, making lazy attempts to recall... recall what?

Call...She didn't call anyone? Did someone call her?

People called her by the name.

Don't call me, someone's voice murmured in the back of her head.

Call me all you want, but that doesn't change who I am, she once said to...

What did people call him? Ah, Ratman, right.

Left, right. Call. Call, collect, college. Budge, bridge, bomb. Call, cat, cold...

She was cold and going crazy and felt absolutely, utterly helpless.

She so hated WICKED for what they made her become.

She didn't notice how she gripped Newt's arms, how hard she squeezed, digging her nail into his pale skin, until she heard a hiss.

"Y/n?" Thomas creeped closer, in case anyone needed help.

She blinked a few times, returning her focus on the blond boy next to her. Shifting as far away as possible, she frantically spoke, "Sorry. I'm so sorry. Sorry, I didn't..."

"Hey, hey," Newt held up his hands in a calming gesture, "It's alright. C'mere," he wanted to embrace her again, but y/n crawled backwards.

She hurt Newt. She hurt Newt. She hurt...

Panic suddenly came in waves through her body, changing her voice. It didn't sound anyhow familiar to her, "Get away from me!" a desperate scream. She couldn't move much further due to the weakened limbs and horror that forced her to freeze. "I'll hurt you."

She didn't feel the tears running down her face. She felt barely anything these days. Well, apart from torturous pain.

"You won't hurt me," Newt reassured, hugging her still. She tried to break free, but miserably failed.

A few sobs escaped Y/n's lips as she buried her face in the crook of his neck.

"Hey," he started softly, brushing away strands of her hair, "I'm here for you. Cry as much as you need, scream, hit every moving thing, but I'm staying. And I'm not letting go until you're okay. And even after that, I'm not leaving," he added, bringing her closer to his chest.

"Even then?" barely a whisper, but audible enough for Newt to hear.

"Even then." He kissed her temple.

It made Y/n's heart warm. Of course, she knew they'd never leave her to die in a middle of a desert. But hearing that still was important.

She felt safe in Newt's arms.

And since they were doing a great deal of keeping her alive, she had to repay the debt somehow.

Not dying would probably count. And maybe a little revenge on WICKED.

Something minor. Like snapping a head or two of the shoulders of some soldiers. Or better, Janson's and Ava's.

Yes, she definitely had to do that.

So she vowed to heal, to heal as fast as possible and kick some scientist asses...

"I love you," she breathed, looking up at Newt.

"Love you, too." He pressed a kiss on her brow.

...and marry Newt someday.

[crowbasils]

What do you think about autistic Basil headcanon?

I made a post about this, I relate to him a lot and I see a lot of his behavioral patterns in me.

YES. i see it!! and i’ve been meaning to talk about the possibility of basil being autistic for quite a while, so, i’ll talk about it here. it’s harder to see it in comparison to sunny’s since he’s most likely masking (which sunny doesn’t really do), but it’s still there!!

(this tweet will kinda be a mess, since it’s not like an analysis analysis. if i’m wrong, please do correct me!)

according to the nhs (https://www.nhs.uk/conditions/autism/signs/children/) signs of autism in older children include:

- not seeming to understand what others are thinking or feeling

- unusual speech, such as repeating phrases and talking ‘at’ others

- liking a strict daily routine and getting very upset if it changes

- having a very keen interest in certain subjects or activities

- getting very upset if you ask them to do something

- finding it hard to make friends or preferring to be on their own

- taking things very literally – for example, they may not understand phrases like "break a leg"

- finding it hard to say how they feel

from what we know about him & from what the duet cutscene says, he was alone for most of his life before meeting the friend group. he also has a line (though said by headspace basil) about this! while that may not necessarily be a sign of autism, it’s what he says next that stands out to me.

“you’ve all taught me so much… how to care for others and how to care for myself too!”

that specific line stands out to me because of how it tells us that basil wasn’t always as caring and cheery as he was as a 12 year old. he learned from his friends—through experience with them, and through observation.

he’s also implied to have a hard time making friends. other than aubrey (who he likely met later in his life rather than in early childhood like sunny and kel), he had no friends before that. how awkward he is in the cutscene where aubrey introduces him to her new-found friend group also implies that he hasn’t had experience with friends. (he also looks like he’s somewhat ‘copying’ aubrey’s smile, just in a more awkward way)

basil most likely has difficulty when it comes to identifying feelings—specifically ones he hasn’t experienced himself. such as the fear of spiders. he doesn’t seem to get that others can fear spiders due to how he doesn’t fear spiders and sees them as a positive instead.

(icon can’t be seen due to my bad internet, but it’s headspace basil. a lot of the headspace basil lines in blackspace and omori route help when it comes to understanding his character better. stranger’s lines help as well :3)

(it should be noted, though, that otherwise, he’s good at reading sunny specifically. may not be a sign of it on itself, but taking into consideration that sunny is also likely autistic, it might be. both of them understand each other despite their childhood different experiences due to it.)

he’s also… pretty bad at articulating and identifying feelings.

“…but the words don’t come out.”

“i don’t know if i should apologize”

“but why does part of of me still cling on?”

the feeling of not knowing if you should apologize or not, the inability to form words and articulating yourself, the feeling of not knowing why you do something… that counts, right?

basil has a very keen interest in plants and flowers. he memorized the symbolism of the flowers that the he assigned to the friend group, and we see plants all over and even outside basil’s house.

he also insists on only taking photos of people when they’re not posing for him and genuinely expressing emotion (which does give the headcanon of him observing expressions and feelings through the photo album a little more merit :3)

from OMORI canon, we know how attached he is to the past and how he dislikes sudden changes. it’s why the photo album exists, it’s why he says “everything will be okay”, it’s why he did what he did. this is something that both sunny and basil have in common!

to me, basil is an autistic person who learned how to mask because he’s afraid to be seen as weird by his friends & others. his relationship with sunny is the only one where he’s able to drop that mask and be “free” in a sense. post-incident basil tries to mask too, but fails at it since he has… a lot more going on his mind.

[charrfie]

i need to so badly know your opinions/thoughts on wilfre and sock

Unsure if this is the same dtl anon as before, but either way HELLO AND THANK YOU FOR BEING CURIOUS!!!!! I would be more than happy to share! Because the phrasing of this ask was pretty vague, I winded up writing a multiple page essay in an attempt to cover everything wilfre/sock related. So it's all under a read more. That being said, if I've not covered something you were specifically curious about, let me know. I have a million more thoughts on the two (or the whole game!) I'd be happy to share. Here's an additional drawing I made to accompany everything :^]

For those unfamiliar with the drawn to life series, please be warned MAJOR SPOILERS BELOW!!!!

So, to get into it! I figured I would start with the very basics: wilfre, sock, and the rest of his forms. A lot of folks have different interpretations on the intricacies between wilfre and his disguises! I'm a believer in the fact that they *are* all the same person (in contrast to how some people believe them to be disguises created from stolen appearances/stolen bodies)... but different facets of this same person. Essentially, normal raposa wilfre was a wholly fleshed out being, and every other form he takes exaggerates various traits of his. Flanderization, I guess, but only to a certain degree. Shadow wilfre is an elevation of his more sadistic tendencies, sock is an elevation of his cowardice, and salem is an elevation of his mystery/flair for the dramatic. Granted this is a fairly barebones description of the way his forms worm since I do believe there to be more to these characters and their behaviors, but what I've said already gets my point across well enough for a generalized "what are your thoughts" type of question. Though I will say, sock's spotlight on cowardice is especially interesting to me considering- at least from what I've seen- wilfre's character being largely dictated by his own fear is not something focused on often by fans; it's much more common for you to see him just being cool and evil. We'll come back to this.

Another thing that comes from my belief of them all being the same person is that wilfre absolutely *did* design his separate forms with conscious intent (with an exception of shadow wilfre, which was likely only natural corruption of his form following his exposure to shadow). It speaks so heavily for who he is as a creative!! He likes being a little edgy and snobby- hence salem's design- and he also doesn't think too far ahead sometimes- hence sock's name, which absolutely had to be something he thought of on the spot! So many hints at who he is as an individual outside of "the antagonist" are hidden away in small details like that.

Now, with that out of the way, back to the topic of wilfre's fear!

In the first game, his sights are not set nearly as high as they are in the sequel. He chooses to spread shadow over the whole world as an effort to fix what the creator ruined; he WILL take matters into his own hands and bend the world how he pleases if it means a reality "done better." While there may have originally been truth in such a goal, his reasoning is slightly disingenuous considering it's more of a rebellion than an instance of wanting to actually better the world (due to his inability to ACTUALLY fix things how he wishes he could). Wilfre has a habit of convincing himself he's correct though, so it makes sense why it pans out this way. The writing of the first game makes it out to be a lot more malicious and pointlessly evil than dtl:tnc. Sort of always seemed flat and boring to me in how it's presented so I tend to have to embellish it a bit in my fanworks lol. It's also at this point that the fear which drives him isn't as obvious... while there are suggestions of it in dtl, it's ramped up a whole new degree in dtl:tnc. For now, most of what the player sees sets the stage for this development with wilfre's struggle against power imbalance.

At the very beginning of dtl:tnc, this framework of a power imbalance comes into play almost immediately when wilfre is spoken to directly by the creator. It's almost insulting to him considering he prayed and begged for some kind of answer for so many years, and yet only when he is far past his worst- when he is no longer devoted- now he hears them. He's livid and extremely reactionary about it! In part, this is due to justifiable anger, but I've always been lead to believe fear plays a large part here as well. His manner of speaking shifts, he hesitates; he's unsure, only for a moment before breaking out into an extravagant display of his power. Almost as if to reaffirm his control of the situation. As the game progresses, these sorts of actions increase in frequency.

Alongside these sorts of direct fear reactions popping up much more often, wilfre's shifted goal also reflects the terror which motivates him. His sights have been set on bigger things by this point: saving the world by freezing it in time and space. It's destruction is imminent if he doesnt stop those who try to return color to it. It's an action SOLELY motivated by fear of death, something he develops an almost obsessive fixation with.

Wilfre's thought process during the execution of his plan tends to follow the idea of "you can't bake a cake without breaking a few eggs," which is essentially the equivalent to "you can't save the whole world without killing or harming a couple people along the way." Even if it requires him to create a sterile, barren, unmoving world, he will do anything to prevent the physical destruction of the world... to prevent death. This is something he considers noble and just; something which makes him a savior. Realistically, freezing everything EXACTLY how it is is not much better than the world and it's inhabitants fading out of existence; it's basically the same thing! But when fear dictates logic, it doesn't need to make any sort of sense. Self preservation is the most and ONLY important thing one accounts for.

Sock, specifically, embodies wilfre's myriad of fears to a whole new level. Rather than fear being combated with a reactionary display, he cowers, hides, and acts dismissively towards a various amount of situations. I'll delve into this a bit more later in a separate point, but while some of this may be to manipulate others in the situation, it's not uncommon for wilfre to do/say something that puts on a front while masking other meaning. It's just that his typically inward thoughts tend to project themselves outwardly in this form of his!

Keep in mind that while I do believe there to be reason behind wilfre's logic and actions, that does not necessarily excuse all or even most of them. Do not misconstrue me!!! He's killed people, he's trapped people both in physical cages and in time and space, he's psychologically tortured others, the list goes on. And that's what makes him so fascinating! He's not a good guy! If you erase or excuse all of his terrible actions he becomes so much less interesting as a character and antagonist. But its undeniably interesting to look into the psychology and motivations behind his actions.

Moving on from this, it is also worth noting that I am a HUGE proponent of jowfre and it's very much so interlaced with my reading of the story/characters. Let me explain:

Sock, as a character, stands out to me a lot in how he is a major turning point for wilfre. According to his plan, the "sock" disguise SHOULD be another approach to the same issue at hand: preventing any raposa from impeding on his end goal. Disguising himself as salem was his first attempt at this... but holes were quickly poked in it's execution, and he found that prevention by force would not be successful. Instead, he then goes the opposite route; by disguising himself as sock, he can befriend jowee (who at this point has assumed the role of leader), gain the trust of others, and destroy their group from the inside. Which works! ...A little too well, he finds, as he too starts to believe his own lie of being someone who cares about jowee and his fellow raposa. And in return, he is gifted something he thought impossible in his current state: jowee's genuine friendship.

Now obviously this is a BIG DEAL. For a lot of reasons. For one, it's a hell of a lot harder to endanger the life of someone you care about than it is a random stranger who hates you (worth noting that every time this happens in the game, it becomes increasingly passive to the point that any danger isn't even coming from wilfre himself, sock just suggests that everyone leave/give up). But even less than endangering someone's life is breaking someone's spirit. If he can break jowee's determination and make the village give up on their mission, he'll succeed. And yet this is STILL something wilfre can't find it in himself to do.

I have two personal favorite examples of this that stick out to me. The first is the infamous treehouse balcony conversation... where jowee is heartbroken about the disappearance of mari. Discouraged and lost, jowee confides in sock, airing out his grievances. It's an ideal moment for sock to reaffirm jowee's broken view of himself; jowee wouldn't argue with the state he's currently in. Instead though, sock listens to him, encourages him, and comforts him. One can argue that it's a simple manipulation tactic since it's the perfect moment for wilfre to gain jowee's trust, but it's always stood out to me as something very... vulnerable. Jowee *is* the first raposa wilfre has had casual conversation with in ages anyway...... it's as if he's relishing the feeling of being able to relate and be on equal ground. The shadow has influenced his entire being, yes, but there's an undeniable glimmer of humanity in him still that yearns to escape. It's also here that we get critical insight to wilfre's inner principles when he tells a (likely fictionalized) tale and ends it with "I made a decision that- regardless of consequence- I would succeed." It speaks so much for who he is at his core and how right he believes himself to be. He's sharing BIG things with jowee rather than breaking his spirit.

The second example of this is following the first hint of mari's betrayal: when she steals the book of life from jowee. Accusations are being thrown around, faith is dwindling, and the entire village is on the brink of collapse... but when jowee comes forward with the notion of wanting to try again, to not give up... out of everyone else there, sock is the first and only to speak up. Cheering for him and encouraging him forward. Without him doing so, the mission would have failed. WHICH IS CRAZY BECAUSE THIS IS LITERALLY WHAT HE'S BEEN ASKING FOR!!!!!! The entire time he's been accompanying the village he has again and again (and will continue to) try to get everyone to back out of what they're doing, to split apart. But when it's served to him on a silver platter, he can't. IT'S FASCINATING!!!!!!!!

As I said though, jowee's friendship doesn't just come with one issue for wilfre, but multiple. Arguably the most egregious is the fact that it makes wilfre question if his grand plan of draining the world of all color is really right. If it's something he should even bother to do. Which must be a realization so chilling considering *he is doing so to save the whole world.* How can such a pest of a single raposa make him- the great and infallible wilfre- waiver in his confidence? This particular issue is all implication rather than direct statement; I've mentioned previously how sock gets less and less pushy as time goes on, instead vouching for generally avoidant approaches, and this is what I'm referencing here. It's downright procrastination rather than prevention!

Wilfre drags the execution of his "destroy jowee's village from the inside out" plan out for so long that he only acts when he's desperate. When there's nothing else he can do, no further thing that might delay them. He's been backed into a corner and knows jowee is far too determined to quit. And so, he drops the act. He steals heather's pendant, reveals himself as wilfre, and escapes.

I highly doubt it's intentional (and I'll get into the details on why I find this legitimate reasoning regardless of intention later), but I do find it interesting that he waits until the moment in the map room to ask for the pendant because it directly follows jowee having an outburst about wilfre and how terrible he is. Realistically, it would have been even more in sock's favor to have stolen the pendant while jowee was alone with him on one of the islands they visited. At that point, the other villagers may even have turned on jowee- their leader- out of suspicion. Better yet, sock could have stolen the pendant away while jowee slept, eliminating the need to get caught entirely. But he doesn't. It's not until he's desperate AND is directly getting reminded that the person he most cares about hates him that he acts. It's a nice callback to the aforementioned treehouse conversation the two have: regardless of consequence, regardless of losing someone he had come to care about, he would succeed in carrying out what he meant to do. And so he does. He tries to, at least.

A brief interruption from this point to speak on the writing quality of the games themselves. The drawn to life series contains two separate writing approaches: multidimensional storytelling and face value storytelling. "Multidimensional" in the sense that the writing itself mirrors a character/dictates their identity (e.g. jowee's writing reaffirming his position as someone thought of as unworthy) and "face value" in the sense that the writing tells the story in a straightforward sense with no hidden meanings (e.g. most large plot developments). It's pretty fascinating! Now, do I think this approach of dual writing systems was intentional? Well... no. Truthfully it's my opinion that the writing in the game is fairly underwhelming and not very well thought out. It's not a masterpiece by any means. But despite intent, the dual writing system is very much so at play, and one needs to approach the game being ready to actively parse through which is which.

I bring all this up to say that occasionally, the blatant multidimensional storytelling embedded in the games' writing is really just meant to be normal, face-value storytelling. Certain interactions or events seem deeper than they really are, implications come to the surface due to it, etc. And because of this, the growth of certain characters is entirely stunted. Namely due to the fact that while the player expects said character(s) to act in a certain manner due to implications previously made, this character will instead act in a wildly unexpected way because it was what the writer initially intended. And as we've established, intent does not equal correct execution. By far the worst example of this is the latter half of dtl:tnc, where wilfre tears the appearance of "sock" away with no remorse and escapes to his wasteland. After all the build-up of his blossoming relationship with jowee, his dynamic character development, and overall stakes rising, the player is suddenly brought back to a very static, unsatisfying square one... a completely out of left field 180° with character direction. I've always suspected the reason for this was that midway through the project, the script writers realized the villian had become more sympathetic of a character than one of the main protagonists (mari) and out of nowhere switched it up, cut off character arcs, etc just to ensure their original intent was preserved.. even if that ultimately led to something that felt clunky and odd.

A bit of a longwinded side tangent, but it all prefaces my next point: if the games were written with more care and without the literary biases present, wilfre would have had a redemption arc. Or at least an arc where he sees his redemption as a choice, but turns against it.

I know, I know. You can't simply see a villian character you enjoy and go "well I think they should've had a happy ending so I'm going to let AU reflect my analysis of the canon media." That's not what I'm saying here! It's not just a simple wish for better circumstances influencing my thoughts. I would have been 100% okay with an unhappy ending for him either way, if only the writing didn't handle it in a way so jarring. Because it *is* jarring though, I try to work with it by incorporating it into my analysis rather than just discarding it as unusable, disingenuous storytelling. Case in point: what I did with my jowee pmv... you GOTTA boost the drama and stretch the truth a little bit...

To wrap this very long response up, I wanted to briefly mention very minor miscellaneous thoughts I have about wilfre that didn't fit in with any other main topic I touched on:

Based on my interactions with the fandom, I've come to notice there are a LOT of people who seem to think wilfre doesn't believe in the creator. In reality, he very much so does, he just thinks they suck lol.

I think it's very cute seeing how wildly out of practice wilfre is living as a normal raposa. He's spent so long as a shadow that things which used to come so easy to him are such a chore now (e.g. in lavasteam where he breathlessly chases after jowee trying to keep up with him.. he's so used to floating he's out of practice actually carrying his bodyweight around).

I have always read drawn to life as being a story relating heavily to forced role fulfillment; a character must fill the role they are given, or the world/their own self will fall apart. Assuming you're the same anonymous asker from before, you've seen my pmv, so you know how evident jowee's forced role fulfillment (or lack thereof) is throughout the games. But wilfre is also a shining example of this narrative theme! Many of the issues that the raposa world suffers from (be it relationship disputes, societal structures, general unhappiness, etc) are oftentimes tacked on as something wilfre is somehow at fault for, however loosely. The shadow's influence leads him to lose a lot of his humanity (raposity?) on its own, but his role as the scapegoat does as well, since it warps him into more of a concept than person. This is another reason his paralyzing fear of death is so critical to get across; it returns some of the humanity and dimension to him which make him more well-rounded.

I mentioned that sock becomes more avoidant as the story progresses, but what I've neglected to mention is the fact that wilfre is generally very avoidant by nature. Despite having more power than any other thing he commands, throughout both games he incessantly tries to have the hero and others dealt with through indirect means (other bosses/shadow creatures, influencing potential allies, robbing raposa of resources, etc). It's a pretty obvious behavior that dictates his character, but is further enabled in the circumstances I elaborated on outside of these notes.

Not very wilfre-specific but moreso just general info: I do not consider the newest entry in the series of drawn to life: two realms canon in the slightest so none of my interpretations of stories or characters will ever stem from two realms events. Sorry!

Wtf is up with him being weirdly flirty with mari at the end of tnc btw. I usually just excuse it as bad writing and that sudden shift in character I talked about. Which is funny because if that character shift is indeed the writers overcompensating then that means they were worried about too much gay tension between wilfre and jowee I guess LMAO there's literally zero reason for it otherwise.. it's so ooc and out of left field. Can I just write this dude myself please.

Thank you so much for asking in the first place... I love talking about these guys!!!!! <3 If you can't tell, lol. Hope you found it interesting, I'd be happy to elaborate further if anyone's curious. Just know it might take me a little while since it took me about a week to get to this ask haha

[sgiandubh]

"He's actually paying those PR people? Whatever for? A drunk wombat would be better at the task." I LOL'd because my god have we been asking this very question of both Sam and Cait for years. They're PR is actually the worst. It's honestly hard to believe at times. Absolutely zero idea who either of them are trying to reach. The recalibrating after that VF disaster sent Cait into hiding, I'm not sure she's done another print interview since Belfast promo ended and if the Sam articles are going to continue on this way, he can quit too. Boring.

Dear Quit Anon,

I am flattered I managed to bring a smile or even a LOL, but I am not particularly glad about it. Unlike droves of people who think this PR shitshow is sad, I actually find it mystifying.

You are right. Goddess C went into occultation after that cursed VF interview. There are clear reasons, I think, for that. Also, please take into account the fact that, despite the illusions peddled by some fuckwits in this fandom, there are many things we simply do not know (nor should we, most probably).

As for S, I guess that ever since she went totally MIA (as I said, make-up and fash-un promo don't really compensate), he is overexposing himself. On purpose. Perhaps to protect her (I think so). Certainly to hide something. Since this is no way in hell about being gay (I will die on that hill and I know I am right), the only thing he could hide is well... I don't really need to draw it, do I?

Smoke and mirrors is always a risky strategy. S simply hasn't got what it takes to play that game long term, probably for the same reasons he was never a serious shortlist candidate for Bond. At this point in time, he'd mechanically go with whatever merde du jour is thrown by his imbecile PR on the table. Still, it's high time he'd seriously pull himself together. He can do better, as I wrote in a comment: he can do NYT and he did it very well, recently. And I was glad to see that. But Metro is just disappointing, clueless and tasteless. And it's padding up a press portfolio with amiable, meaningless bullshit that goes nowhere. Or at least nowhere near he wants to be or see himself in, let's say, five years from now.

OL is going to end. It has to. It's been both a blessing and a curse, I said that before. Then, it will be high time to end the fucking Truman Show. He (abstractly) knows that, he keeps hinting about it. “I’m ready for new challenges, but also nervous about what it’s like in the real world” - for some reason, I found this phrase very telling. But I doubt he internalized what probably still feels like a safely remote occurrence, right now.

What are his real projects? For the moment, zero. Directing? I'd love to see it, but he's got no real credentials for that. Bond? I mean, publicly gushing and insisting is not going to manifest it. He needs a real movie, a good one to break that glass ceiling. Is he going to get it? I hope so. But his personal brand awareness is still low. The PR clowns should stop talking to us, in here: we are already here and not going anywhere. All of us: antis, mommies, shippers, fencers, haters, trolls. They should talk to the people who have no clue who S is, and do it differently. He should step out of his comfort zone, ditch the leeches and refuse to discuss his personal life, for a while. There, I said it.

What are her real projects? For the moment, not much. Sure, we have The Cut, where I gather her part is minimalistic, to be kind. We also have The Amateur, of which very little is known at the moment. However, if I am correct, she is not one of the leads. Enough said. And beyond that? Crickets.

Make no mistake. The real litmus test is not now. The real litmus test is 2025. And then we'll see. And I'll still be here, taking weeping Anons because I don't know who said I don't know what I don't know where. Mark me.

[envy-of-the-apple]

Hi!! This is my first time messaging a writer I really like but I’m high and have enjoyed your work for a while now and just wanted to share my appreciation especially after reading RAST. Sorry in advance for how unorganized this may look.

As a reader, I enjoy your story telling so much. You switch between past and present so fluidly and it makes the “world-building”feel natural while still keeping my interest and moving forward the plot.

I also wanted to compliment you on your ability to story tell so well while also staying true to the personality of the characters you write about. (I have specific examples I will detail later in this message from RAST because you did such a wonderful job of translating dynamics from the JJK universe into a Mafia AU)

I just wanted to share Little Details From RAST I enjoyed/made me really think

1.Grabbing Gojo’s wrist when he reaches for your skirt/panties happens both at the beginning and the end. I like how there’s a difference in Gojo’s reaction. The first time, he lightly dismissing your actions when he doesn’t have any genuine interest in you. The tension between Gojo in Ms. Gem later on is so telling because now Gojo knows all cards have been revealed and expects to be rewarded. It’s like when a dog finally gets their jaws on a toy and growls when you try to take it away.

2.(This detail I noted is an example of themes from the JJK universe translating well into your Mafia AU)In the JJK universe, there is definitely a patriarchal system in place which leads misogyny displayed in characters like Naoya. Your AU does a good job of portraying this culture as well from the start. It’s shared that the men of the organization don’t like women with “nasty attitude. It’s def implied that most men hold higher positions of power. It results in the events where we see other men laughing at Gem when she’s being groped by guards or being humiliated by Geto during his meeting.

3.(This goes for all your SatoSugu fics but especially in RAST) I love love love your characterization of Geto and Gojo. You’re very good at capturing personalities of characters but it’s especially clear in the SatoSugu fics you write because the dialogue is true to how they would speak to their darling AND eachother.

4.Through RAST, I was actually able to understand the personalities of Geto and Gojo in the manga better!It makes sense for Geto to be so controlled in personality because a controlled/calculating demeanor would only way for Geto to move up in ranks within the Yakuza and eventually meet and be on equal footing with Gojo. In the JJK world we see that Gojo really values Geto because Geto is on the same level as Gojo, but I forget that Geto must’ve clearly worked really hard to get to that level both in terms of skill and respect because he was born to a non-sorcerer family.With Gojo being apart of the sorcerer world/yakuza family by blood and always being reminded of how much power he has, it makes sense he would be so uncaring of social norms and so freely in Ms. Gem’s personal space.I can also see why, as you mentioned in another post, Geto doesn’t like to get his hands dirty, he’d be the type to see how to milk a situation for the most benefit rather than lashing out as Gojo would. (i.e. Gojo immediately throwing hands when the other yakuza family member touched Ms. Gem while Getou immediately seeing a chance to push Ms. Gem into their arms without a fit)

5. The car scene is actually lowkey funny bc they really do treat her like a pet on a road trip and ofc Gojo is the one watching cat videos lmaooo

7. You have this pattern in your writing (I like to think of it as a writer’s signature) of having questions by the reader go unanswered by the yandere while having phrases of affections by yanderes be barely acknowledged and I LOVE it. Every time I see it I eat it up because it’s so… akdjsjd

8. I love to see the SEM and EKM make an appearance in the last scene

Please correct me if any of my analysis in my thoughts are wrong and sorry in advance if that happens!! I truly enjoy the effort you put in as a writer

[kareofbears]

just one time (just one time) ch.2

“I heard you out and I’m still unsure why you’re even doing this.” Nanami pushes his shades up the bridge of his nose, peering down at the planner in his hand. “Or rather, why you insist on having me involved.”

A training camp for wayward children, Gojo had called it, gesticulating widely with his long arms, white hair bouncing with passion.

—

Or, Gojo and Nanami take it upon themselves to keep an eye on the first years during summer vacation without realizing that the first years are the ones keeping an eye on them.

read on ao3 or below the cut

It’s to be expected, but it still befuddles Nanami that a teacher doesn’t have any method of organization for his students.

“Where’s your desk?” Nanami asks him.

“Desk?” Gojo stares up at the ceiling, genuinely inquisitive. “I’m assuming in my office?”

“Okay.” There’s a pause where Nanami expects him to elaborate. When Gojo doesn’t, “Where’s your office?”

When Gojo stares up at the ceiling again, Nanami leaves, pulling up Principal Yaga’s phone number. A few hours later, Nanami gets the spare key to Gojo’s old office, every surface thick with layers upon layers of dust. Indeed, there's a large desk, clearly one that hasn't been used for much too long, but it's huge and recognizes a mug with a cheery new teacher! printed on the side, filled with various stationery items. He’ll ignore that—he's too picky to use giveaway pens.

Window thrown open, leaving him with a pleasantly bright view of the gardens, he gets to work. Throwing a pair of rubber gloves on, glasses neatly put aside, he spends the rest of the afternoon deep cleaning, phone blessedly turned on silent. One month or not, Nanami refuses to work in an unkempt environment.

With nothing but the sound of a hard brush scrubbing on wooden floors, he does what he always does when he has a fraction of free time. He thinks.

There’s logistics. A lot of it. All of which Gojo decidedly kept from him, stemming from thoughtlessness or simple apathy. Principal Yaga asked him if he’s decided on if he’s taking a room for the duration of the month, to which Nanami had politely and immediately declined. Teachers are offered room and board at Jujutsu Tech, but the school also doesn’t get a lot of teachers. He’s seen what the lodgings look like. There are only a handful of rooms available and given how his luck is going these days, he’ll have to share a wall with Gojo. At this moment, that does sound like his own personal version of hell.

And he’s not a teacher. When he firmly corrected Yaga of the fact, he was waved off.

“You deserve some slack too, Nanami. For old time’s sake.”

Old time’s sake.

The day is too bright and pleasant to go down that line of thinking

So he falls back to thinking about Yuji instead, as usual. He’s pleased to see how happy he is at school and with friends, learning in a safe, school environment. Thinks about how he can improve said school environment—already he has a notebook of ideas, from all the way back when he was the one attending Jujutsu Tech.

The overlap between his time in Jujutsu Tech as a student and as a camp counselor (for lack of a better phrase) is far and in-between. A lot has changed since then, but the one thing that undoubtedly stayed the same—

The wood of the brush creaks in his palm as he suppresses a sigh.

It was to be expected.

He’s known Gojo Satoru since they were teenagers. Gojo was born not with power, but as power. SIngle-handedly, he restructured the jujutsu world down to its atoms, smashed the pre-existing hierarchy and stitched together a new fabric of reality. It's the world's biggest blessing that despite it all, his heart remains undoubtedly good. If he became a curse user…the world would end. Simple as that. Undoubtedly and unquestionably.

But.

With that level of power, that level of confidence, it lets you cut a lot of corners to the point that the paper is a perfect circle. He's grown a little bit since their youth, but he still remains arrogant. Childish. Ultimately immature. And to think that he handles the future of Jujutsu sorcery with that same callous attitude is worrying. He trusts Gojo, has no choice but to trust Gojo like the rest of the society does. But it’s a little different now, trying to trust him as a teacher, when Itadori is on the line.

It feels like everything is different now that Itadori is on the line.

Mulling over it as he gets on his feet, wondering if he can find a duster anywhere on campusHe trusts Gojo. But that doesn’t necessarily mean he has any fondness for him.

It takes a few more hours. As the warm orange glow of the sunset begins to wash over the office, he lets himself collapse into the comfy chair in the corner of the office, freshly fluffed and feeling his joints ache slightly as he sinks into the plush of the seat. He really should get into the habit of stretching more. A cool breeze flows through the curtains as he lets himself relax and enjoy the scent of a clean room and the fruits of his labor.

Reluctantly, he picks up his phone once more. Brows pulling into a frown, he reads the subject of the email:

Mission! Announcement!! Meet tomorrow in class at 8am SHARP! swimsuit MANDATORY

When he clicks on the notification, he finds that the body of the email is completely empty. For a horrifying second, he wonders if Gojo has somehow reached the age of 28 without knowing how to properly send an email. Silently putting his phone down, he lets his eyes close and ponders over feeling regret for agreeing to this.

His phone chimes once, twice more. Picking it up, he sees enthusiastic replies from both Kugisaki and Itadori, with a lukewarm Read. from Fushiguro.

He can’t stop the fond smile that spreads as he settles in to read their responses. At least the chair is comfortable.

—

Nanami didn’t have any expectations, but he’s disappointed in himself for not realizing it sooner.

“Heads up!”

He tilts his head out of the way, feeling the smooth plastic of a beach volleyball graze his ear, grimacing as sand tickles his cheek.

“Sorry, Nanami-san,” Kugisaki calls out apologetically, tone sincere even though she’s grinning wide. She tilts the brim of her bright pink sun hat so that she can properly meet his eye. “My teammate sucks.”

Fushiguro only shrugs in response, expression exactly as stoic on a beach as it normally is in a classroom. “Yeah.”

“More passion!” Kugsaki yells.

“Yeah…?”

Nanami leans backwards and lights rolls the ball towards them as they continue to bicker, and he watches from underneath the shade of the big umbrella that Gojo had propped up for all of them. My kids are too young to have wrinkles.

He digs his heel into the soft sand, his beige slacks rolled up to his knees as he takes in his surroundings. Had he known where they were going, he probably would have opted out of office wear for once.

It turns out the reason why they had to meet up so early in the day was so they could secure a decent spot at the beach, which they got in flying colors. They’re close enough to the water without having to trek too far, but enough distance away from the crowds that it feels semi-private. Sitting on a wide blanket with his shoes neatly tucked away so it wouldn’t get sprayed in sand, Nanami watches Fushiguro, Kugisaki, and Gojo attempt an uncoordinated rally of skirmish volleyball, with Gojo using the slightest hint of cursed energy the ball strays too far from his students.

“Not joining?” he asks. Turning his head, he suppresses a sigh as Itadori idly plays with the sand from the other side of the beach towel, body faced away from Nanami, silent. “Itadori-kun, you know how I feel about the silent treatment.”

Itadori cranes his neck to face him with squinting eyes, body still turned away stubbornly. “No, I’m not joining.”

“And why aren’t you joining?” He has an inkling as to why, but he wants to hear it from him.

Curling tighter in on himself, Itadori’s chin juts out childishly. “You kept a secret from me.”

“It wasn’t a secret, it was a surprise,” he corrects him patiently. He pauses, before adding, “I’m sorry I kept it from you. Like Gojo-san said, I wanted you to be shocked. I didn’t realize you’d be upset by it.”

“And you won’t do it again?”

“If you don’t want me to, then no, I won’t do it again.”

Defrosting immediately, Itadori grins and rolls horizontally until he’s lying next to Nanami, all grumpiness gone, wrinkling the towel along the way. He props his chin up on his palm, feet kicking in the air. “Honestly, it was such a good surprise.”

Nanami gives him a look. “Then why were you in a bad mood?” he asks, reaching over to smooth out the towel. “You weren’t upset about this yesterday.”

“Of course I’d be happy at the moment. You’re in Jujutsu Tech as my teacher!” He almost corrects him before just letting Itadori speak. “But when I thought about it…I don’t know. I didn’t like that.”

“Me keeping secrets from you?”

He rubs the back of his neck, nodding. “Gah, I know I’m being kinda weird about it. it just felt weird not knowing you, Nanamin.”

“But there’s plenty of things you don’t know about me.” He keeps his voice steady, trying to understand where he’s coming from. Itadori gets like this sometimes. Sometimes the stone that is Itadori Yuji is less of a shining diamond and more of a sinking rock that Nanami has to dive for before it hits the ocean bed.

“Not when it’s me related,” Itadori scoffs, like it’s obvious. “You tell me everything, even when it’s kinda rude.”

He doesn’t deny it. “And you’re no longer upset, yes?”

Itadori thinks for a second. “Nah,” he relents, shoving his hand into the sand and Nanami watches the grain trickle from his fingertips. “How can I be mad? I mean—“ yanking his hand back from the sand to gesticulate, Nanami doesn’t find himself minding when grains get all over his dress shirt. He’ll just have to be thorough with laundry later today. “My friends are over there, my teacher is playing beach volleyball with them, of all things. It’s summer.” Elbowing Nanami’s calf, “You’re here. It’s like I’m a normal kid, having a normal summer.” He closes his eyes, and he looks much, much younger like this. “It’s nice.”

The sound of the waves crashing on the shore fills in the peaceful silence between them. “If you’re a normal child, you should consider focusing on your studies more. Go to cram school. Perhaps apply for a part-time job.”

Itadori groans. “Can’t you just let me have fun?”

“Gaining financial stability from a young age is fun. You’d have the option to do whatever you’d like.” The idea fills him with unexpected calm. Itadori, older, more settled in himself, pursuing a career in something he’s passionate about. Or maybe it’s just the idea that he’ll reach an age where he’s old enough to think about his future beyond the next mission.

“I’m a 15 year old who fights curses and only passes algebra if Gojo-sensei is feeling really nice during exam day,” he laughs. “There’s not much I could do.”

Nanami looks at him. “If you believe even for a second that your abilities are limited to punching and kicking, I may have to express my regrets for being an adult who’s failed you.”

Seeming to sense the change, Itadori sits up hurriedly. “That’s not what I’m saying,” he says.

“I know it’s not,” he agrees, still waiting for an explanation. “Because I didn’t teach you to think like that.”

Itadori shifts in his place, picking at the fabric of the towel. “It’s not anything deep,” he says, going for casual and overshooting. “I’m just saying that I’m not that academic or anything. I’m not good at this whole Jujutsu thing yet, but I’m okay when it comes to fighting.” Nanami wants to correct him—the idea that Itadori’s only talent is related to fighting and physical prowess, but he strongly disagrees. It may be part of his talents, but his real gift is his heart. The ability to stay so consistent to his truest self, despite it all. Perhaps, it’s the reason why he can host the King of Curses. “But yeah, I guess it’s hard to imagine what else I could do. I just don’t know how I can translate that into…an adult thing.”

“That is the beauty of youth, Itadori-kun,” he replies. “This is when you find out what else you can do.” At the look of fear and apprehension on Yuji’s face, Nanami almost cracks a smile. This boy fights curses and bleeds without flinching, yet considering his own possible growth is enough to still him. “No need to overcomplicate it. What do you like?”

“What do I like…” Voice trailing off, Yuji looks around, like he’ll find the answer in the ocean waves or the squawking bird that flies by them. Finally, his eyes settle in front of him, where Kugisaki faceplants and falls directly into Fushiguro, Gojo pointing and laughing like the bully that he is. “I like my friends. Can I make money with that?”

Suddenly, Itadori’s eyes widened, and he could almost see the light bulb blink above his head. “I can make money with that.”

Just as he was about to ask for clarification—asking friends for money isn’t a reliable source of income—Gojo’s voice rings out. “Yuji! Join my team or I’ll fail you.”

“Put him on my side!” Kugsaki argues.

“I’ll fail you, too.” Gojo catches Nanami’s eye and winks from above his sunglasses, foregoing the usual blindfold today. “Your Nanami-sensei can back me up on that.”

“No, I will not.” Not a sensei.

“Coming!” Itadori yells back, scrambling on his feet. “See you later, Nanamin. Hey, let me borrow a tie later, okay?”

Itadori joins them without waiting for his response. That’s fine. They both know the answer will always be yes.

—

Money’s never been high on his priority list, but he does like the idea of more than dust motes in his wallet.

Itadori takes a deep breath, trying to calm the jitters in his chest by focusing on the warmth of the morning sun caressing his cheek. He’s sitting in the courtyard in front of a table that he found in an unused classroom on a stool that he had accidentally kicked over on his way there. With a composing nod, he straightens his borrowed tie that he just knotted together clumsily, reaches towards the edge of the table, and flips the sign:

OPEN FOR BUSINESS.

“Wow,” a voice coos behind him immediately, and Itadori doesn’t jump anymore. Gojo’s habit of simply appearing has lost its shock value. “Are you an entrepreneur, Yuji-kun? Should I invest in your company? Where do I sign?”

“Sensei,” he turns his head, craning his neck up to look at Gojo, eyes squinting against the sun’s rays. “Do you want to be my first customer?”

“Of course.” Moving opposite to Itadori, Gojo folds his knees in tightly to sit on the short stool, long limbs neatly folding in on itself. “And what exactly am I purchasing?”

“My advice—” Itadori starts, but Gojo gestures for him to come closer. Obediently, he obliges, and Gojo reaches forward to redo his tie. “My advice. Nanamin said I should get a job that I like, and at first I thought ‘I don’t really like a whole lot of things,’ but then I realized I like talking!”

“That you do,” Gojo placates. “Nanami said that? He doesn’t even like his job. Or the concept of any job.” Smoothing down the expertly-knotted tie, he leans back. “If you need money, I can give you an allowance. Megumi gets one.”

“Yeah, but—” Itadori waves him off. “That’s different.”

My sponsor, Fushiguro tells him once, begrudgingly. It’s one of those topics that have always come up in odd moments but Itadori just found it’s not really his business to ask. Fushiguro is a private guy, and even though Gojo would probably be more than happy to go in-depth about the subject, all Itadori needs to know is that they’ve known each other much longer than an average first-year would know their teacher. If it’s anything like what Itadori has with Nanami, then he knows everything he needs to know.

“You want to make your own way? I support it! Kids these days are so inventive.” Gojo pokes at the empty glass jar on the table. “Give me advice then.”

“Uh,” Itadori stalls, a little flustered under Gojo’s undivided attention when it’s only his first day on the job. For a moment, he feels a little silly. What advice can he give Gojo-sensei? He probably already knows everything in the world. “Advice on what?”

“How about…” Gojo hums, long and inquisitive, and Itadori represses the urge to loosen his tie. “Where should I go for lunch today?”

“Oh!” he exclaims, relaxing. It’s an easy out, the sturdiest of olive branches. Aside from movies, this is probably what he can answer the best. “Do you want something quick, fancy? Nearby, or warpable, maybe? I guess they’re all warpable, but I still don’t really understand how you do that.”

“How about your favorite?”

“My favorite?” Itadori laughs. “I wouldn’t recommend that one to anyone, sensei. It’s sort of run down. But the owner likes me. She gives me toppings for free.”

“Toppings?” Gojo asks. “Ice cream?”

“He’s talking about the hot dog stall down four blocks from here,” a voice from behind Itadori replies, and he feels himself grin. “Unfortunately, Itadori-kun’s taste buds have yet to evolve from when he was seven years old.”

“Good morning,” he greets, craning his neck back.

“Good morning. Is this what you wanted my tie for?” The usual monotone is present, but Itadori catches the way Nanami glances downwards. “You tied it well.”

“Thank you,” Gojo drawls, kicking his feet up so it’s propped up on the table, hands behind his head and lazy grin spreading. “No good morning for me?”

The monotone is immediately replaced with a thin sheen of iciness. “Hello, Gojo-san.”

Itadori doesn’t bother watching his fascination, eyes bouncing back and forth like a tennis match. He looks up to both Gojo and Nanami almost religiously, and takes their words to heart every single time, but for very different reasons. Where he can rely on Gojo to push him to his limits and training, Nanami’s there to make sure he doesn’t get to the point of limping afterwards. Where Gojo can be hidden behind layers of riddles that leave him dizzy and scratching his head, Nanami is so straight-forward that he feels practically winded afterwards. They’re the only reason why he’s improved so much despite being new to the Jujutsu world, and for that, Itadori will be forever grateful.

But despite his reverence towards both of them, the animosity crackles so intensely that he almost has to shield his eyes from it.

He doesn’t let it get to him, though. “So, yeah, I like hot dogs,” he finishes.

“I’ll have to try it sometime,” Gojo says. Straightening up, he pulls out his wallet—bright yellow, decorated with cartoon characters and peeling stickers— and slides a thousand yen bill into the jar. “Thanks, Yuji-kun.”

His eyes widened. “Wait, you can’t give me that—”

“He’s right.” Nanami leans over Itadori’s shoulder. “That’s too low.”

“Nanamin,” he shakes his head. A couple of hundred coins yet. Pocket change. That’s all he was really expecting, if anything at all. “It’s—”

“He just started,” Gojo replies. “I won’t spoil him. When he continues, then it’ll go higher. Like a normal job.”

“He’d have time to have a normal job if he wasn’t stuck in Jujutsu Tech for the summer.”

There’s a sharpness there that Itadori wasn’t expecting, and for a moment, it catches him off guard. A sneaky glance at Gojo, however, doesn’t tell him a thing.

A beat passes.

“Class is starting soon.” Nanami takes out his own wallet—deep brown, worn leather— and slides a five thousand yen note into the jar before turning. “I’ll see you both there.”

When he leaves, Gojo gets up, stretching. “We should get going,” he says cheerfully. Lifting Itadori by the hoodie, he sets him on his feet. “Are we feeling hot dogs for lunch?”

“Sure,” he says belatedly, distracted. Before he follows Gojo up to the classroom, he quickly flips the sign and snags the jar, not quite sure how to interpret his first day at work.

CLOSED FOR BUSINESS.

[royalarchivist]

Roier: That fcking Pepito, I'm not attached to that guy because I know this is all just a distraction for my mind, because I still remember everything that happened in Purgatory. I remember what happened, I remember every fcking second, and I know that everything is just a fcking distraction. Those fcking Eggs are just a social experiment for me and everyone else, and right now what's happening is being revealed, because- I don't know, like, I don't know. They configured them wrong, they aren't acting right, that's how you know, these Eggs aren't like the old ones, they're all stupid assholes. That's what's happening in this fcking life.

No one notices, no one talks about it, and now three more fcking Eggs appear, and why doesn't anyone say anything? What's happening?! [Growls] No one says a thing, everyone stays silent and nods their head-

[Snaps his fingers at the camera] Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!

Wake up.

[rdhadastroke]

So this straw-masked dumbass decided to do a thing and share some personal tips about writing fanfiction/writing someone else's character/writing in general!

Please keep in mind that I am a hobbyist writer, not a professional! These are just suggestions/things that help me that may or may not work for you, please feel free to correct me or add your own anecdotes :)

Tips for getting ready to write:

Make sure that you're in an environment where you can concentrate.

Whether that be in a quiet room, a chatty café, or blasting your eardrums out with music, whatever gets you in the groove is good. Not everybody can focus in the same environment, so your choice of surroundings for when you right aren't going to be the same as everyone else's. I (personally) listen to long video essays, my current favorite song on loop, or a playlist about the story/characters.

Clear a space for where you want to write.

Clear the space of excess clutter and keep only what you need. If what you need to write is a lot, that's fine! Having too much going on at once in your writing space can overwhelm and/or distract you. I know from personal experience.

Have all of your materials at hand.

Character sheets, previous stories, note paper to jot down ideas, rough environment & scene sketches... Whatever references and tools you need, keep them with you! Also, keep a glass of water or some other drink nearby. Hydrate or diedrate, my friends.

Make sure that you won't be interrupted while you're writing.

This may not be an option for those of you living with your parents or a roommate, but it's ideal for your creative flow to go undisturbed, uninterrupted, and unwatched. Is your father really watching you write your fanfic? No, probably not, considering that he's snoring. But it still feels weird to write when he's sitting in his armchair right behind you. No, I am not projecting my experience onto the reader under the cover of an absurd joke, why would you say that?

Now that setup is out of the way, let's go over some actual writing stuff:

Always, always, always block out what you want to write before you actually write it.

By "block out", I mean give a basic summary of the events you want to take place in that chapter or segment. I usually do this event-by-event because I struggle to carry on a story without an outline, but you can do it by chapter or by paragraph if you'd like. Make jokes in your mini-summaries, and phrase things in wacky ways (that convey things to you effectively)! You don't have to be too serious about it. After all, if you're in a lil silly goofy mood, you can get an epic sentence like this:

If you get stuck on a part of a story, move on and save it for later.

If you're anything like me, you understand the screaming, crying, pissing, pants-shittingly frustrating experience of not knowing how to describe something or figure out what should be said next. As angering as it is, it's okay. Just write a mini block-in for what you want to happen, want to describe, or the general tone of what you want to be said. Or use a keyword that you can Ctrl+F for to finish those pesky scenes when you're ready. If your writing software can do it (I have no clue if any one program does this, I only use Google Docs), mark the spot for review to return to it later. If you're one of those frighteningly powerful people who write stories by hand, highlight it and paste what you want to go there over it once you're ready. If you aren't familiar with this infuriating part of writing, you're a lucky bastard and I envy you immensely.

If you have writer's block, there are 8 potential strategies (that I can provide) you can use to alleviate it.

These are NOT surefire fixes for writer's block and are EXTREMELY subjective and results will vary from person to person, but they can potentially help you.

Read a book. Sometimes reading how another author writes (dialogue, scenery, figurative language, etc.) can help you get a better grasp of what you want to write, and how you want to write it. You might even get inspired to make a different story, which bleeds into the next point.

Work on/start a different story. (This isn't always the best way to get out of writer's block, so if you can't get a word down, this probably won't help.) Sometimes changing what you're working on can free up the ink clogged in your pen, for lack of a better phrase, and give you an, "aha!" moment.

Eat and drink something. Brains don't work when they don't have fuel, so feed your machine. Frequent maintenance keeps an engine running smooth, so occasionally get a snack and make sure to keep hydrated.

Take a walk and get some fresh air, and touch some grass for the love of god. Jokes aside, getting your body moving can excite your brain into working and clear some brain fog, since exercise gives your brain a dose of serotonin. As silly as it sounds, sitting in the sun and touching some grass can actually make you feel nice and rejuvenated, it helps me a lot. Even if you don't go outside, moving around is a good way to give your brain a break.

Talk to a friend and get their input. Their ideas can get you through a tough spot and inspire you to get writing again.

Look at pretty pictures and distract yourself from what you're doing. I have pictures of art pieces and doodles I like hanging in front of the desk where I write, and losing myself in pretty stuff helps me work through what I'm struggling with.

Jot down notes by hand on what you're trying to do. Planning things out on pen and paper, despite being tedious, imprints information in your mind and can be useful to your writing needs

If you're writing a fanfiction, look at the source material. Chances are, there's something there that could help you along.

If you don't have the motivation to write anything, don't.

This isn't the best advice for someone who's on a time limit, but works wonders for passion projects and fun stories. Very few do their best work when they force themselves to do it. Besides, there's no point in having a hobby if you don't get joy out of it and overly stress over it.

Writing someone else's character? No problemo, here's some fanfic help:

Always look at the source material, and don't be shy to explore new territory with the character.

It's important to stay true to the personality of a character when you're writing someone else's creation, but don't be afraid to throw in some headcanons and artistic flair. Remember, there's a difference between writing a character unrealistically (pertaining to personality, likes, interests, and universe/world/time period) and changing the circumstances of the original story. Characters are people too, and people react differently to the same thing depending on the world around them. A character may not have [x] trait if [y] event never happened, likewise [y] event never would have happened if this character didn't have [x] trait. Take into consideration the people around the character, as well, as they can also affect what the character does and how they develop. Change up small events in the original source material's story to get a different story and a different reaction out of the character. Experiment, and have fun! It's your story, write it your way!

That's all the advice I have for now, and I hope I was helpful! :)))

[missdeerlady]

So I have this idea that Vil ask Charlotte to come and help him and his potatos with dance Practice for the Song & Dance Championship. This is how I thing the phone call went

(I hope I did my best with Vil. I tried to get into his head space when it comes to his speaking manners. But with out further a due )

"And one, two, three, four " The mistress counted as she observed all of her students movements as she walked around them. Soft contemporary music can be heard in the Shaftlands Academy of Dance's Ballet Class. The students where practicing to Piano Concerto No. 2, Allegro, Opus 102 for they have a performance coming up in a couple months and they must have there Plié to their Croisé done perfectly.

With every correction the mistress made for other students, Charlotte made sure that her posture and positioning was not off. Auditions where a few days away, and everyone is hoping for the lead roles. Some believed that the mistress would just give Charlotte the lead because she "special". For her she will be happy with what roll the mistress see fit for her skills. The mistress walked over to the radio and turned off the music. "Let us take a break class and we'll continue with this piece"

The students disperse to their belonging stripping off there ballet slippers. Charlotte went to searched there he bad for her water and cell phone. Trinity sent her a text of a photo of her and Flora at a Jewelry stand in a Market with the phrase "Flora found a pair of earings that match a dress you have, Yay or Nay?" Before she could respond another text rang in from Mr. Vil Schoenheit.

"Hello Charlotte, If you may can you please call me when you can. I require you assistance"

Charlotte puzzled by his question. She went up to the mistress and excuse herself to make this call. What in Twisted Wonderland could the famous Schoenheit need from her. She search for his contact, and pressed call. The phone rang for a few second before the other end picked up.

"Hello, Charlotte" a charming voice spoke on the other end

"Hello Mr. Schoenheit, you messaged me that you require my assistance in something?"

"Yes, I am sure you are aware that my school will be hosting the SDC this year?"

"Yes, you have posted about it on MagicCam, but this require my assistance in what way? she question.

"Along with hosting the championship, we will also be competing in it as well. Rook and I have gather the best potatoes our school can offer us for a team. However, they need more help than even I can provide myself. Even with the best music I can provide, there dancing is so far off that it frustrates me that I fear I will break out from the stress." He took a deep breath before speaking "I am calling to see if you can come to Night Raven College for a few weekends to help my team with their basic dance skill?"

Charlotte was taken about his question. Her come to his school to help train his fellow peers in the SDC? What was he thinking? Surely there must be another that can help him train him and his team to win this championship? She was so lost in her thoughts that she almost forgot that Vil was on the other end.

"Me? You want me to help train?"

"Yes? Out of everyone we have that attends that Academy, you out of the few are consider the best according to Madam Odette"

Charlotte could not help chuckle at that. "I am just like any other dancer her. But I am sure that Madam Odette will will make a better trainer for you then I? I can ask her if you wish?"

"I have asked her, and with the production of the tin solder in progress she is too busy to step away to train a team."

"What about one of the other instructors I am sure someone ha-"

"Charlotte. I appreciate the humbleness you have, and that others would be best suited to help. However I choice you to help us. You technique is better than you first started. Legs and arms always straight when you practice, your feet always pointed in the correct position when you do pay attention to it, and with both of our training combined our routine will be perfect"

Charlotte really wanted to critique him back, but hold her tongue. Around all that critique can show that in Vil way that he trust hers skill more out of everyone. They were not good friends and more acquaintance. Thought the famous Vil Schoenheit trusted her to do this, so she has to trust him that his right.

"Let me see if I can rearrange my schedule with school and practice, as well as speak to my father about this, and I will get back to you in a few days. Thought I have two request if I do this"

"And those will be"

"One if my friends wish to accompany me on some weekend that there presents will be welcomed."

Vil sighed making her giggle. They both remember the first interaction Trinity had with Vil "I will welcome the quite one, and . . . tolerate the Mischief one."

"And two I mostly likely will need transportation to Night Raven College. I have never visited the school so I won't know how to get there from the docks"

"I will make sure to send a car as soon as you arrive to Port O' Bliss. I look forward to working with you" he stated as he hung up

She shook her head at the rude rush. Madam Odette open the class door to call "Charlotte is time to start practice again". Charlotte nodded her head and rushed back into the class and putting her phone away. She started to stretch and warm up for class. Though she can't help but wonder what is she getting herself into.

[xiaoluclair]

“I swear I’m over you, but if you ever do shit like that again, you’re going to set me back to square one.”

- I don’t know if I want you to hurt me like this, but I’m asking nonetheless…

Please be kind with me Lestappen heart ❤️😘

SCREAM i love this one the most out of all of them, so OKAY. i also have no idea What this is, and it is Not technically correct at all but enjoyyy!!

pairing: max verstappen x charles leclerc | rating: T

"Now, Charles," snaps Max.

"One second," says Charles, fingers tapping a hole through the table. "Just— done!" He snatches the USB from the port with a shake of his hips. Max would like to be ensnared by their sensual shake, Charles is sure, but he only snorts. Grinning, Charles slips it into a zip pocket.

Together, they shoot out one of the windows until it spiders. This is the part Charles hates. But he doesn't have time to psych himself up because—

"Forced entry, eighteenth floor!"

Because.

Eyes closed, he throws himself against the glass. The sound of shattering fills his ears, jagged on his skin even through the texpro. For a while, he is weightless.

Then arms wrap around his waist, drag his body back into itself. He lands on top of Max with a harsh oompf, pain shooting up his funny bone. "Ow."

Max grunts. "No shit."

"Bet you didn't expect to be under me again so soon," says Charles, rolling onto his knees. He can see Max's glare from here, blue bright behind his mask.

"We all know who's the bottom here," he replies, getting to his feet. Charles can't help the grin as Max leads them crawling through the hole in the wall they made earlier. "And stop staring at my ass."

Charles pulls the slat of plasterboard over the entrance. "But your head looks so pretty up it."

"Better than yours."

"You wish," says Charles as he hauls himself into the back of the wardrobe. He layers a Janitor's uniform over his protective gear while Max shrugs on a suit. Charles glances away at one point, just to check he hasn't dropped any stars — never mind the fact they're strapped so securely to his person, it would take an earthquake to jolt them.

"If we die," starts Max.

"I'll play Staying Alive at your funeral," vows Charles.

"You'll be dead too, idiot." He says it like a promise.

"Sorry," says Charles, "our funeral."

Max deigns not to reply.

It's easy going from there. With all of the manpower focused on the broken window and the bodies leading up to it, Charles and Max quietly make their way down the floors, Charles a little ways behind.

"Coming up from fourth."

He pulls out a mop and mops the floor. Gotta stay true to the character. And Bill likes to mop apparently. The tactical gears all pass him without a second glance as Charles presses himself flat to the wall like he's trying to make himself as unobtrusive as possible.

"Get off this floor," one of them says.

Which— Charles picks up his mop — Bill stays true to his mops, always — and hurries as uncoordinatedly down the stairs as possible.

When he gets to the Audi, there's no one there. There are about three seconds available to not panic, go through every single possible place Max could be when he hears the shouting.

Charles slips into the driver's seat just before Max comes tumbling into shotgun. "Bonsoir, monsieur," he greets, twisting the ignition. "Comment allez-vous aujourd'hui?"

"Va te faire foutre," replies Max.

"Your accent is still appalling," muses Charles as he wheelspins out of the lot. "And is that still the only phrase you know?"

"Only one I need," says Max, rolling down a window. "Straight around the fountain. Lewis says you're an idiot by the way."

"He's the one that wanted the fucking thing so bad," says Charles, shoving the gear up before taking the line against the curb. Max twists with it and shoots. Charles hears a bang, grins.

"So you get nothing out of this?" asks Max, settling back into his seat.

"I get you," says Charles. It is meant to be a joke. "And money of course," he adds because he thinks he failed.

"Of course" agrees Max after a few seconds. Then, "What the fuck are you— Charles!"

Charles U-turns on the crossroad, pushes the gas pedal all the way down until he can drive right at the cars chasing them. Max groans. "I hate you," he says, "I hate you, I hate you." But he doesn't close his eyes, instead reaches over into the space between Charles's legs and pulls out his slashgun. "Okay," he says and Charles shoves the handbrake up, back wheels skidding round in a semi-circle.

He can't look because Designated Driver Duty. But the sound of slicing through air, crunch of metal, sudden shouting is enough. "You are so very, very dead," Max tells him when he heaves back against the headrest. "Seb is going to give you the disappointed eyebrows and I am not defending you."

"You would let me go through that?" asks Charles, definitely breaking the speed limit now. He weaves around an abnormally slow BMW — abnormally slow for a BMW that is. They're out of the city, into the backlogs. "How many are—"

"One," says Max. "Yes, you deserve it, and clutch." Charles obliges, instinctively sets his hand on the gearstick even though he has no idea where to push it. It doesn't matter; Max does it for him. Hand wrapped over his, sliding it down into third like a hot knife through butter. "Left."

The car protests a little, and then tilts with it, tamed. It's a sharp enough bend that the large SUV can't make it, goes careening into the side of a halfway refurbished old furniture warehouse. Charles thinks he can see half a couch rolling in the street in the rear view mirror.

"Fuck, Charles—" swears Max, and Charles focuses forward again. Forward, where a massive barn side is coming up on them, looming larger in the night. He makes a wild grab for the handbrake, yanks it up. The wheels skid violently to a stop, car shouting against it. His heart crashes back into his chest like a cliff-face into the ocean. He feels electric, alive like a power line.

In the sudden stillness, his mouth feels unbelievably dry.

He glances to the right. Next to him, Max's grin could light up a city. He catches Charles looking, shakes his head as he pulls his hands back to himself. They're just shy of steady with adrenaline. His head thumps back, breaths heavy. "I swear I’m over you," he huffs, "but if you ever do shit like that again, you’re going to set me back to square one."

Amen, thinks Charles, laughing, the hot edge of Max's grip still breathing like a sear on his skin. A—fucking—men.

[littlemoonastrology]

All About: AQUARIUS ♒︎ - The Zodiac Signs

This post will cover all the basic information needed to understand Aquarius, the eleventh Zodiac Sign!

Take a look at my other posts to see information on: Aries, Taurus, Gemini, Cancer, Leo, Virgo, Libra, Scorpio, Sagittarius and Capricorn!

We are almost at the end of the series... Pisces is the last one so look out!

If you feel like this post has helped you feel free to Follow, Like Reblog or Repost (as long as I'm credited!).

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[UPDATE]

My Big 3 Readings (£5, 10 slots!) and Natal Chart Readings (£20, 3 slots!) are available on my Ko-Fi! If you'd like to purchase one or support me, please use this link: https://ko-fi.com/littlemoonastrology/shop Thank you!!

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Aquarius ♒︎

Date (Only applies to Sun Signs): January 20 - February 18

Symbol: ♒︎ - The Water Bearer

Associated House: Eleventh

Associated Degrees: 11°, 23°

Associated Energy: Masculine

Planetary Ruler(s): ♅ Uranus (Modern) and ♄ Saturn (Traditional)

Element: Air

Modality: Fixed

Keywords: Unique, Progressive, Innovative, Adaptable, Spontaneous, Humanitarian

Aquarius placements - clever, progressive and always look deeply into situations to get a better understanding. This sign not only has the capability to stick to a plan/ideal, but also to adapt along the way and change it if needed. These placements are highly adaptable and use this to their advantage - to get what they want or follow a plan they deem is logically the best (or suits their ideals more). Not only that, but Aquarius placements also tend to be very humanitarian or have a strong sense of morals meaning they are great friends to go to if you need help getting out of a messy situation which is keeping you from developing. To some extent, these signs may also be interested in topics such as: sociology, digital media or science as it allows them to keep their creative brain engaged! Aquarius placements are also generous if they think someone deserves it, often sharing their knowledge on many different topics and sparking debates. These placements may also seem like they have a strong friend group too!

To some people, someone with this placement might come across like a conspiracy theorist (or someone who looks into things TOO deeply). Whilst this can be the case if an Aquarius has lost some kind of sense of reality or become too fixated on an idea - most of the time it's because Aquarius has spent a while learning about a topic and developing their understanding. This may mean depending on the audience an Aquarius is sharing their knowledge with - their opinion will either be endorsed or not taken into account at all (even if they are logically correct!).

If an Aquarius feels like their life is too stagnant, uninteresting or lonely they may try to live vicariously through their own ideals, friend groups, a cause they are passionate about or maybe even their own work. Maybe they also have a tendency to be "chronically online", not having much of a social life outside of the internet which can further the stagnancy of an Aquarius' life. When under stress, they may become extremely cold and blunt - maybe even become somewhat selfish and use their ability to get what they want in unhealthy ways (although this is in a few cases).

When Aquarius feels like they are succeeding in life and utilising their brain, they may seem to develop a bit of an ego or arrogance and focus on enjoying what they receive. Whilst there is nothing wrong with enjoying what you've worked for it's just as important to keep an open mind and be open to learning so you aren't at risk for losing what you've worked towards.

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Notes/Keywords/Phrases

Zodiac Sign

Each of the Zodiac Signs are a constellation. The Zodiac Sign shows how a Planet/Asteroid/Fixed Point/House is being represented and expressed. Once a Planet/Asteroid/Fixed Point/House falls into a Zodiac Sign, it adopts the energy of it.

For example: if Mercury falls into the constellation Sagittarius, Mercury adopts Sagittarian traits. If the 6th House falls into the constellation Aquarius, the 6th House adopts Aquarian traits.

Associated House

The Houses in Astrology are dependent on the time and location of birth in a Natal Chart and there are 12 different ones. Each of these 12 Houses are then assigned to a Zodiac Sign and 1 or 2 Planetary Rulers. The Houses in Astrology show you what area of life the energy of the Zodiac and Planets/Asteroids/Fixed Points is appointed to and helps provide depth into the chart.

For example: Capricorn's Associated House is the 10th House.

Associated Degrees

When a Planet/Asteroid/Fixed Point/House falls into a Zodiac Sign constellation, it will be appointed a Degree. This Degree shows how far along the Planet/Asteroid/Fixed Point/House is in a Zodiac Sign. Each Degree is also associated with a Zodiac Sign, meaning when this Degree comes up it can nuance the way the Zodiac Sign of a Planet/Asteroid/Fixed Point/House is being represented.

For example: Mars is 6° in the Zodiac Cancer, 6° represents Virgo - therefore the Cancer Mars also takes on Virgo traits. The 2nd House is 23° in the Zodiac Scorpio, 23° represents Aquarius - therefore the 2nd House in Scorpio takes on Aquarian traits.

Planetary Ruler(s)

This phrase refers to the Planet(s) that rule a Zodiac Sign. When a Planet falls into the Zodiac Sign it has rulership over, the energy of both the Planet and the Zodiac Sign is amplified.

For example: Pisces' Planetary Ruler is Neptune.

Modern / Traditional

These words are associated with two kinds of Astrology: Modern Astrology and Traditional Astrology. Traditional Astrology refers to Astrology that was practiced before the 19th century, whilst Modern Astrology refers to Astrology that is practiced now. Some people choose to practice Traditional Astrology, some people choose to practice Modern Astrology, whilst some others might practice both types or combine them together.

Element

Each Zodiac Sign/Planet/House/Degree is associated with an Element and this covers certain traits which are unique to the Zodiac Sign/Planet/House/Degree they correspond to.

These Elements are: Fire, Air, Water and Earth.

Modality

Much like an Element, each Zodiac Sign/Planet/House/Degree is associated with a Modality. The Modality describes what the focus of a placement is and how the energy is expressed.

There are 3 different Modalities: Cardinal, Mutable and Fixed.