#i write one sentence of a fic and then go and check my work emails

[writesvani]

dear me | 01

lawyer! jungkook x privatechef! reader

SUMMARY: Once upon a time, Jungkook and you were everything. Best friends who shared every moment, every secret—except one: you were in love with him. But life changed. High school ended, real life began, and slowly, you drifted apart, the distance between you growing too wide to cross.

The end. Except it isn't.

One day, after a long day at work, you open your email to find a message from 13 years ago—written by your younger self. A letter you’d forgotten, sent by a service you paid to remind you of your youth, your love for him. As the emails keep on coming and you keep reading, the flood of memories hits you, and you realize something heartbreaking: you never stopped loving him.

But now, it’s too late. Jungkook is about to marry someone else. Or is he?

estranged childhood best friends-to-friends-to-lovers?

TWs (for this chapter): nostalgia, lost friendships, unrequited love, emotional pain, longing, drifting apart, past relationships, smoking (cigarettes), self-destructive habits, regret, emotional detachment, loneliness, unresolved feelings, reminiscing about the past, bittersweet memories

comment HERE for Dear Me taglist;

SERIES M. LIST;

— next chapter

wc: 3k // date: 18th of March 2025

CHAPTER ONE; Me VS. Me happy reading my gummies...

AN: okay so first of all, THIS FIC IS MY BABY. my pride and joy. my magnum opus. my chef’s kiss MWAH. i have birthed it with my own two hands (don’t question the anatomy of that sentence, just roll with it). i have been so deep in writing characters that make you go hmm. questionable. concerning. ma’am, do you need therapy? that i just CRAVED writing someone to actually root for. and thus, this fic was born. and i love it. i love it so much.

writing this was an emotional rollercoaster. like, HELLO?? nostalgia just drop-kicked me in the chest. it is actually insane how little we remember of our own lives, like??? the fact that our past selves could be out there scheming, writing weird emails to our future selves, and we’d have NO IDEA?? terrifying and also very on brand.

anyway, i cannot WAIT for you guys to see the other chapters. i am so giddy about this fic you don’t even understand. i feel like a mad scientist cackling in the middle of the night. ugh. okay that’s all.

and yes, i listened to A LOT of Taylor Swift, Olivia Rodrigo and Billie Eilish writing this. 🩷

LOVE YOU, BYE!

Memories are like bruises. They cling to you, pressing into your skin, carving themselves deep until they feel permanent. They settle in, making a home in you—for an unknown amount of time. But slowly, they fade. Day by day, they grow lighter, less sharp, until finally—nothing remains. And it’s as if they were never there at all.

By the time a human gently touches the edge of eighty, they will have lived nearly thirty thousand days. Yet, the ones they truly remember—the ones that weave their strings into the soul’s net—are only a few hundred, perhaps a few thousand.

We are born. We grow. We build connections. And yet, most of them dissolve with time. The light dims. The ties loosen. The voices fade into echoes. But sometimes, even when everything else is lost, the love we once shared lingers. A flame—small as the ember of a dying cigarette—still flickers, waiting, hoping to ignite once more.

Sometimes, the flame never reignites. The memory remains, vivid yet stagnant, sinking deep into the depths of our being but refusing to bloom again.

Other times, love and memory return like a hurricane—familiar knocks pounding at the door, relentless, inescapable.

And in your case—it comes right back, sitting pretty in your inbox. Letter after letter of who you used to be years ago, wrapping around you like a mother’s embrace. And you don’t want to let go.

Checking your email after work is a daily, unskippable ritual—like the scent of morning coffee, the kind that melts down your throat, the kind that holds you in its warmth. Like tying your shoes, a habit that clings to you ever since you first learned how to do it on your own.

Today is no different. You come home, drop your bags onto the first clean surface you can find, and eat the leftovers from the meal you made for your client. Thank God she lets you take them home.

Even though cooking is your passion—even though you live for the alchemy of flavors, for the way warmth blooms in someone’s chest at the first bite—working as a private chef is exhausting. Every single day, new dishes, new expectations, new demands. You love it. You really do. And you’re grateful that your passion pays the bills. But the last thing you want to do when you get home is cook.

Because who in their right mind brings their work home, right?

So you eat the leftovers.

You throw yourself onto your beige couch—the one your mom got you for a suspiciously low price when you bought your apartment.

You stretch like a lazy cat basking in the sunlight, tilting your head until your neck cracks just enough to be satisfying. A deep yawn escapes your lips as you open your laptop.

Specks of dust scatter across the keyboard, forming unrecognizable patterns. You trace a finger through them, leaving a clear trail behind.

Hm.

You’ll wipe it later. Right now, you're too tired.

It’s time to check your emails.

Nothing unusual—job offers scattered here and there, a local bookstore announcing a sale (you’ll definitely order something later), and an overpriced ceramic china set practically handed to you on a golden plate. You toy with the hem of your shirt, debating.

You’ll probably never use it, but it’d be great for special occasions—family gatherings, maybe? You can already picture the jealous grimaces of your distant aunts, their forced smiles twisting at the edges.

Yeah, it’s worth the money.

And then.

Then.

An email.

From you.

Not in your sent folder. Not a draft you forgot about. Right there, sitting patiently in your inbox, mocking you to your face—an email from yourself.

To you.

Your eyebrows knit together as you chew your bottom lip.

What the hell?

Your eyes squint lightly, adjusting to the glow of the screen as it lulls the darkness of your bedroom into sleep. Your breath comes out in gentle puffs.

Then, a chill runs down your spine.

Your palms suddenly feel damp—sweat pooling, clinging. You wipe them hastily on your shirt.

It can’t be. Can it?

You were sure—100% sure—it was a scam.

The sketchy service you paid for when you stole your mom’s credit card at fourteen (earning yourself a lengthy monologue about delinquent behavior) was a scam. It had to be.

But right there, on the screen, words are waiting for you.

Scattered across the desktop, glowing in the dim light. Staring back.

So you read.

"Dear Me,”

You blink.

"By the time you're reading this, you're 28. Jesus Christ, if you're even still alive, you're so old. How does being a granny feel? LOL. Just kidding. I know you're in your prime (or at least I hope so).

So, I don’t know if this is even going to work. A part of me is sure this is a scam, but hey—gotta stay optimistic, right?"

A small smirk tugs at your lips.

Optimistic, huh? Always was, always will be. Or at least, you try to be.

You take a slow sip of the green tea you made after dinner, letting it glide smoothly down your throat. Lately, it has felt as if you're rediscovering life—unraveling its meaning all over again.

And from the words of little you, it seems like nothing has changed.

A quiet chuckle escapes as you keep reading, a small smile still lingering on your face.

"Anyways, how are we, girl?

There are so many things I want to ask you, but I know I won’t get the answers until I become you. Still, I have to ask, okay? Please be patient with me.

First of all—are we a chef? Please tell me we are.

Ever since we went to Italy with Mom and Dad last summer, we’ve been obsessed with food. You remember that kind grandpa who taught us the perfect Bolognese recipe? You know, the one we completely wrecked the kitchen trying to recreate at home? Seriously, Mom was so mad at us—she’s such a drama queen, I swear.

But I’ll keep trying for you. I don’t want to let my future self down."

A soft chuckle slips from your lips as you let the memories bloom—that summer in Italy, when everything changed.

The moment you realized: this is it. This is what I want to do for the rest of my life.

You remember it all.

Your hands, stained deep red from the fresh tomatoes you and that kind grandpa had picked at the local market. The rich scent of the sauce bubbling on the stove. The way he spoke about Italian food as if it were as vital as nuclear physics—and to you, it was. It is. It always will be.

You remember the countless times you destroyed your kitchen, basking in the mess, determined to get it right. You remember failing. Again. And again.

And then—finally—succeeding.

Your heart swells, beating against the quiet of the room.

You did it.

You tried. And tried. And tried.

And in the end—you made the Bolognese perfectly.

After that, you gave your dream the life it always deserved.

"But if you realized you wanted to do something else with your life, that’s okay—I forgive you.

As long as we’re doing something we truly love, I approve."

Typical you. Always reassuring yourself.

Your heart clenches at the thought of your younger self, sitting at her desk, fingers flying over the keyboard, eyes bright with excitement. So full of life. So alive. So imperfectly perfect—even though she never thought she was.

"So, tomorrow is the first day of high school, and I—or you, or we, whatever—I’M SO EXCITED OMG!!!"

You can practically hear the urgency behind the words, feel the restless energy of a girl who thought this was the most important night of her life.

"It’s time to meet new people and make new friendships and I can’t wait. I’m literally writing this because I can’t sleep #soexcited."

High school.

You don’t think about your first day much. Of all the roads you’ve traveled, all the moments that shaped you, this has never been one you revisited.

But seeing it now—her, you, how much it meant to her—

It hits.

A wave of nostalgia crashes over you, cold and sharp, like a bucket of ice water dumped over your head.

"And of course, the AWESOMEST fact in the universe: Jungkook is going to the same school as me (I mean us. This shit is very confusing, okay?).

Oh wait—he just sent me a text on FB. He can’t sleep either. RIP.

We’re taking all the same classes, which means WE’RE GONNA BE DESK MATES. CAN YOU BELIEVE IT???”

You swallow hard.

You’d be lying if you said you never thought about him.

Because not thinking about Jeon Jungkook is impossible.

A ghost of him lingers in you—always there, just beneath the surface.

But it is simply as it is.

He was your best friend. He isn’t anymore.

Life happened. It pulled you apart. So you shouldn’t dwell on it.

But you see her—your younger self, in the back of your mind.

A huge grin stretched across her face, fingers flying over the keyboard as she texts Jungkook about the first day of high school.

Her heart hammering wildly in her chest.

Unspoken words pressing against her ribs.

And suddenly, the memory surges back—sharp, vivid, uninvited.

The way she loved him.

The way she was in love with him.

A reminder you didn’t need. A reminder you don’t want.

“And by the way, since so many years have passed—I gotta ask.

Are we maybe married to Kook? Dating him?

Did we confess?

Did he… like us back?”

You inhale sharply, fingertips drifting to your lips—a bad habit, a nervous tell.

“I don’t know how I imagine that story turning out.”

“Did he reject us?”

A pause.

“If he did, how did we survive that?”

You exhale. Slowly. Deeply.

“I can’t imagine that embarrassment. Ugh.”

You almost laugh. Almost.

“But there’s a small flicker of hope inside of me that maybe… he confessed or maybe he likes us back, I don’t know”

A flicker.

Something you never snuffed out completely, no matter how much time passed.

“I guess, a small part of me thinks there’s a chance for Jungkook and us.”

“…But I’m not sure.”

Your fingers press harder against your lips, picking even harder, edges of your teeth pulling at the skin inside of your mouth.She sounds so young.

So immature and mature all at once—the messy contradiction of early adulthood.

But mostly?

She sounds hopeful.

Hopeful in a way you no longer are.

She really thought there would be a time for the two of you. Jungkook and you.

And maybe there was.

Maybe, in a parallel universe.

But not this one.

This one is real. This one is raw.

And you survived.

She thought she would perish without him.

But you’re still here.

Standing. Breathing. Living.

And for that, you’re proud of yourself.

Proud for growing out of it.

Proud for learning how to exist without depending on anyone else.

For being whole on your own.

And yet—your jaw clenches. Your throat tightens.

Because maybe, just maybe, a small part of you didn’t survive.

The part that was hopelessly, utterly, and completely in love with the boy you used to call your best friend.

Some wounds are better left untouched.

But this?

Reading this feels masochistic and beautiful at the same time.

It compels you.

You have to remember more.

You sigh.

But you still have to continue torturing yourself, so you drag your eyes back to the words.

“Even if nothing happened with Kook, even if you fell out of love with him—which I find impossible, because CMON, there’s no love if it isn’t written in Jungkook cursive. But if you did fall out of love by some miracle, I know that you guys are still bestest friends in the whole universe.”

Your fingers tense around the edge of your laptop.

Bestest friends in the whole universe.

You inhale sharply, but it does nothing to steady you.

“I know he’s still a part of our story.”

A hollow feeling burrows itself into your chest.

“Tell me, what does he do for a living? Is he a drummer, like he always dreamed of being?”

Your breath stutters.

Drummer.

A dream that stayed exactly what it was.

A dream.

“He told me last night he’s gonna ink himself in a year or two—AND do A BROW PIERCING.”

A pause.

Your lips twitch.

“His mom is gonna tweak out, like HELLO! But he’s gonna be so hot I simply can’t even debate on this—I have to support him.”

A quiet chuckle leaves you before you can stop it.

“He’s so wild in his own dreams, I always feel the need to chase after him.”

Your throat tightens.

Because once, you did.

Once, there was a time you couldn’t imagine a day without him.

And now?

You press a palm to your forehead, massaging the dull ache forming at your temples. Your heart hammers painfully, and suddenly, you're craving nicotine like it's the only thing tethering you to the present.

Jungkook.

Jungkook.

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips—dry, pale, bitten raw.

A memory flickers.

Jungkook, terrified at the tattoo parlor.

Your fingers intertwined with his, grounding him.

You—blushing furiously—as the tattoo artist pulled his shirt up, exposing the smooth skin of his ribs.

You were seventeen then, sneaking into some shady tattoo shop where minors passed as adults. No IDs. Just cash and a little recklessness.

But you wrote this at fourteen.

Fourteen-year-old you didn’t know yet.

She didn’t know that Jungkook would get his ethereal skin inked, his brow pierced. Well she didn’t know for sure. But Jungkook hoped to do so and young her, young you believed in him.

She didn’t know that some dreams don’t survive the weight of reality.

Because Jungkook never became a drummer.

The boy who once swore he’d live off the sound of drumsticks against cymbals had to chase something bigger.

A career.

A paycheck.

A better life.

And in that chase—your friendship, the thing younger you was so sure would last forever—

It got carried away.

Somewhere far.

With him.

You bring a cigarette to your lips and take a slow, deliberate drag. The smoke curls around you like a ghost—familiar, haunting, inescapable. It carves itself deep into your lungs, settles in your bones like something meant to stay.

“UGH, mom is yelling at me to go to sleep.”

You exhale, watching the smoke dissipate.

“I’ll be back soon tho, I know you already miss younger you, haha.”

A dry chuckle catches in your throat.

Do you?

Do you really?

“I’m gonna be sending you one email a week for a year through this service, so I’M TOTALLY gonna remind you of our first year of high school.”

Your fingers tighten around the cigarette.

A year.

She’s going to be here for a year.

“Who knows, maybe I’ll steal Dad’s credit card next time so I can pay for another year.”

A scoff pulls at your lips.

Typical.

“I’m unpredictable like that.”

The corner of your mouth twitches.

Yeah, she was.

“For now, I love you.”

A pause. You take a deep breath.

“Past You, Me, or Us (IM NOT SURE).”

Your teeth clench.

You take another pull of nicotine. The taste is bitter, but you let it linger anyway.

You forgot about this.

About her.

About the fact that the emails will keep coming—one after another, a relentless flood of memories you didn’t ask for.

And now?

Now, it all crashes down on you.

A tidal wave of long-buried memories of fourteen-year-old you, giddy and unfiltered, pouring her thoughts into emails, fingers flying over the keyboard like they couldn’t keep up with her excitement.

She had no idea.

No idea what was coming.

No idea who she and Jungkook would become.

How aparat they would be.

A low groan rumbles from your chest.

Why did you do this to yourself?

You hover over the keyboard.

Your stomach twists.

Your mind screams at you to block the emails. To delete them. To wipe them out before they reopen wounds you’ve spent years ignoring.

But your fingers never move.

Because it feels wrong.

Because deleting them feels like deleting her.

And even if you don’t recognize some parts of her anymore, she was still you.

To erase her would be to erase everything you used to be.

And that?

That would be the real betrayal.

You shut the laptop with a scoff.

The sound echoes through the empty apartment, lingering in the silence. Your feet move on their own, carrying you to the shower. You don’t think. You just go.

By the time you step inside, the water is already scorching hot. You let it burn. Let it sear into your skin, as if heat alone can strip away the weight of forgotten memories.

But it doesn’t.

It clings to you, sticks to your bones like something too deep to scrub away.

Because it’s not dirt.

It’s the truth.

And it won’t leave—not even when you wrap yourself in fresh clothes and sink into the soft cushions of your bed.

Your fingers move on instinct, pulling out your phone, scrolling through Instagram stories. You’re not really looking for anything. But then you see it.

He posted something.

Your breath catches.

It’s the sky.

A sunset.

Splatters of red and orange melt together, the sun shyly emigrating between earth and sky.

You stare.

And then, before you can stop yourself, you click on his profile. Something unnameable courses through your veins.

Is it nostalgia?

The longing for a friendship that no longer exists?

Is it simply missing him?

Your best friend?

Your chest tightens.

You tap on the chat option.

And there it is.

A string of messages.

Nothing devastating.

Just… usual.

A cycle of: "Happy Birthday, I love you so much," and "Thank youu, love you too." A chain of story reactions. That’s all that’s left of you two.

Your grip on the phone tightens.

Is this really it?

Is this what you’ve become?

Two people who once built a universe together, now reduced to annual birthday wishes and the occasional double tap?

It’s mocking you.

Because Jungkook and you—you were never just usual.

You were everything.

The chaos and the calm.

The storm and the warmth of sunlight on a rainy day.

The scent of rain, the comfort of old books, the hush of midnight talks.

You were everything.

And now?

Now you’re nothing.

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard.

A part of you—the reckless part—wants to send something. Wants to test the waters, see if there’s still something left to salvage. But then reality crashes down, heavy and suffocating.

You curse yourself under your breath.

Rekindling something out of the blue—who does that?

Not now.

Maybe another time.

Or maybe…

Maybe this is simply how it’s supposed to be.

Locked away.

Tucked inside your heart.

Safe from the ache of all the what could have beens.

Yeah.

It’s better this way.

taglist: @lovingkoalaface @santiiagopopegarcia @jadaocon1 @asyr97

[fallenbratfiction]

shared desk part 3 ~ bucky barnes x f!reader

This is part three of shared desk! You can check out the prior chapters on my masterlist!

A/N: I have kept you waiting for so long for this!! here you go the official date date!! I don't even know what to say, its gone off the rails completely. I just couldn't stop typing.

mentions: lots of flirting my dudes, unprotected sex, p/v, couch sex my dudes on a really awful couch, I guess some slight angst or vulnerable moment between reader and bucky. If you think I'm missing any important mentions let me know

minors dni. if you're under 18 don't interact with this fic or my blog. I'm not responsible for what you choose to do.

do not copy, translate or claim this story as your own.

as always, i hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing this! no fr, I hope you do enjoy this.

The next morning, he’s already at the desk when you arrive—unusual for him. There's a cup of coffee waiting beside your chair.

"I didn’t know what coffee you like, so I just… went safe," Bucky says with a soft chuckle, his eyes not quite meeting yours.

You smile, taking a sip. "This is good. I like it."

He nods, relief flickering across his face before both of you settle into your usual rhythm. The clack of keys, occasional sips, the faint hum of low conversation and machines around you. Comfortable silence.

But something’s shifting under the surface—bubbling just beneath—and you can feel it coming before he even says anything.

"Hey…" he blurts, breaking the silence. “Can we talk about the kiss?”

You glance up, fingers pausing mid-sentence in your email. “Yeah. What’s up, Buck?”

His hand runs through his hair. Nervous. “I mean, we can talk later if you're busy—”

“It’s just an email. Tell me.”

He hesitates, then exhales. “I didn’t plan on doing it—it just happened.”

Your brow lifts. “Oh shit. Was that not meant to happen? You wanna pretend it didn’t?”

“What? No. No, nothing like that.” He shakes his head quickly. “Just… in my mind, I’d planned it differently.”

A beat.

You lean back in your chair, coffee in hand. “Well… sometimes things come out even better unplanned.”

That stops him. You see it in his eyes—how the words hit and settle. He looks at you like he’s thinking about kissing you again, right here, right now. But he just nods, slowly.

"Yeah," he murmurs. "Yeah. You’re right."

It goes back to silent. You finish the email and he goes back to his work except he blurts out again.

“So… listen,” he starts, clearing his throat. “My idea was, uh… to walk you home, of course. So you don’t get murdered late at night.”

A small laugh escapes you, the kind that tugs at the corner of your lips despite trying to keep it cool. He keeps going, nervous energy in full swing.

“But really—I just wanted to ask you out. Like, actually out. A proper date. A nice one. Or not formal, if you’re not into formal. It doesn’t have to be, I just—something that’s not a coworking lunch. Though those are nice too. I like those. We can still do those—”

“Buck,” you interrupt, amusement dancing in your eyes, “you’re going off.”

“Right. Sorry.” He exhales, cheeks a little pink. “I just wanted to do things right. In order.”

You raise a brow, playful. “Didn’t know you were a control freak.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Really? You didn’t notice ‘til now?”

You both laugh—and it’s a little too loud for the quiet, focused vibe of the coworking space. A few people glance over. One guy near the printer gives you both a look that definitely says get a room.

After a beat, you lean in just slightly, your voice soft but sure.

“So this proper date… is it still in the plan?”

He looks at you like he’s been waiting to be asked that exact question.

“Yeah,” he says. “It is.”

After the laughter settles, you both ease back into work. But it’s different now—there’s this buzz in the air. Something warm and giddy threading through the glances you sneak at each other when you think the other isn't looking. He catches you once. Smiles. You smile back.

When noon rolls around, it’s almost expected—you pack up your things at the same time, exchange a casual, “Lunch?” and head toward the elevator like you haven’t done this a dozen times before. Except this time feels different.

Inside the elevator, it’s quiet. That kind of intimate quiet where the silence isn’t awkward, just full of potential.

A strand of hair slips into your face as you look down at your phone.

He reaches out, slow but certain, tucking it behind your ear. His fingers graze along your jaw as he does it, featherlight.

“It was in the way,” he murmurs.

You arch a brow. “Control freak.”

“Guilty,” he says, not even pretending to deny it.

You both laugh again, a softer one this time, as the elevator dings open.

The day ends earlier than expected—his work got rescheduled, your deadline moved. There’s no real reason to head home together… but he waits anyway. You walk out side by side.

“You really ate this hero role up, huh?” you tease as you cross the street. “You won’t let me walk home alone from now on?”

“Not if I can help it,” he says, simply.

Your heart tugs a little.

The sun’s lower in the sky now, casting a soft gold light over everything. It’s quiet when you reach your door. That moment again—lingering.

You turn to him, voice low, a smile tugging at your lips. “So… what’s this proper date you’ve got in mind?”

He leans in slightly, like it’s a secret only for you.

“That depends. You like Italian?”

“I do.”

A small, satisfied nod. “Good. Friday? I’ll pick you up.”

And just like that… the not-a-date lunches are officially retired.

Friday evening 

Across town, Bucky’s staring at his reflection like it owes him money.

He holds up a button-down. Frowns. Too formal.

Switches to a basic black Henley. Classic. Safe.

Switches again. Tries it with a jacket. Then without. Then back again.

“You are spiraling,” he mutters, annoyed with himself. “It’s just dinner.”

He shuts the door and heads over to your place—though not before stopping by a flower shop to pick up a small bouquet.

———

You’re in your room, chaos at full volume.

Half your closet is on the bed. Your hair’s half-done. Your playlist is jumping between calm and hype like it’s trying to match your heart rate. You hold up two outfits—one a bit flirty, one a little more classic.

You go with the flirty one. You stare in the mirror and re-apply your lip gloss twice. You mutter to yourself, “It’s just a date. Not like you haven’t seen the guy every day this week.

Bucky rings and it’s go time. You answer through the machine that’ll be down in a second.  

Still, you check the mirror one more time before heading out. 

———

“Hey,” you say with a smile that is both confident and quietly nervous.

He looks at you like you just stepped out of a dream. “You look… wow.”

You glance him over and grin. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

He offers you the bouquet, a little awkward but sincere. “I, uh… got these. Figured flowers were required.”

“They absolutely are,” you tease, taking them. “Good to know you’re a traditionalist.”

He scratches the back of his neck, still trying to recover. “So… I have some news for you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh?”

He gestures toward the curb. “We’re going on my motorcycle.”

You lean out to look. And there it is. The beast. Matte black. Loud. Aggressive. The opposite of what you pictured when you heard “nice Italian dinner.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh… oh no no no.”

“I have a helmet for you,” he says, holding up the one he brought.

“This could’ve been a nice warning, Barnes.”

He gives you that half-grin, the smug one. “You would’ve canceled.”

“Damn right I would’ve.”

He sets the helmet on your head—your perfectly styled hair that you spent a reasonable amount of time on.

“It’s going to ruin my hair,” you grumble.

“Impossible,” he says without missing a beat.

But somehow—you don’t. Somehow, minutes later, you’re on the back of his bike, clinging to him like your life depends on it. (It might.)

“Hold on,” he calls over his shoulder.

You tighten your arms around his waist, muttering, “Believe me, I am.”

The engine growls beneath you, a deep rumble that vibrates through your bones. The city blurs past—neon signs, headlights, the fading pink of sunset melting into dusk.

Your arms are wrapped tight around his waist, and you lean in close, yelling over the noise, “I HATE YOU!”

He doesn’t respond.

But you know.

You know he’s smiling.

You can’t see his face, but you can feel the grin spreading across it. That cocky, smug little smirk he wears when he knows he’s won.

Your hair whips around you, wind cutting past your cheeks like laughter, and despite yourself… a laugh escapes your lips too.

It’s terrifying.

It’s exhilarating.

And it’s a little bit too much fun.

You pull up to the restaurant, a cozy little Italian spot glowing warmly on the corner. As you take the helmet off, hair a mess, you glare at him.

He holds up a hand, gesturing—may I?

You nod, and he gently runs his fingers through your hair, trying to fix the damage the helmet caused. His touch is light. Careful.

“I still hate you,” you mutter, breathless.

He shrugs, completely unbothered. “Didn’t hear you complain back there.”

“You couldn’t hear anything over my screaming.”

He opens the door for you with a little bow. “C’mon. I’ll make it up to you. There’s pasta with your name on it.”

———

Inside, the restaurant is warm and low-lit, all exposed brick and hanging lights. It smells like heaven—garlic, fresh herbs, something sizzling in a pan.

The host greets Bucky like he’s a regular. You raise an eyebrow.

“Don’t tell me this is your go-to first date spot.”

He smiles innocently. “Would it be a red flag if it was?”

“Depends. How many helmets do you carry around?”

He laughs, head tipping back just slightly, and gestures for you to walk ahead.

Once seated, the waiter leaves a bottle of wine and two menus. You both open them at the same time… and neither of you looks down.

You’re watching each other instead.

“You gonna pick for both of us too, or are we back to equal rights now?”

“You’re welcome to order for me, if that’s your thing.”

You hum, pretending to think. “Something with anchovies, then.”

He looks horrified.

You grin. “Power shift complete.”

He’s still smiling when he pours the wine.

The pasta arrives, steaming and rich, and for a few quiet seconds, it’s just the clink of silverware and shared smiles over wine.

“Okay,” you say, after a sip, “you’ve told me your favorite band. But what’s your comfort movie?”

He lifts his brows, chewing thoughtfully. “The Great Escape.”

You blink. “Really?”

He shrugs, grinning. “There’s something satisfying about the plan. The tension. Also—motorcycles.”

You laugh. “Of course.”

You keep going—music, food, things you’d never eat. He tries to pretend he isn’t picky, but you catch the face he makes when you mention oysters.

Then, in a lull, you glance over at him, playful but curious.

“So what was your plan?”

He blinks. “Plan?”

“You said you had one,” you remind him. “With me.”

He exhales, chuckling softly. “God, yeah. I mean—there were rules. No kissing until at least the second date. Keep it casual. Let things unfold naturally.”

You smirk. “And how’s that going?”

He looks at you like he wants to say something smart—but then just admits, “I wrecked it the second I met you.”

The silence after that is warm, charged.

Then he blurts, almost without thinking, “Which, statistically, is ridiculous for someone my age.”

You blink. “Your age?”

He winces, realizing what he’s done. “Shit. No. I didn’t mean—forget I said that.”

You lean in, eyes narrowed. “What, are you older than you look? What are we talking here—mid-forties? Fifty?”

He mutters something.

You lean closer. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

He sighs, looking anywhere but at you. “I’m… technically… one hundred and seven.”

You stare at him. Then you smile, slow and wicked.

“So if I asked for your birth year, would I need to use Roman numerals?”

He groans, but you see the corner of his mouth twitching.

You add, “Do I need to puree your food from now on?”

“Okay, enough,” he laughs, covering his face with one hand.

The table shakes with your laughter. And underneath it, his hand finds yours. Warm. Solid. Grounding.

“Are you going to let me pay this time?” you ask, tilting your head.

He shakes his head immediately, brows furrowed like you just insulted him. He gets to the check before you can even pretend to reach for it.

“What kind of gentleman would I be?” he says, almost scolding—but there’s a warmth behind it.

That makes you blush. The way he says it. The way he means it. He is a gentleman—truly. The kind you’ve only read about. The kind that makes you pause and wonder if this is real.

He’s folding the receipt away when he glances up and catches the look on your face—just for a second like you forgot to hide it. Like you're lost in a thought you didn’t mean to let show.

“What?” he asks gently, a trace of amusement in his voice. “You’re looking at me like I just grew another metal arm.”

You laugh, soft and breathy, shaking your head. “Nothing. Just… you’re kind of unfair.”

He tilts his head, curious. “Unfair?”

You nod. “Too good. Like you stepped out of some daydream or something.”

His eyes soften. No teasing this time. Just honesty.

“I think that about you,” he says quietly, “all the time.”

Then, even softer—almost like he’s admitting it to himself more than to you. “Which is probably why I keep messing up my plan.”

 After the check is paid you step outside into the crisp night. The city hums around you, but it all feels muted—like you're wrapped in some kind of bubble.

He hands you the helmet.

“Still worried I’ll fall off?” you tease.

He just smirks. “Not worried. Just prepared.”

You take it, slide it on, and glance up at him through your lashes. The helmet’s too big and makes your hair puff awkwardly, but you’re smiling—and that smile hits him like it always does.

He huffs a soft laugh, eyes crinkling. “Come here,” he murmurs, stepping closer.

His hands reach up—one warm, one cool—and gently adjust the strap under your chin. He’s careful and focused, thumbs brushing your jaw as he fastens it just right.

“There,” he says, voice low. “Wouldn’t want you flying off and blaming me.”

You’re close enough to see the flecks of gray in his stubble, the softness in his eyes, the way he lingers just a second too long.

Too good, he thinks. Too good to be mine.

You swing your leg over and wrap your arms around his waist. There’s no joking this time, no pretending you’re terrified. You just lean in. You breathe him in. He feels it.

And for the ride home, it’s quiet. The wind against your jacket, the rhythm of the engine beneath you, your cheek against his back.

He feels your arms around him, your grip tightens slightly on turns, and it’s… grounding. Intimate. It's almost like he could believe he belongs somewhere.

When he parks outside your building, you swing your leg off and remove the helmet, hair mussed and cheeks pink from the wind.

He watches you, that same quiet look in his eyes as always.

You hand him back the helmet. “You wanna come up for a second? You said you needed to use the bathroom, remember?”

He hesitates—but only for half a second. “Right. Yeah. Bathroom.”

Inside, the apartment is dim and calm. You flick on a low lamp in the corner and start to gesture toward the hallway. “Bathroom’s just—”

But you don’t finish the sentence.

Because when you turn, he’s already looking at you.

He steps forward. “I had a whole plan, you know.”

You smirk. “Yeah? How’s it going?”

He’s close now, one hand finding your waist, the other brushing your arm. “Totally wrecked it.”

And then he kisses you.

Slow. Focused. A little desperate—like he’s been holding it in for too long and something just gave way.

You reach behind you, fumbling the door closed without breaking the kiss. Shoes half-kicked off, jackets forgotten. You both laugh softly as you stumble over your bag and bump into a table, don’t care.

You barely make it past the entryway before you fall into each other again.

The kiss grows hungrier. Your back hits the couch, or maybe his back—you’re not sure who landed first. All you know is you’re straddling him now, knees on either side of his thighs, your breath uneven.

His hands roam—your waist, your thighs, your back. Yours are in his hair, his jaw, gripping the edges of his shirt like it might anchor you.

Then his vibranium hand slips into your hair—cool and sure. He tugs, just enough to tilt your head back, exposing the line of your throat.

His mouth finds your neck.

You gasp, fingers tightening in his shirt. He exhales against your skin, and it sends another shiver through you. His hands grip your waist firmly.

“You’re really bad at following plans,” you murmur, breathless.

He grins against your throat. “Yeah. I’ve noticed.” His hands find your zipper and pull it down—slow, careful.

You stop him—not to push him away, but to shift.

Wordlessly, you slide off his lap and stand in front of him.

He watches you with eyes dark, hungry, locked in place—like if he blinked, he might miss it. Like you’re something he’s been starving for.

You let the straps of your dress slip from your shoulders. Let it fall in one clean motion, pooling softly at your feet.

You stand there in your underwear—bare skin kissed by the soft lamp light—and for a beat, he just stares.

Like you’re something holy.

Then he reaches for you. No hesitation. No teasing. Just raw, reverent need. He pulls you back onto his lap, your knees on either side of him.

His hands are everywhere—your thighs, your waist, your back—gripping, grounding, like he still can’t believe you’re real.

His voice is low, almost wrecked.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.”

And he says it like it’s killing him. Like it’s been on the tip of his tongue since the moment he first saw you.

You reach for him, fingers finding the edge of his jacket. He lets you pull it off without a word.

Then comes the shirt—your hands slipping beneath the hem, dragging it up over his chest, his shoulders, and finally off.

And—holy shit.

You blink.

Fuck me.

Why was he hiding all of that under his clothes?

Defined, scarred, solid. Like he was carved from something real. Something earned.

Your breath catches. And suddenly? The whole “I’m a hundred” thing feels like absolute bullshit.

“Seriously,” you mutter, eyes wide. “There’s no way.”

He raises a brow, amused. “No way what?”

“That you’re a hundred. Bullshit.”

He laughs, soft and a little breathless, but you’re not really listening anymore.

Your hands find his chest, running slowly over warm skin, the lines of muscle, the scar on his shoulder—faint, but deep—and the place where metal meets flesh, the seam where his vibranium arm connects. You pause there, not to inspect, not to question—just to feel it.

You’re not studying him. You’re admiring him.

Your hand lifts, soft, fingertips brushing along the edge of it. Just to feel. Just to understand.

And that’s when you feel him shift.

Not visibly. Not loudly. Just a subtle change in his breathing. A tension in his jaw.

You glance up—and his eyes are on you, guarded now. Watching you watch him.

Like he’s waiting. For judgment. For you to flinch. For the part where you see the damage and pull away.

Like he’s had people look at him like that before—and it never ended well.

But you don’t flinch. You don’t pull back.

Your fingers trace the line where metal meets flesh, soft and slow. You look at him—not with pity, not with fear. Just… awe.

“You’re not a monster,” you whisper. “Not even close.”

He exhales, shaky. Like he didn’t know he’d been holding his breath.

You press a soft kiss against his lips —hands pressed to his chest, your body close—he kisses you back like something unlocked inside him. Like he’s not afraid of being seen anymore.

The kiss deepens, slow but intense, your mouths moving together.

His hands return to your body—warm, solid, reverent. One curls around your waist, holding you steady. The other, vibranium and sure, cups the back of your neck as he pulls you closer, closer, like he still doesn’t believe you’re really here.

You shift against him, your thighs straddling his hips again, and he groans into your mouth—quiet, rough, needy. It unravels everything.

The heat grows. His hands explore—your back, your sides, under the edge of your bra, then, with a smooth flick of his fingers, he unhooks it with one hand. Effortless.

You blink, breath catching. “Show-off.”

He grins against your skin. “You’re welcome.”

You grind down against him and he groans—low, sharp, like he’s unraveling beneath you.

“Won’t this mess up your plan?” you murmur against his lips, breath shaky.

He pauses just barely, eyes flicking open, dazed.

“…What plan?”

His voice is ragged. Like he genuinely forgot it ever existed. Because you wrecked it.

“You sure you want this?”

He groans when you nod, like the permission undoes him.

You barely get the word “yes” out before he’s kissing you again— It’s messy now, deep and heated, his mouth hot against yours, all tongue and teeth and hunger.

Your hips grind against his and he gasps, hands flying to your waist, gripping tight like he’s barely holding it together.

You tug at the waistband of his pants and he helps—shoving them down without grace, without care, because nothing matters now except skin and friction and you.

He curses under his breath when you sink down onto him, head falling back against the couch, eyes blown wide.

“Fuck,” he breathes—raw, reverent. “You feel…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. He’s too busy watching the way your mouth parts in a moan as you move—slow at first, teasing, and then faster, harder.

Your hands are everywhere—his chest, his shoulders, the edge of the couch for balance. He fills you completely, and the stretch has you gasping, clinging to him as you move. Your hands claw at his shoulders, fingers digging into muscle. He loves it.

Your pace quickens and so does his grip, guiding your hips with both hands like he needs this to last but knows it won’t.

His grip on your hips is possessive, guiding your rhythm, dragging you down harder with every roll of your body.

“You’re driving me insane,” he growls, voice hoarse, head tipping forward to nip at your collarbone, your jaw, your shoulder.

You tug at his hair, and he groans again—louder this time, shameless.

The couch creaks.  The room’s too hot, too perfect.

He shifts, hands gripping your thighs as he flips you—your back hitting the cushions, legs still wrapped around him as he settles between them.

Now he’s on top. And he doesn’t slow down.

He thrusts into you deep, steady, relentless—his eyes locked on yours like he wants to watch the way you fall apart.

You arch beneath him, breath shattered, hands gripping anything you can—his shoulders, his arms, the couch cushions, your sanity.

He lowers his head, mouth trailing hot across your collarbone before his teeth sink lightly into the curve of your neck. Not too hard—but enough to make your breath hitch, enough to mark.

His hips snap harder. His grip tightens.

He’s groaning against your skin, biting, licking, losing it as your moans rise in pitch, your nails dragging down his back.

You feel it building—fast and sharp.

“Bucky—” you gasp, voice breaking.

“I know,” he growls, voice wrecked. “I know—don’t stop—don’t fucking stop—”

And you don’t. Neither of you do.

You come together like a crash—loud, clinging, uncoordinated—his mouth still on your neck, your back arching, both of you trembling through it.

The couch groans in protest, a final creak under the weight of your bodies and everything that’s been boiling over between you.

And then—

Silence.

Except for the sound of your breathing. His heartbeat against your chest.

And the way neither of you dares to move just yet.

He collapses onto you with a low groan, forehead damp, breath still catching in his throat.

His weight is heavy, but not crushing—just solid. Comforting.

He rests his head against your chest, cheek pressed between your tits, one arm draped lazily over your waist.

Neither of you says anything for a long moment. Just breathing. The sound of it filling the room as your heartbeats slowly, slowly return to something almost normal.

You brush a hand through his hair—sweaty, soft, a little wild—and smile to yourself.

“So,” you murmur, voice hoarse. “Still think you’re too old for this?”

He groans into your chest. “Don’t start.”

You laugh softly. “No, seriously. Should I call a medic? Or a chiropractor?”

He pinches your hip, but he doesn’t move. “I hate you.”

“Liar.”

He hums, lips brushing your skin. “A little.”

The couch creaks beneath you again and you both wince.

You look at the state of it—cushions everywhere, throw blanket on the floor along the rest of your discarded clothes. 

“Okay,” you whisper. “So we definitely killed the couch.”

Still, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even lift his head.

“You wanna move to the bed?” you ask, fingers lazily tracing circles along his spine.

“Can’t,” he mumbles.

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Both.”

You grin. “You’re seriously going to pass out on my tits?”

“Best pillow I’ve ever had.”

You giggle softly, but you don’t push him off. You just let your hand keep stroking his back, slower now, as his breathing evens out and the weight of him starts to feel like something more than just exhaustion.

Like comfort. Like trust.

Like maybe he’s safe here.

You shift under him, trying to get comfortable—but there’s no hope. The couch is broken, cushions askew, and your back is already protesting.

Still, you don’t move.

His head is still tucked against your chest, one arm slung heavy around your waist, and his breathing has slowed into the kind of deep, steady rhythm that says he’s out.

You stare at the ceiling, the room dim and quiet around you, the air still thick with sweat and warmth and everything you didn’t say out loud.

You try to wiggle your leg. Nope. Trapped.

You sigh.

It’s the worst sleep you’ve ever had.

Your shoulder aches. The couch dips weirdly to one side. Your neck’s at a horrible angle.

But his arm tightens slightly in his sleep.

You smile. Close your eyes.

And fall asleep anyway.

Hope you enjoyed your read just as much as I enjoyed writing this for y'all, let me know what you think!

Reblogs, likes and comments help this story grow! ✨✨✨

Let me know if you want to be added to a Taglist so you can be the first to know when the next part comes out!!

@pickuptruck01 @writing-for-marvel @bluelygreen @pins-and-flowers @voodoo-tofu @mcira @lostinspace33

[mythals-whore]

Some thoughts on fandom engagement

Post got long but TL;DR engagement is low, Never Ever Stop Creating! fandom is community and everyone needs to participate

extended thoughts and personal anecdote under the cut:

For writers:

I have turned off Kudos emails from ao3. I found myself checking my email and feeling discouraged when I didn't get them. So i turned the emails off so I wouldn't know I wasn't getting them. Even now when I go to my dashboard, I specifically do not look at the bottom of the work to see those numbers.

This is not me telling you to do the same thing. It is easier said than done, and I understand that. But that's what I had to do to have a good time.

Because for a little while, posting made it less fun. I felt like people didn't like it. I was being overly critical of myself, couldn't write more than three sentences without feeling like I was garbage and my work was garbage and I should just quit. I would post a chapter and then immediately want to take the whole thing down. But then I realized...

I have about four half-finished projects in my WIP folder. I have written like 500,000 words that no one has ever read. Because I had fun doing it! Because I enjoy writing!!

And the point of this isn't to say writers shouldn't want or expect engagement. That is not at all what I'm saying!

What I am saying is that if you enjoy writing and you find that posting your work is making you feel unmotivated, discouraged, and you're not having fun anymore it is okay to take it down. It’s okay to make your work private for a while. It's okay to turn off Kudos emails or even comments. Whatever you need to do to make it fun again, do that. If you enjoy creating, please do not let the lack of engagement stop you!

It's been really helpful for me to find a community of creators! Without the support of @thedissonantverses @flowersforthemachines and @basedonconjecture I may have deleted my work months ago!

And that said, if you want someone to read your work, there are so many people (including and especially me) who would love to read and promote you! Participate in WIP Wednesday and Writing Weekend! Promote your own work!! Promote other creators' work! This is how we build community!

For readers:

If you love fanfic, and fanart and fandom in general engage with it. The urge to take down your work is real! And not unique to me! If writers don't get kudos or comments or replies on tumblr, they will delete their work. If there's a fic you find, and you enjoy it but you don't engage with it do not be surprised if you log on one day and it isn't there anymore. Or if it gets orphaned. Or if they simply stop updating it.

Fandom is meant to be a community. The whole purpose of it is to enjoy the things you enjoy with other people. If you're consuming free work (be that fanfic, fan art or something else) and you're not liking or reblogging or commenting then those people will stop sharing it.

And my personal take, while we're here: I do not get it.

I do not understand why there are people out there who do not jump at the chance to directly engage with authors and artists who make things that you enjoy. You can tell them personally how much you like their work! You can ask them questions! You can send them your unhinged ramblings on The Character.

And before anyone comes to my replies and says: I never know what to say ))):

Here is a non-comprehensive list of 10 slightly unhinged things that I've actually commented on fics (some edited for brevity)

I am chewing on glass.

bye i’m putting my fist through the wall 😭

These two are consuming my every waking thought

That ruined me i fear. I have passed away

THIS IS LITERATURE. absolutely tore my heart out.

You are sick in the head my friend

Im gonna sip on this sentence a while.🤌🏻

how could you do this to them? writing about this in my burn book brb

A) You absolutely cooked here B) how fucking dare you?

 kicking my feet and giggling!!!!!

And this isn't just for ao3/fanfic writers. Fanartists deserve love too! Artists love feedback!! The more unhinged the better!! Tell us we're evil! Quote our work back to us! Tell us you're smashing through walls like the Kool-aid man! Tell us that our work is making you scream and cry and blush!

No one is expecting you to leave several long paragraphs with an actual annotated review (not that that wouldn't also be welcome). Comment! Engage! Community is the whole point!

This also goes for finding Tumblr mutuals, by the way. If you want to make friends with people on here engage with their content! Like their posts! Reply to them! Send asks and messages!

Stop being afraid to enjoy things! That is like...all we are doing here.

[sturniololuvz]

hiii i love your fics sm! could you possibly do a fic where their little sister (15-16?) is struggling with school being rly difficult /school work piling up and she just doesn’t have the motivation to do it with all the stress so they try to help her? thank you sm! 

One Assignment at a Time

Y/N had been quiet for most of the day.

Not the usual tired quiet or the “I’m scrolling TikTok and ignoring everyone” quiet — it was different. She hadn’t come down for breakfast, skipped lunch, and when Chris passed her room around 3 p.m., he heard nothing but the soft scratch of a pencil and the occasional sigh.

By the time dinner rolled around and she still hadn’t come out, they knew something was up.

“I’m gonna check on her,” Matt said, heading toward her door with a plate of food.

Chris and Nick followed close behind, peeking into the room once he opened it.

Y/N was sitting at her desk, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, laptop open in front of her with tabs everywhere — Google Docs, Canvas, Quizlet, random PDFs. Her binder was exploding with half-done worksheets, highlighters scattered across the floor, and her hair was tied up like she hadn’t touched it in days.

She didn’t look up when they walked in.

“Hey,” Matt said gently. “You’ve been up here all day.”

“Just trying to finish stuff,” she mumbled, not making eye contact.

Nick sat on the edge of her bed. “You eat yet?”

She shrugged.

Chris stepped closer and glanced at her screen. “Is all this due tonight?”

“No. Some of it’s late already,” she said, voice small. “I just… can’t keep up anymore. Every time I finish one thing, there’s five more. It’s like I’m drowning in assignments and I can’t find the energy to care about any of it.”

Her voice cracked at the end. She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes.

“I’m trying,” she whispered. “I just feel like I’m failing at everything.”

The room went still.

Then Matt knelt beside her chair and placed the plate of food next to her. “You’re not failing. You’re overwhelmed. That’s different.”

Chris stood behind her and gently squeezed her shoulders. “You don’t have to do this by yourself. We can help.”

Nick nodded. “Yeah. Let’s make a list of everything. Prioritize what’s due first. We’ll figure out what’s actually important and what can wait.”

“I can write the emails for you if you need to ask for extensions,” Matt offered.

“I’ll help you with anything English or writing-related,” Chris added. “You know that’s my jam.”

Nick pulled out his phone. “And I’ll keep time. You work in 20-minute chunks, then we take five-minute breaks. Brain can’t go full throttle for hours.”

Y/N blinked at them, lip trembling.

“You guys would do all that?”

“For you? Always,” Chris said.

She let out a shaky breath, then finally leaned into Matt’s side, hugging him tightly.

“I hate school sometimes,” she mumbled.

“We do too,” Nick said, patting her back. “But we’ve got you.”

—

The rest of the night, the triplets rotated roles — Nick played lo-fi music and made her laugh between study chunks, Matt helped her organize due dates into a calendar, and Chris sat beside her going over her rough draft until her sentences started to make sense again.

It wasn’t perfect.

But it didn’t have to be.

Because she didn’t feel alone anymore.

And sometimes, that was the difference between giving up and getting through it.

⸻

[rainrot4me]

hii i'm the person that asked for dialogue advice! i would send asks with anon off but i can't send asks from side blogs and my main blog is a religious one so that would be a bit awks i think

anyway! i'm here once again to ask for your advice, but i feel like asking for advice and tips gets a bit redundant. i guess it all boils down to: how do you get these ideas and turn them into words so effectively? i know realistically nobody really posts first drafts (and if you do then you are insanely talented and likely have a lot of years of writing under your belt) but my issue is that i don't really know how to improve something from a first draft.

i'm really sorry if this is annoying, you're not here to teach me how to write but i just genuinely don't know how to make my writing better

Don’t even worry about it!! Here’s the best advice I can give:

Honestly, I think a lot of it just comes from writing a lot. I’m constantly drafting, reworking, and experimenting, and over time you start to get a feel for what flows well—both in your own voice and in the character dynamics you’re writing. I almost never post first drafts. The first draft is where I spill the idea out, but it’s messy and usually too close to my head to see clearly, so it’s just various time stamps and plot points that I eventually work the story around later.

To improve it, I reread with a specific goal: sometimes I’m checking for flow, sometimes for character voice, sometimes for emotional payoff. I read my scenes out loud a lot—it helps me catch awkward phrasing or moments that don’t hit quite right. I also pay attention to where I get bored or disconnected, because if I’m losing interest, a reader probably would too. I have a bad habit of reiterating details constantly, so I have to make sure I haven’t told you the same sentence four times within the last two paragraphs.

And honestly? Reading fanfic helps me as much as writing it. When I find something that makes me feel something, I’ll go back and study how the writer pulled it off—pacing, word choice, dialogue balance, whatever. I don’t think there’s one magical moment where it all clicks, but with every piece I finish, I learn something new, even if it’s just what not to do next time. Every fic I post has something better than the last, and I feel like that’s true for every writer. You learn as you go, you don’t just magically have all the talent at one (and even if you feel like you do, you’ll look back at a work you wrote months ago and think “wtf is this??”)

Besides writing fanfiction, I am constantly in my diary, writing reports for work and school, and helping my gen x parents try and write good emails (lol). So I am almost never not working my brain and my fingers on material, so I feel like that aids a lot.

For getting ideas flowing and coming up with new things: Pinterest is amazing! Literally just search up ‘writing ideas’ or ‘story starter prompts’ and thousands of posts dialogue or not will come straight to you. Not ashamed to admit I’ve gotten a good couple of ideas from a pinned post.

Hope this helps!!!! Don’t hesitate to ask advice or any more questions!!

[vixstarria]

2024 Writing Retrospect

I was tagged by @marlowethebard, thank you so much!

What's been your biggest learning point this past year?

I think the main thing I've come to realise is that discipline and simply sitting down to write something is more important than and will often surpass a lack of inspiration or writer's block - the ideas will often start flowing once you just get started.

...Whether or not I've learned how to actually be consistently disciplined is an entirely different question.

How has your writing developed this past year?

It's difficult to measure it. One thing that I can say is that re-reading the fics I published in 2023 now makes me cringe, which I suppose is a sign that I've (hopefully) improved.

I will add that I am currently actively working on learning and improving (i.e. reading / watching lectures on the more theoretical aspects of writing, story building, etc) - and it's been interesting. There are some things that I've already been doing intuitively, and others that I only realise now that they've been explained to me. Hopefully it will show in my writing soon.

Good writing habits?

Just sitting down to write even when I don't feel like it. Chances are, I will start feeling like it soon after I start, and even if I don't - at least I will know that I have accomplished something that day.

Bad writing habits?

I feel I've gotten so used to and spoiled by my writing software (scrivener) that I can no longer just open a google doc on my phone or work computer and jot down a few lines whenever an idea hits me - I leave it for later, and when the later comes it's all washed out. I need to stop being so damn picky.

Favorite thing you wrote?

Bloodbang Chronicles my beloved longfic.

Favorite reads?

This is a very tricky question, because I have a lot of very talented friends in the fandom, whose works I love and always look forward to seeing updated, and 1) I don't want to offend anyone by omission, and 2) I don't want to make the list a mile long.

I will only list the fics that are completely unlike anything else that I've read:

Direct from Hell Logistics by @ineadhyn - modern AU Raphael/Haarlep - Raphael is killed by Tav and is sent to our world as a DHL delivery man as punishment. Hilarity ensues. But also, the slow burn romance? (well, the romantic aspect of it, anyway) And the angst? And the action? Mwah. This is the fic that made me love Raphael.

Thy People Shall Be My People by @leomonae - postgame Astarion/Tav. What makes it so different from other Tavstarion fics? Well, Tav is an illithid. Also, this is a fic where every single word and sentence is full of meaning, nothing is irrelevant, and I read with bated breath to make sure I don't miss anything.

Ruins by @marlowethebard - modern AU but not really, the setting is Faerun 1,000 years in the future, and it is close to the modern world, but not quite. Astarion is in the centre of it all, with some 'friends' from BG3 increasingly making appearances. The mystery, the drama, the amazing characterisation, the unique setting, the absolute love with which it is written. I squeal happily every time I get an email about a new chapter.

Biggest win?

"The real treasure was the friends we made along the way", lol.

But quite seriously, it's being part of the community here and on Discord - having the opportunity to bounce ideas and inspire each another, as well as the general support (relating to writing and otherwise) I've had throughout the year - it's been amazing and I doubt I'd still be writing or creating if I hadn't met so many lovely people here. ❤

Goals for the new year?

Publish winter big bang fic in February

Continue writing Bloodbang Chronicles (I'm not going to commit to actually wrapping it up - I've got way too many ideas to fit inside it before the end)

Publish some original works and try to actually make some money with it - that would be nice

Your favorite words of the year, aka the words you check each chapter for, making sure you didn't repeat them 788 times?

I should probably come up with a way to depict that a character was surprised or momentarily caught off guard, other than having them "blink". They tend to "sigh" entirely too often as well.

What are you excited for in the new year?

Accomplishing the above goals and reading more of the fics I love.

tagging @tragedybunny @spacebarbarianweird @snowfolly @wilteddreamsofbaldursgate @mj-bites

@leomonae @ineadhyn @bardic-inspo and whoever else wants to share their thoughts

[ashes2sin]

Crash Test Dummy (Xavier Route) P1: The Start

Crash Test Dummy Intro & Info

A/N: Oh. My. God. I have so much respect for the people who link and masterlist and design all their posts and fics and blogs and what not. This is tedious and I am way too lazy. Help. A/N 2: I am still practicing writing in second person POV so yes this is cringe and OOC. I know. Please check the intro & info link for specific tags and information about the series! Thank you!

Xavier

The bar was warm with cheap laughter and old stories. One of those places that always smelled like bourbon and scratched leather seats, like time had forgotten to move forward with the world outside it.

Xavier leaned back against the booth, tie loosened, second drink disappearing down his throat faster than the first.

“Alright, hear me out,” one of his coworkers was saying, leaning across the table with the gleam of someone too far gone in whiskey to be wise. “That girl in IT—what’s her name? The quiet one. You know the one.”

“The one who wears cat socks to meetings and refuses to eat the muffins?” The other guy smirked, wobbly at the edges from the flowing alcohol. “Yeah, I’ve seen her. Shy. Nerdy. Built like a—“

“Do not finish that sentence,” Xavier said flatly, tossing back the rest of his drink just to feel the burn.

The first guy grinned. “C’mon, man. You could use some entertainment.”

Xavier huffed at him, setting the empty glass down a little harder than he meant to. “What, you want me to talk to her?”

“Bet you couldn’t get her to go out with you. Let alone fall for you.”

Xavier laughed. Sharp, humorless. “Please. If I wanted to, I could.”

“You really think you still got it?” The man taunted, tongue caught between his teeth in a near-mocking smirk. “Fine. One month. If she falls for you, you win.”

“And what do I win?”

The man shrugged. “Pride. Beer. Bragging rights. C’mon, you’ve been a mopey bastard ever since Emcee got with that other guy.”

Xavier’s jaw tightened a little at the mention of her. The woman he loved. The woman who was currently dating some world-renowned doctor and not her work partner.

He let the thought sit in his mind for a long while. He knew it was dumb. Knew it was mean. But God, if he was honest, he was tired of feeling like a shell of himself.

He poured himself another inch of whiskey from the shared bottle, swirled it in the glass until it caught the dim lighting of the bar.

“Fine,” he said. “One month. If she falls, I win.”

Across the bar, Emcee looked up from her corner seat — earbuds in, hands wrapped around a mug of something warm and spicy.

She caught his eye. Smiled. Friendly as ever.

Xavier’s throat went dry.

He looked away.

Tried not to think about what she would think of him if she knew he’d agreed to this.

You

You always ate alone. Not because you didn’t like people. Just because they made you tired.

You’d gotten used to the rhythm of the office: morning emails, awkward small talk in the break room. The same people passing your desk every day without quite seeing you.

That was fine. Invisible was easy. Familiar.

Until recently.

Until Xavier Shen started looking at you like you were made of something interesting.

At first, you thought it was a mistake. A weird coincidence. The first time he passed you in the hallway and said, “You always wear those socks on Thursdays?” you’d nearly choked on your sip of water.

But then it happened again.

And again.

Little things. A smirk when he passed you by the coffee machine. A comment about the music in your headphones. Your favorite flavor of tea suddenly appearing in a little ribbon-wrapped basket on your desk, since it kept getting stolen from the office kitchen.

It was… confusing. And sweet. And suspicious.

So when he appeared beside your table in the break room that Friday, all polished and rakish, blonde hair artfully disheveled and that little crooked smile on his lips, you looked up at him cautiously.

“Hey,” he said. “You got plans for lunch?”

You blinked. “…What?”

“Lunch. With me. There’s a taco truck two blocks over that’s practically a religious experience.”

You hesitated. “Why?”

He linked, mouth opening slightly, clearly not expecting the thinly veiled suspicion in your tone.

“I mean—sorry,” you said quickly, realizing how rude you must seem to him. “I just. We’ve never really talked before.”

“That’s not true,” he argued. “We talked about your socks once.”

You snorted despite yourself. “That hardly counts.”

“Well, consider this our upgrade.” He gave you a grin that could’ve passed for charming if it wasn’t so tired around the edges. “You in?”

You looked at him for a long moment, searching his face for any trace of lie, cruelty, mocking, but there was nothing there except that same little grin that suggested he held secrets, but none of them were necessarily bad.

And something else.

Loneliness, maybe, just fraying the edges.

“…okay. Tacos sound good.”

Later

The taco truck was a little beat-up van with a hand-painted menu and a perpetually long line. You ate on the curb under a faded brick wall, warm foil trays balanced on your knees.

“You always this quiet?” he asked, biting into a taco that was all meat and spice and heartburn.

“You always this forward?” you shot back, raising an eyebrow at him.

He smiled, a little surprised. “Touché.”

You shrugged at him, setting the to-go tray back down and chewing thoughtfully.

“I just didn’t think you even knew my name.”

“I know a lot more than your name.”

You eye him from the side, see that little barely there smirk on his lips again. “Like what?”

“You like your coffee iced, even in the winter. You hum commercial jingles under your breath when you think no one’s listening or you’ve lost your concentration. And you always twist your straw wrapped into knots before you throw it away.”

You stared at him.

“That’s…” Creepy? Sweet? Terrifying? “…oddly specific.”

He shrugged. “I notice things.”

For a moment, he just looked at you. Like maybe he was actually seeing you for the first time. Or maybe he didn’t expect you to smile at him like that.

Like maybe you were something he didn’t quite expect, and he wasn’t sure what to do about it now that he was face to face with you.

Xavier

He sat alone in his apartment. Same half-lit kitchen. Same untouched takeout on the counter.

He pulled his phone out, thumbed the lock screen open.

Her number stared back at him.

He hadn’t even really meant to get it. Okay, he had, but it was unexpected how. She’d offered, at the end of lunch, casually. Like she wasn’t even sure if he’d use it and didn’t really care if he did.

He didn’t text her.

He didn’t call.

Just stared at the name on the screen.

Then he let the screen go dark, closed his eyes, and cursed softly.

[jillsandwhichs]

Valenfield OneShots/AUs Collection, Chapter 12, Risky

Masterlist

Pairing: Jill Valentine & Chris Redfield

Summary: Chris and Jill have some special alone time in her office

Status of their relationship in this one shot: Dating

WC: 3.7k

Type: NSFW

Warnings: Imma be honest, I didn't write down the warnings when I did this. To guess, P in V, Dirty talk, Making out, Office sex, Semi public sex, Biting, No protection, He cums on her & more

A/n: Hi! Hope you all enjoy. Please check out my masterlist, there's a lot of stuff there. You can get to know me, you can see the rules of my blog and then you can see all of my fanfictions. You'll be able to find the previous chapters to this fic and upcoming ones. You'll also be able to find my Wattpad & AO3. Comments, reblogs & likes are appreciated. Thank you

Jill was on her laptop, typing up the final few sentences she needed for this analysis on her latest mission. If there was one thing she dreaded most about her job, it wouldn't even be the dangerous part, rather writing and typing for majority of the day. Luckily, it was getting later on in the day, considering it was around seven P.M currently, which just gave Jill more motivation to keep working so she could finally head back to her apartment.

The woman had her own personal office. It was miniscule but cozy, Jill loved the fact she got time to herself whilst working, it helped her keep a clearer headspace and you most definitely need one working this tank of a job. Her office was square shaped, just like any other stereotypical office you'd find. Her desk was all white, drawers stacked on the top of it, but leaving a decent amount of room for her extra knick knacks she needed for work.

It was overall hard to focus on her work right now, all she could think about was being able to go home. Jill is passionate about her line of work, but that doesn't mean she doesn't want a break, because she seriously does. Mental health breaks are important yet ever since she was young, she never necessarily prioritized her mental well being like she should. Her boyfriend, Chris, has definitely helped her with that though. He makes her want to be better.

"Fuck me..." Jill groaned out, rubbing her forehead, attempting to relieve the immense amount of stress she has been feeling. Jill was guilty of being a procrastinator. She would put work off and not touch it for a while, which is what causes her to have to sit through more meetings than usual, have more work to do and have to even stay back late to receive lectures from Clive, which when he's disappointed in a worker, oh, he'll most definitely make sure you know.

Overall, Jill doesn't wanna deal with that anymore, she wants to complete this course and just be done with all this work, and that starts tonight.

-

The woman had completed her analysis and was now typing up an email to Clive, letting him know of her accomplishment. Jill was inevitably getting more and more bored of typing, reading and scanning through all these documents. It was actually such a bore, but you reap what you sow, and Jill sowed his job. She literally helped form what the BSAA is today, it kind of gains her the authentic right to complain about it, or at least that's what she tells herself.

As she was finalizing the email, double checking for any spelling errors, there was a light knock at the door, before it then slowly creaked open, revealing a tall, bulk figure. Jill's eyes glanced up, capturing who was standing just before her. The door was only a couple feet in front of her desk, her office wasn't the largest. "Jeez baby, I didn't expect you to still be here." Jill exclaimed, placing her hand up on her chest as if you hold on for dear life. "Yeah, yeah, no, I wasn't going to be here this late, considering it's eight-thirty now but I wanted to see you before I left."

Chris and Jill worked together at the BSAA. While they technically aren't partners on missions, they always manage to weasel their way in to working with one another, which they both enjoy very much. "I'm glad, I was hoping I'd finish sooner but I literally now just finished my analysis... When did you do yours?" "Just about an hour ago, I've been with Jessica ever since, we went over last Mondays mission." Chris expressed, ambling to Jill's desk, twinking with her knick-knacks.

"I see... Let me just send this email and then we can talk, yeah?" Jill stated, aiming back down at her laptop and typing away. "Go ahead baby." Chris whispered, going back to fidgeting with the little stuff on her desk. Chris didn't have any at his but that's just for the best knowing he'd get distracted and mess with them twenty-four-seven.

The email she was sending wasn't too long nor too short. It was basically just her apologizing for never getting caught up and mostly focusing on hands on missions rather than the reports, analysis's and documents side of things, which is just as important. Jill just prefers the thrill of being out on a mission, it's just what she likes more. Ultimately, she sent the email, releasing a huge sigh and slumping in her chair before gandering back to Chris, smiling as she watched him fuck with her gadgets.

Soon, Chris caught onto the fact she was staring at him, it made him feel somewhat embarrassed, conveying him to convert the topic. "Are we staying at your place tonight? Or seperate? If you wanna be alone tonight, that's okay." Chris spoke, not wanting her to feel pressured. "We can stay at mine." Jill answered him, standing up after sitting down for so long felt great, her muscles stretched in all the right places.

"Yeah, sounds good." Chris spoke, putting the item down and letting his eyes advert to Jill, whom was heading towards him. "I don't know if I ever told you this but that shirt looks great on you babe." Jill complimented him. All he was wearing was a tight fit BSAA uniform shirt, it wasn't anything special. "Oh really?" Chris chuckled, watching as Jill stepped closer to him. "Yes." "Well, I'm glad you like it, but all it is, is my uniform." Chris stated, placing his hands on her lower waist, his hands resting just above her rear.

"It looks good on you though." She spoke again, her voice was awfully enticing. "You look good too, you always do." He replied. "I know." She said sarcastically, retrieving a laugh out of Chris. "Glad to see you're self aware sweetheart." Chris chortled, squeezing her hips firmly. Jill giggled and gandered her eyes up at him, their eyes locking as if the two were in a trance. "I love you." "I love you too baby." Chris whispered, moving his right hand up to her cheek and caressing it with ease.

"Did Jessica leave?" Jill asked aloud. "Yeah, why?" "Nothing, I just wanna make sure she won't come looking for you, you're mine for the rest of the night." She joked. "Yes ma'am." He replied with a tint of playfulness in his tone. Jill smiled to herself and leaned up towards his face, indicating she wanted to kiss him. Chris snorted and brought her face up to his, pressing his lips to hers and embracing the lovely feeling of their lips moving together.

Chris replaced his hands back onto her hips, turning her around and pushing her against her desk, causing it to shake for a moment, making her fidgets tip over. "Careful!" Jill laughed.

"Never." Chris teased her, going back to kissing her, the passion between the two was clear as day ; it's almost as if they were made for one another. Her hands rested on his lower stomach, his rock hard abs plundered through his shirt, which just so happened to be part of why Jill loves his uniform on him so much.

The way Jill's hands felt on his body was always beyond pleasant. Chris allowed her hands to roam wherever they pleased, he enjoyed the way she'd touch him, it was one of the best feelings in the world to him. "I love when you're like this." Chris muttered out, continuing to periodically kiss her. "I can't help myself..." Jill mumbled back, her fingers trailing as the end of his shirt, it intrigued Chris an insane amount.

Jill began to take off his shirt, it was somewhat hard though due to the tightness of it. Bit by bit, his torso was revealed to her, it honestly just aroused her even more. "You're so hot." Jill gawked, making Chris laugh. Seeing Jill vulnerable like this was rare and usually, it was only Chris who got to see her this way. He doesn't mind it though ; he loves it if anything, it's his sight to see and only his. "Says you." Chris snickered, gazing down at Jill.

After that, Jill fully removed his shirt, smirking at the sight. "Don't you think this is a little risky? We are at work honey." "I love me some adrenaline..." "Baby, seriously, what if we get caught?" Chris expressed his worry. "Babe, we won't, most people are gone and the others are either in their offices or outside, we're fine." "I'll take your word for it sweetheart." He sighed out, relaxing his nerves at her reassurance. She always knew how to calm him down in any situation.

Taking her cheek into his hand once more, he drew himself closer to her face, leaving loving kisses onto her lips, the moment felt so real and passionate, the two couldn't get enough of it, they relished in it. Chris slipped his hands down to the bottom of her shirt, lifting it above her head, revealing her dark blue bra, Chris couldn't help but get turned on further just by the sight. "You're amazing." Chris let out, latching his mouth onto her neck, leading to her releasing a soft, quiet noise, almost like a moan.

Throwing her head back slightly, Jill stood there, living for the feeling of Chris kissing and suckling on her throat. It was such an exlierating feeling, one that she's always cherished each time it happens. Her heart was pumping fast too ; the nerve wracking feeling that someone could knock on the door at any moment was flooding her mind. At the same time, it was adrenaline inducing, it felt good. "I love you." Jill whispered, tossing her head back even further. "I love you more, Jill." Chris replied, leaving hickeys all along her upper neck. "Oh you best hope those are visible by Monday..." "Let's pray hun." Chris snickered.

Releasing his threshold on her neck, Chris instantly went from that to picking her up swiftly and placing her to sit up straight on her desk, her body directly in front of him. "This is how we're gonna do it?" Jill giggled, placing her arms behind her to support her weight. "If you'd like." "Mhm." Jill mumbled in response, more than happy to take the position he put her in. "Do you have any condoms?" Chris questioned. "I don't... Can you just pull out?" Jill answered, moving her hands to be on his wrists. "I'll try." He cackled. "It'll be okay if you don't, I'll get the pill." Jill assured him, moving her hands to rest behind her again.

Luckily, Chris's pants weren't the ones he usually wears, these ones were much more casual and easier to slip off, especially since they were morely in a rush, not wanting anyone to come looking for them. He pulled down his pants, along with his underwear, revealing his erect length, Jill felt as if she could drool at the sight. "Take a picture, it'll last longer." Chris teased her. "I will." Jill said back to him, her tone sassy but in a attractive way, basically seductive.

His hands now shot to her leggings, pulling them all the way down from her waist to her feet, watched as she kicked them off from her ankles, leaving her in just her bra and panties. "Let's get these off." Chris spoke with concentration as he laughed, removing her panties haistly. "You always say that." Jill sneered. "Yeah, and? I mean it, I'm always quick to want you nude." "Of course." Jill giggled, gazing up at him.

Positioning himself right in front of her, Chris heaved as he stared at her gorgeous body, a warm pit was forming in his lower abdomen and his member only felt as though it was forming to become even harder - if that was even possible. "I'll never get enough of you." Chris admitted to her, taking in the view of her perfection. "Good." Jill whispered with a lustful voice. He snorted and grabbed his length, jerking it once or twice before aligning himself with her core. "Make sure you stay quiet baby." Chris ordered, wanting to be safe, no one needs to here what he's about to do to her.

Slowly but surely, Chris pushed himself inside of her, gasping to himself as he felt her immediately contract around him. It just went to show how much she had longed for him. "Fuck." Jill vocalized, biting her lip tightly, wanting to restraint herself from making any noise. "Shhh baby, be quiet for me." Chris demanded lovingly, moving his arms behind her and holding onto the desk. "I'm trying Chris." Jill pleaded, bundling her arms around his neck, holding onto him as he began to pump himself in and out of her.

As he pulled all the way out, Chris pushed back into her, going as deep as he could in this position. It felt so good, he was even trying to remain silent, Jill wasn't wrong, it's hard. His ass flexed as he pumped into her, making sure she felt him deep inside of her walls. "Oh my God..." Jill moaned out, once again throwing her head back, reveling in the intense feeling he was causing her to feel deep inside. "How are you so good at this..." Jill tittered, trying to maintain a soft tone, not to alert anyone in the HQ still. "It's all you baby." Chris responded, keeping the same decent pace.

Chris picked up the pace after a minute or so, he didn't immediately, allowing Jill to adjust to him inside of her. "Baby..." Jill whispered out, her head bouncing slightly from the movements of the desk, which she was still sat on. "Keep taking it." Chris muttered out, watching his length slip in and out of her, it was quite the sight to see and oddly enough, it turned him on even more. Jill's left arm was hanging off of one of his shoulders, her right hand resting on the table for stability.

Exhaling roughly, Chris began to slam into her at this rate, their skin slapping, Jill's moans and Chris's grunts were about the only sounds that could be heard within the room, sounds of a couple making intense love to each other, which the two loved to do together. "You're tight." Chris groaned out, tilting his head back and squinting his eyes, his mouth agap. He could feel his member twitching inside of her, her wetness coated his entire length, it was a sight he hungered for.

Tilting his head back to face her, Chris grunted as he pulled her closer to him, causing Jill to shriek at the sudden action. Their fronts were now pressed together, her breasts tucked into her bra were pressed up against his chest. "Surprised you haven't taken off my bra yet..." Jill soughed out, somehow being able to form words. Without saying anything back, Chris took his hand from behind the desk and to her back, unclipping her bra and groaning as he watched it fall off of her chest. "How about that?" Chris chuckled, taking his hand to her boob and fondling it, it felt so soft in his hand.

Jill gasped as Chris pounded even harder into her, the entire desk was now shaking and Jill actually feared it'd collapse beneath her. "Baby, baby, actually slow down, I can't have my desk breaking." "Heh, sorry hun." Chris laughed, slowing down somewhat but still keeping a pace that made them both weak in the best way possible. "Oh it feels really good..." Jill moaned out, her eyes locking with his. Her body felt as though it was floating as Chris stared back at her, he knew how to make her feel shy, even during special moments like these.

Ending the eye contact, Jill encased her arms around his torso, her nails digging into his back as he continued to move into her, sounds of pleasure emitting from both of them. Jill pressed her face into his shoulder, kissing it and biting down on it ever so gently, causing him to grunt at the pain, but it also felt great to him. "Fuck baby..." Chris groaned, his hands squeezing her waist as he thrusted into her unrelentlessly. "Oh..." Jill whimpered out, her voice cracking as she did so.

"You feel amazing." Chris expressed to her, admiring every aspect of her. Jill looked up at Chris, their faces inches apart. Chris smirked and kissed her, breathing in deeply as he did. Jill slipped her tongue alongside his upper lip, wanting entry into his mouth. He opened his mouth a bit, slipping his tongue to move with hers, their salvia mixing together. Their kisses were filled with complete love and care for each other - it was visible, just through their touches.

"You close?" Chris questioned, his mouth now near her ear. "Yes... Don't stop handsome." Jill pleaded, her hands resting on his back, her body shaking with ecstasy. "You're so beautiful, you know that? I love you Jill." Chris muttered out, pulling away from her, still pulling out and inside of her. "I love you so much." Jill said, her hands trailing up to his broad shoulders now, holding onto them firmly.

There was that familiar deep pit forming within Jill's stomach, she could even feel herself pulsing at the feeling of Chris railing her. "C'mon baby..." Chris grunted out, going extra fast now, wanting to finish himself and her off. Chris gripped her hips in his hands, pulling her into him as he pushed into her, making the experience feel even better and more pleasing. "Oh fuck..." Jill whined out, biting her lip to the point it turned into a faded white color, she was trying her best to keep herself quiet.

"That's it baby, you're okay." Chris spoke, he was talking her through it, he knows Jill likes it a lot whenever he does. He won't even lie, he likes when Jill does it to him too, but that's morely a rare occasion. Chris was absolutely enamored with the way Jill felt around him. She was perfect, every part of her, physically and mentally, she was just herself and Chris loved that so much about her. He basically idolized her, worshipped her. He cherished every bit of her well being.

The grip on her waist was still strong as ever, but he began to do deep, long, hard thrusts into her, indicating he was extremely close to finishing. "Just like that..." Jill expired out, her walls clenching around his member. Jill felt like she was going to explode at any given moment, she felt so alive, but that was also due to the fact they were fucking in her office at their literal workplace. "I'm about to finish baby..." Jill said aloud, her nails digging into her shoulder as if she was holding onto him for dear life.

When Chris heard her speak those words, he grabbed her chin, forcing her into look up at him and into his eyes. There was something about just her pretty face that could get him off ; he knew he'd finish alongside her if he just looked at her. She was ethereal. After he thrusted into her a few more times, she finally hit her peak, her back arched and her mouth opened wide, small vocal noises came out as she finished, her body was shaking too, it felt all too surreal.

Chris studied Jill's face as she finished, watching as she released her final moans and as her back arched from the immense pleasure he was giving to her. "My God..." Chris groaned out, pumping himself into her once more before instantly pulling out and releasing his cum all over her lower stomach, the warm liquid seeped down her body for a moment, there was a lot, Chris couldn't help but snicker at the sight.

"Jesus, that was good." Chris denoted, chuckling to himself. "Yeah, yeah it was." Jill sighed, breathing heavily as she stared down at her stomach, looking at his seed resting on it. "Grab me a rag baby, there are some in the cabinet over there..." Jill pointed over to the left side of her office, a few cabinets were lined up beside each other. "Okay sweetheart." Chris stated, walking over and opening one of the metal drawers, grabbing an old looking rag and treading back over to her, she was still looking adorable as she was sat on her work desk.

Taking the rag to her lower waistline, Chris began to wipe away his cum, not wanting to leave it on her. Chris felt so calm all of the sudden, as if their love making made it feel as though all of his problems were swept away into oblivion. He couldn't even describe the feeling - all he knew was that he was happy to be here, with Jill. "All better." Chris mumbled out, folding the rag and tossing it back over to the cabinets. "Thank you." "Of course babe."

"We should probably get dressed and head to my apartment." "Yeah, I agree, I'm exhausted now." Chris exclaimed, snorting to himself. "All guys are after sex." Jill teased, grabbing ahold of her clothing and putting it back on, along with Chris doing the same. It was moments like these that were so near and dear to them ; it's hard to live a romantic life whilst living your life to fight bioterrorism. Nonetheless, the two were just happy to get any amount of time together.

"I'll leave my car here overnight, let's just take your truck, okay?" Jill spoke, her tone timid. "Fine by me." Chris uttered out, adjusting his shirt to his form. The two tried their best to make it look as though they didn't just have some of the best sex of their life. "Let's go and act normal, yeah?" Jill giggled. "I'll try baby." Chris snickered, kissing her head before opening her office door, the two of them walking out and making their way to Chris's truck so they could finally go home.

[trickiwooao3]

Seven Sentence Sunday

Thanks, @ramonaflow and @a-noble-dragon for reminding me to check my WIP files. As it happens, because of a computer misadventure, I had to rescue the text below from a prescient backup email attachment I sent myself in March. Right now I'm tearing my hair out trying to find all my files, most of which are in total disarray after two computer ordeals, one re: cloud backup and one re: hard drive rescue. I'm pretty sure this text exists somewhere else, but I can't find it. I'm glad I have backups for my backups for most things I write. I'm giving myself a break after a two-year immersion in Ubi Caritas. I really, seriously need to focus on various non-fic writing projects, but, sigh, wail, I don't wanna. I have two short works in the hopper. Crush at the Courthouse, excepted below, will be the fourth entry in my Overtures series about first meetings. Below, David is immediately intrigued by one of his fellow jurors. Similar to Ruckus in the Rue Cler and Nosedive in the Cockpit, this will be fluffy fun. I'm expecting to end up with 3-5K words; I have about 500 written. The other, Phone Free Weekend, is just what it sounds like. What could coworkers D and P possibly get up to in a cabin in the woods all weekend without any screens to distract them? This one is in pre-outline stage. After I finish these ditties, I SWEAR I'm going to (attempt to ) limit myself to epistolary formats, which are a zillion times easier for me. Okay, enough rambling and buildup for so little content. I'm too tired to edit this post, so here you go: God, Patrick looked so good in his baby blue sweater and tight navy Dockers. Did David just think “Dockers” and cute in the same sentence? Those short brown curls, which definitely need tousling. And his voice. God, his voice. Soft and low. David imagined the things that voice could say. And the things that mouth could do ... What are y'all writing? Tagging from my notifications: @flowertrigger, @wildaloofbutton, @characterassassination-at-9am, @tyfinn, @filet-o-feelings, @mrs-f-darcy, @smallumbrella369, @demora00, @likerealpeopledo-on-ao3

[procrastinatorproject]

WIP Folder Game

I wasn't actually tagged, but I saw this on @beautyofsorrow's blog and just... couldn't resist.

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

The problem, of course, is that my "WIP folder" is in fact four different Scrivener projects with a sum total of over 100k unpublished words, so this is gonna be LONG 😅🙈 But in the past, I have found great inspiration in looking through all my wild ideas and wip's that mostly consist of a couple paragraphs or a screenshhot of a discord conversation with friends. So I'm gonna do this anyway :D

WIPs that are only notes or snippets of conversations with friends where I tell them about My Great Fic Idea

Breathe

Field Medicine

5+1 holos

Moriarty

Bashir & Soji

All in a Day's Work

Kidfic

Merged

Sugar Rush

Circuit (Dark Academia)

S1 Agnes POV

CYOA/Scavenger Hunt

The Train Job

Regency AU

Holo-Admonition

He Never Gets Any Nicer (meta)

WIPs that are mostly notes (sometimes very long, elaborate notes) but do have a bit of actual writing attached

Conference Emails

Calluses

A Day at the Faire

Cosmic Detours (one unpublished chapter)

From the Mouths of Babes

Mittens on a String

Squad

Rescuing Dahj

Podcast

WIPs that are a single paragraph (or sentence) or two with not a lot of notes or context

ricepudding

Nostalgia/Nerdiness

The Quiet Spaces in Between (Raffi & Tuvok)

Kestra (Holoween)

All Aboard

Bed Rest (Seven)

Dino Hunt

Ready Room

Cosmic Detours (one unpublished chapter)

Valkriss Tales

Brainwashing

Choose Your Path

AI Malfunction

WIPs that are quite substantial already but still need a lot more work (or for me to sit down and JUST WRITE THE THREE MISSING SENTENCES ALREADY MY GOODNESS!)

Virus

Check-Up

Raffi Whump

Game Night II (Holoween)

Snapshots

Bed Rest (Rios)

Bed Rest (Picard)

Bed Rest (Agnes)

Homecoming

Dynamic Chaos

Meadow (two unpublished chapters)

Baby on Board

Space Shark

CMO's Log (some notes and a couple unpublished chapters)

Favouritism

Four Cakes

Sleep-Deprived

In the Shallows

In the Palm of his Hand (couple unpublished chapters)

Mittens on a String (5 + 1)

Institutional Knowledge

Kestra & Rios

The Cake Is A Lie (Findings and Conclusion)

And finally: WIP's so big they are their own Scrivener Project and will never be finished because they'd be the length of a novel. Or two. (Though I usually only have a few paragraphs/chapters written, the rest is wild ideas and notes)

Star Trek: La Sirena, Episode 2 (and notes for five or six more episodes)

Star Trek: Second Chances

Post-Rusker [semi-disqualified]

Synth Ban Thriller

Star Trek Holo Novel

And I'm not gonna tag as many people as I have WIPs, because that would require me to count them. And even though I rationally know the number of WIPs is morally neutral, I still have deep shame about Not Finishing Things. I'm working hard to dismantle that and have come a long way, but I'm not there yet 😅

(Also, I may not have enough mutuals for the number of WIPs 🙈😅)

So, if you, too, would like to stroll through your WIP folder and have people ask you about some of the stories that live in your head rent free, take this as permission to go for it! 😁🖖

[vukovich]

20 questions for fic writers!

Thank you @orange-peony @schmem14 and @teledild0nix for tagging me in this game! Sorry it took me eons.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

47. 46 under "Vukovich" and one that's anonymous.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

921,870

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Just Harry Potter.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

The Crane Lord of Gringotts Beauxtiful Boy "I'll Figure It Out" It'll Come Back Fearful Trill

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

No, as a general rule, I don't. I just feel like it's awkward to treat an AO3 comment as a conversation starter, I guess. Like, if someone wants to talk to me, my email address and Tumblr are in my AO3 bio. I do reply to AO3 comments if there's a question about the fic. Especially if the reader says their first language isn't English. I also will reply for the purpose of harassing friends.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Return to Sender and "I love you, (too/also)" are way up there in the angst department. For "I love you, (too/also)" I actually recorded a podfic of it, and I couldn't read the ending out loud without crying so I scrapped it. NO WAIT!!! I forgot about The Seven Weasley Horcruxes. Oh, Jeebus. Apologies in advance for that one.

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

Probably Eagles in Truro, just for the sake of everyone getting to have their polyamorous cake and eat it too.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Yes. Just... yes. Big yes.

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

Yeah, most of my fics are explicit. I'm not really sure what kind of smut I write. I feel like my smut is probably more graphic than some. More jizz dripping on the floor and errant pubes in teeth than what's fandom typical.

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

No, I can barely hold the HP universe in my head.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don't think so.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yeah, several of them. I think it's cool as hell. If it's a language I'm familiar with, I help with phrasings and subtext and stuff.

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

Yeah. I have a WIP collection that people can leave unfinished fics in, and then I finish them. And I'd say when I collaborate with an artist, there's enough back and forth that it counts as co-writing. Oh! And there's a WIP with @oknowkiss and @mintawasalreadytaken I'll eventually get back to writing, I swear, you guys, for real, I will finish that shower piss scene.

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

Joker/Harley Quinn, actually.

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

OMG just one?! I have (briefly leaves to check Google Docs) about 100k in unfinished fics, plus outlines for about ten more. I think those are all going to get dumped as-is on AO3 in an anonymous collection, and I'm only going to finish the ones I'm actively posting (Seahorse, Glitch, 24k9).

16. What are your writing strengths?

Weird turns of phrase, I guess. Or at least that's what people tell me. I feel like I'm pretty good at not bogging down the pace with descriptions, but some people like to know the threadcount when they read smut. Honestly, I have way more strengths as an editor than as a writer.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Complete disregard for the em dash. If I were meant to use it, it would have a key on the standard QWERTY keyboard. I even bought an expensive-ass keyboard, programmed an em dash key for it, and still didn't use it. It wasn't meant to be. Who would like to buy a very fancy keyboard? I will also die on my double-spacing at the end of sentences hill. Going down with this typewriter skills ship. Maybe YOUR language evolves over time, but mine's stuck in 1987.

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

That's one of my favorite puzzles. How comprehensible can I make the foreign language excerpt solely through the use of cognates and cues? Love it. 10/10.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

HP

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

My most masterful works of fiction are letters of recommendation. But this sonnet is fun.

Tagging everybody already tagged, as well as @peachpety @@epitomereally @tontonguetonks @diligent-thunder @wheezykat @lou-ifyouwant @corvuscrowned

[ravenmold]

How do you go about picking which fic to read next?

I've decided I'm going to take this opportunity to rant about my favourite AO3 tags some. And also about how a great summary can absolutely sell a fic.

So I've got two modes, as I'm sure most of us fanfic readers have: reading and rereading. Rereading I do a LOT of, I've got so many comfort fics, and the mood for them strikes when I'm stressed or when I'm having a normal Thursday and suddenly the memory of that one specific moment surges up and I have to go find it again (this is a lie my brain tells me. I will read the whole thing again - granted it's under 150k words).

But for new stuff?? Hmm, here follows a few of my favourite things:

For fic authors I'm not familiar with:

General fic things: A nice name. Bonus points if I find out several chapters in that it connects thematically with the plot! No Archive warnings - I'm not the biggest fan of character death etc. If you know me, this doesn't come as a surprise, I like my fics like I like my pets. Fluffy and exciting and comforting. (I will not expand on this simile any more because I realize now it has some major flaws) A sweet spot for words would be >10k and <80k. Not necessary for it to be finished, but I do tend to check finished fics first.

Tags that would definitely reel me in: mutual pining, temporary amnesia, slow burn, fake/pretend relationship, royalty or historical au, time travel/time loops, identity porn, marriage of convenience, workplace au's for some reason, epistolary, kid fic (DONE RIGHT), cheesy romcom crossovers, future fics/time skips, used to date/exes (this is a big one), space operas/sci fi au's, magic and crossovers with other pairings I like. Yeah I guess I like putting my Guys into Situations, no surprise there. Also zombie or apocalypse fics can be fun, if they're not too heavy on the angst. Unless I write it myself.

Summaries: This is the main thing that catches my eye. Probably also not unique there 😂 I like when they're more than two sentences and actually set up the tone and the inciting incident of the fic pretty well. I love a "quirky" premise, if you're like "so character A got cursed to be forgettable and the entire plot happens because of this" I'd be like Hell Yeah I wanna see how that happens!! 😂 I do also like when summaries, combined with the tags, give me an idea of at least like 80% of the fic. I'm not the biggest fan of when an author considers it spoilers if they drop hints about more than the first two scenes. That's what makes fic different from just picking up a random book, imo, and I like to know what I'm in for. That's why I also expect the focus of the summary to be the focus of the fic's main plot. I only find this out later, of course, but we're talking ideal circumstances here.

For fic authors I know/enjoy:

Honestly, same as above but if you manage to hit any one or two elements I'd be interested. I follow a few authors, but not a ton, as I tend to forget to unsub when they move on to new fandoms and then I just live with the emails on random pairings I get 😅

Overall, how I choose new reading material is usually by seeing if my new hyperfixation has my preferred tropes and tags. And by being intrigued by an interesting summary and setup. Once I've worked through all of those, I'll go through the bookmarks of people who've read and enjoyed my favourite fics, and then I've pretty much never dried up on content so far.

Thanks for the ask! This has been really fun to talk about. And I can look back on it in a few and see if my tastes have changed through the years 😊

[finniestoncrane]

running around in a circle tugging at my hair and holding back tears: too many things too many things too many things too many things too many thi

[beom-pyu]

nights ☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ huening kai

huening kai x fem!reader , tags; established relationship , tiniest bit of angst , nsfw , emotional hurt/comfort , cute bf!kai , misunderstandings , he's had a long day, okay?!?! , u make it up to him tho!!! , kai luvs u , fluff , this is so soft i can only write soft stuff HELP , kai almost cries :(( , you call kai "angel"

warnings: smut (minors dni!!) , insecure kai , riding , unprotected sex , cumming inside , slight dom reader? u take the lead , marking (hickies) , praise praise praise , tit sucking , cockwarming

a/n: hiiii!! its been so long since i've posted a fic! currently wrapping up this semester :3 but thank you all for 350+ followers!!! i know it may seem small but all of your support really makes me so sososos happy and im so thankful for u all! now here's some cute bf kai for ur enjoyment hehe

wc: 3.2k+

“i am literally on the verge of quitting this damn job,” you groan with your phone pressed against your ear, lying horizontally on the couch in one of kai’s shirts and panties as some random drama plays on the t.v. in the background.

this has been going on for weeks—your lazy boss has been assigning you and your coworkers extra reports so he can go on vacation, leaving your entire division working overtime almost every night. you are both stressed and drained, fed up with your higher-up’s mistreatment.

“i hear you. how did we end up with the worst boss to grace this earth?” your coworker, sakura, whines into the mic in agreement.

the sound of keys at the door seizes your attention, pulling your phone away from your ear for a second to check the time. 9:15 p.m. kai’s schedule must’ve ended earlier today.

“hey, sakura, my boyfriend just got home so i’ll text you.” you give kai a small smile and wave as he enters your apartment, his exhausted eyes brightening at the sight of you. he slips his shoes and jacket off quietly as to not disturb your call while you and your coworkers say your goodbyes.

once you’ve hung up, you motion kai over to your spot on the couch as you try to sit up, giggling once his entire body flops directly on top of you. he buries his head into your clothed stomach, mumbling out a discernable sentence into your belly as his arms come to wrap around you. 

“what was that, angel?” you laugh out as he mumbles something again before his head turns to the side, his eyes closing as your fingers tangle into his hair.

“said i missed you. and you smell nice,” he speaks sleepily, nuzzling his cheek against your shirt. you let out a chuckle, gently running your fingers through his hair.

“i missed you too, angel. how was your day?” 

kai simply whines in response to your question and you take that as a good enough answer—you understand right away, tapping his cheek so that he can raise his head. he looks up at you, his fluffy hair bouncing a bit, falling into his eyes. your heart flips at the adorable sight. 

“rough day, hm?” you ask as you push his hair back and he nods with a little pout, his head flopping back down. 

“so busy,” is all he replies with and you automatically understand, your fingers massaging his scalp. “just gonna rest my eyes…”

and you’re sure he’s already falling asleep as he goes dead silent in your hold. you chuckle at your teddy bear of a boyfriend before your phone dings with a notification. you grab the device and you immediately have to suppress an annoyed groan at the email from your boss. you’ve already clocked out and he’s still assigning you more work.

you open your messages to text sakura.

you: he just emailed me another report to finish this week

you: like, can’t he do it himself???

you feel kai nuzzle himself further into you, shuffling around a bit before going still again. your hand is still mindlessly playing with hair before you get another notification.

sakura: and guess who just called me back in.

you: no way. is he being serious rn?

sakura: yup. completely.

sakura: he must’ve lost his mind

sakura: if he even had one to begin with

you: he’s literally so annoying wtf

you: i can’t stand him

you:  idk how much longer i can put up with him tbh

“can we watch a movie?” kai suddenly mumbles, his voice muffled against the fabric of your shirt. you smile at his sleepy tone, your fingers stilling in his hair.

“i thought you were tired?” you inquire playfully.

“wanna spend more time with you,” kai speaks nonchalantly—but you’re sure your heart explodes in your chest at the simple words. you love him so much.

“let me go get some snacks and you pick the movie.”

it takes a good 2 minutes to finally get kai to move off of your body—complete with a few whines and grabby hands—but the mission is successful nonetheless. you toss your phone onto the couch before heading into the kitchen, rummaging around in the cabinets for popcorn.

it takes much longer than you intended, already hearing a movie begin to play on the screen as you pour the freshly popped food into a big bowl, grabbing some drinks out of the fridge as well.

kai gives you a stiff smile as you walk back into the room, arms full of snacks. you shoot him a questioning look, but his eyes are already glued back onto the t.v. screen. it is pretty dark, so maybe you didn’t see correctly—but you are sure you saw tears in his eyes too.

“you okay, angel?” you ask as you set the popcorn and drinks out on the coffee table, your eyes flickering over to him in between every movement. he looks over at you quickly before nodding slightly.

“mhm. just sleepy.” he offers you a faint smile before turning back to the movie. you feel a little uneasy at the response, but he did say he had a hard day and you don’t want to push him any further. you take a seat next to him, pulling your legs up to your chest before grabbing your phone to see if sakura has texted you back.

“babe…?” kai starts, slow and unsure. you lift your head from your phone to give him your attention, taking note of the way his hands wring in his lap, his leg bouncing anxiously.

“yea?” you ask, tossing your phone to the side to turn your body toward him. his eyes flicker up to yours nervously before darting away.

“i—nothing. nevermind,” he awkwardly laughs, shaking his head slightly as he tries to focus back on the t.v. 

worry fills your body at his actions—if there’s one thing you knew about kai, it would be when he has something on his mind. and you can tell there’s something on the tip of his tongue by the way his leg continues to bounce, his mind clearly off somewhere far away.

you pout a bit, moving to straddle his lap, successfully gaining his attention. his eyes shoot up to yours and it’s only now that you can clearly see the slight glossiness of his orbs, tears pooling in his waterline.

“angel, what’s wrong?” you ask, your hands immediately coming up to hold his face. kai rarely ever cries, especially around you, so your gut churns with concern as he bites his lip and looks away from you, hands clenched at his sides.

“i’m sorry,” kai mumbles out, looking down at his lap. you let out a tiny noise of disagreement, your thumbs grazing his cheeks in an attempt to comfort him—yet he still continues to avoid your eyes. 

“why are you apologizing?” you raise a hand to brush some of his dark hair out of his face. kai shakes his head again, his locks falling right back into his eyes.

“i’m sorry for being annoying—i just had a rough day and… i didn’t mean to be clingy and make you uncomfortable. i’m sorry, i won’t do it again. just—just don’t leave me, please.” 

all of kai’s words rush out in a single breath, his voice slightly cracking at that last sentence, his body trembling slightly. you struggle to keep up, your brows furrowed in confusion. 

“kai, angel, look at me,” you speak and despite his initial apprehension, his head lifts at your words. his eyes are shiny with tears as you cradle his face. “what are you talking about, my love? where is all of this coming from?”

“you… you left your phone unlocked when you got up—i didn’t mean to snoop but i saw your texts…” his voice is quiet and filled with sadness as he explains. your eyes widen as realization dawns on you, letting out a sigh of relief. this time kai’s head tilts in confusion, a pout settled on his lips. 

“kai, i was ranting about my boss. you know—how he’s been making me work overtime lately?” 

you watch with fondness as his cheeks redden, lips pursed shut. you can’t help but giggle as his hands shoot up to cover his face, covering your hands with his own.

“i’m so stupid,” his muffled voice sounds from behind his large hands. you laugh a bit—just because he’s so cute—moving your hands to pry his own from his face. an embarrassed smile rests on his lips and you are quick to peck them, once, twice, before leaning back.

“you’re not stupid, angel. it was just a little misunderstanding,” you giggle and he whines, his hands covering his face again. “come here, cutie.”

his harmonic laugh fills your ears as you lean in close to gently move his hands out of the way, kissing him again. you feel his body slowly unwind as your lips move against his, your hands replacing his own as you cup his cheek, pressing your body close to him. 

when you separate, he’s out of breath, his hands hovering at your sides as you gaze down at him lovingly. you notice how perfectly placed you are in his lap, slightly rolling your hips down onto him—his lips part at the action, his chest rising and falling quickly.

“just relax, angel. let me do the work, okay?”

 your hands are still on his cheeks as his eyes glimmer up at you, still wet and glistening. he nods in response, his mouth hanging open slightly as he stares at you in awe. so cute. you smile down at him before pressing your lips against his, your hands sliding into his hair.

kai softens into your touch, his hovering hands finally resting on your hips, holding you steady in his lap. you moan a bit as his teeth eagerly nip at your bottom lip, tongue swiping across shortly after to ease the sting. his hips move up against yours, trying to create any friction possible. he’s already hard, you notice, feeling his thick erection pressing against your core.

you pull away from the kiss to take a good look at his pretty face, his lips slick with your spit, a slight pink resting on his cheekbones. you can’t resist the urge to lean down to kiss up his jaw, pecking that spot under his ear that makes his body rack with shivers. he whines quietly as you suck marks onto his skin, still slightly sticky with sweat from his long day. 

“do you wanna fuck me, angel?” you whisper low in his ear—and he quite literally moans at your words, nodding quickly as his hands grip your hips tighter, his hips bucking up into your clothed core.

“yes, yes, please,” he pants, already tugging at your clothes to get them off of your body. you giggle at his enthusiasm, letting him pull your shirt over your head. the movie running in the background does little to nothing to cancel out the heavy breathing as you wrap your arms around kai’s neck, arching your back a bit as he takes one of your sensitive buds into his mouth. 

his tongue swirls around your nipple, his hands coming up to grope your boobs, loving how soft and bouncy there are. his hips move against you impatiently, but you know he won’t do anything without your word.

“my good boy,” you sigh out, the flashing lights from the t.v casting a sparkly reflection in his dark eyes. you smile dreamily at him, cupping the side of his face in your hand before you lean down to kiss him again. 

his hands roam your body with such determination and your mind grows muddled with every kiss to your chest and brush of his fingertips against your heated skin. you can feel yourself leaking through your panties as you grind against him. you sit back a bit to grab the bottom of his shirt, tugging it up.

“i wanna see you too,” you speak as you help him take it off. you’ll never get used to how gorgeous he is—you know he’s been working out even more recently, and the fruits of his labor are definitely starting to show. his pecs are prominent as you lightly drag your nails over his feverish skin, hearing the strained moan he lets out at the touch. always so sensitive. 

you trail your fingers down to his stomach and he lets his head fall back with a sigh. you lean in to press fluttery kisses to his bared neck and a low moan leaves his lips as you bite onto his skin. he smells like the cologne that you had gifted him for his birthday and the scent makes your stomach flip with anticipation. 

“all mine,” you mumble and his hips buck up again, his head lulling to the side to give you more access to his neck.

“all yours, all yours,” he echoes out, his hands running up and down the sides of your body. you feel your core pulse when he brings a hand down to rub your clit through your panties, rolling your hips against his fingers.

your actions are feverish as your fingers trail lower to the waistband of his sweatpants, pulling his pants and underwear back in one swift motion. his crying dick slaps against his stomach at the action, already leaking glistening precum that leaves a trail across his lower stomach. his tip is an angry red and you have to resist the urge to get down on your knees and have a taste for yourself.

kai’s hands are obediently still on your hips as he waits for your next move, eyes flickering across your face. you give him a small smile before placing your cupped hand right below his mouth, cocking your head to the side.

“spit.” 

and he does—a string of saliva leaving his mouth, dropping into the palm of your hand, dripping off of his lips. the broken moan that leaves his lips is music to your ears as you grab onto his erection with your slicked-up hand, spreading his own spit over the length. 

“you listen so well, angel,” you breathe out, watching as he preens at your praise, a tiny smile finding its way onto his face. he looks so gorgeous—with his dark hair roused and in his eyes, cheeks flushed, his beauty marks sitting on his skin like stars in the sky.

you lean in to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to his lips, his tongue immediately swiping over your bottom lip. he pants into your mouth, whining softly when you squeeze his dick a little too hard, his hips shaking as he tries not to thrust up into your hand.

you have mercy on him though—already feeling yourself leaking onto his pants. you pull your panties to the side, lining yourself up with his dick. his eyes never leave yours, staring at you with the biggest puppy dog eyes as you rub his tip in between your folds; a whimper leaves his lips as you slowly sink down on him, your eyes fluttering at how full you already feel.

his dick is thick and long, filling you up perfectly—as if your cunt was made for him. your legs slightly shake at the feeling, your free hand resting on his shoulder to hold yourself steady as you begin to bounce on his cock, soft moans leaving your lips as his tip hits your cervix every time.

“so good, angel. so big, fuck,” you whine and kai’s fingers tighten on your waist, subtly helping you move up and down on him. your moans mix together beautifully, loving the way he whimpers when your walls clench around him, his hands running up your back and down your thighs, touching every part of you in his reach.

you can’t even chastise him when he begins thrusting up into you, his head thrown back against the couch as he watches you through hooded eyes. your bouncing tits put him in a trance, his hand coming up to brush over your hard nipples. your pussy gushes and soaks his lap, eyes screwed shut from how addicting his cock is, twitching inside of your cunt.

every thrust into your heat makes your stomach flip with pleasure, getting lost in the way his hips snap against yours perfectly. you can tell he’s getting close too by the way his rhythm falters—his moans are high and breathy, his body shaking slightly as you rock your hips back and forth.

“can i—fuck, can i cum, please?” kai stutters out as he lifts his head to rest his forehead against yours. 

“fill me up, angel. i’m all yours.” 

his heavy pants fan your lips and you capture his again, moaning at the way he hastily licks into your mouth. you can already feel your high crashing upon you with one last stroke, your own whimpers falling deaf to your ears as his moans tip you over the edge. your body buzzes with electricity as your pussy pulsates around him, feeling him pump his thick ropes of cum into you at the action.

you swallow his moans as his hips thrust up into you a few more times before slowing to a stop, his tongue swirling with yours, swiping over your teeth, pulling away to kiss down your neck—as if he can’t get enough of you. you let your body fall forward onto his chest, your breath fanning against his neck.

you’re both quiet as you come down from your highs, the movie on the screen long forgotten. once your arms stop feeling like jelly, you sit up, finding kai’s eyes easily in the darkness of the living room. 

he’s completely ruined—lips shiny and red, his neck and ears the same color. soft marks are already blooming on his skin from your ministrations and you find yourself lightly brushing over them, pressing into the bruises with the pads of your fingers. kai’s eyes don’t break away from your gaze as he bites his lip at the slight pain, his dick twitching inside of you. good to know.

“i love you, angel. you did so well,” you smile down at him and you swear his ears go even redder as your fingers stroke his hair. “please don’t ever think for a second that i would leave you, okay?” 

kai nods quickly, leaning into your touch like a puppy.

“i love you,” he responds, arms wrapping around your waist to pull you into his chest. you let out a small noise of surprise at the quick movement, but melt into his embrace even quicker. his hold on you is strong as you rest your head against his shoulder.

“can we just stay like this for a bit?” kai mumbles, pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear. you giggle a bit, nodding in response. his dick is warm and snug inside of you, trapping his cum inside of you. his body feels like home against yours as he pecks your skin, and you let your eyes flutter shut in the arms of the one you love most.

reblogs are highly cherished!

masterlist

©️BEOM-PYU

[eternalglitch]

Hi Glitch! So I have this fanfic idea, totally different show btw, but I dont know how I would go about posting it or even actually start writing it. I've never been inspired to make a fanfic before, heh. Your my favorite fanfic writer and so I thought I would ask you how you decided to write and post your fic. Thanks, if you respond!

How exciting, welcome to the start of a wild journey! I'm flattered by the pick. :}

First up, you need to have an idea, which you have accomplished.

Next, you need to probe further with that idea– what are the specific scenes that make this story worth it to you? What are the emotions, which tiny details of the moment make you go a little bit feral? I usually pick out the climax scene and maybe some random ones that just get me thinking regardless of where in the story they are. Once you get those, hold onto them; they will help get you through any rougher patches of "oh god I do NOT want to write this part" because you will and you must if you want to get to The Scenes.

Next up, battle plans. They don't have to be detailed, but you want to write down a beginning, middle, and end. They can change as you write but you do NOT want to start on a journey with no idea what direction to head from chapter to chapter. It ends badly.

"Well, where do I start writing?"

You can do the beginning, if you know it. I always look back at the plot chart if I need help on figuring out where exactly that should be; pretty much every solid story establishes their character and then kicks off the rising action to start the point of the story, which is how the character will then change over the course of your work. With fanfiction, the exposition can be almost nonexistent since you are jumping off of a platform.

I think posting is rather the easy part; I use AO3 because it's simply the best place to do so thanks to the formatting and tag filtering systems. Tag as best and accurately as you can, add any needed warnings, and whatever you do make no mention that this is your first story or you can't write summaries or that it won't be good within the tags or summary.

You're fine to mention you are new at writing in the author's notes within the fic itself, of course, but I don't even check out the fics that say "sorry I'm bad at summaries, please just try reading it!" on the proverbial container because a summary can be as simple as copy-pasting a few sentences for a hook. It doesn't have to be complex, it just needs to clue people in on what you are writing about. You are marketing yourself with tags and the summary, don't try and talk people out of giving you a shot.

Most people acknowledge that fanfic is ground zero for a lot of writers, and are very kind about it in comments. It's a great thrill to get the comment notification email, one that will never go away regardless of how many times you get it.

Best of luck! I hope you find great joy and fun in both the process and the result.

[sweetcherrymoon22]

You should write more about y/n having anxiety and ticking and Harry comforting herrrr!!

You ask, and I have such a long answer!!!!!

Welcome to part one of a two-part fic all about anxiety and panic. I would like to make the disclaimer that this is purely based off of my own experience and in no way should reflect what other people do in those situations.

part two coming tomorrow!!

tw: anxiety, OCD, Panic, past relationship abuse (very briefly mention and very vague, no physical violence), medication

4.3k

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Part 1

We had only been in LA for a couple of days so far, the beginning of two weeks there for a few shows and a little bit of “time off” where the boys were having some meetings with the label and management while they were in the area. All of the boys have apartments in LA that they bought a while back when their management and label signed to be in LA, so, while we were here we all were back at our own apartments instead of in hotels by a venue. It was sort of nice to be at “home” for a little while, even if the apartment Harry and I were sharing in LA was not nearly as homely as the one in New York or our house in London. After two days of being in the house and going out or ordering in for all of our meals, I decided it was probably high time to get some actual groceries for the fridge so that we could cook something, or even just have a snack because there was not a single morsel of food in the apartment. I had gone out by myself to do the shopping, leaving Harry at home doing god knows what because we both did not feel like being mobbed getting groceries today.

While I was deliberating over the avocados I felt my phone buzz in my pocket and I slid it out to check who had texted me. I had expected it to be Harry adding something to the list, or maybe one of the boys asking if they could come for dinner, but what I found was a name I hadn’t seen or thought of in about five years. I was lucky his number hadn’t been changed because it was still in my contacts from the last time I saw him. A picture of my Ex with his dog beside him made me freeze when I realized it was real. Five years of nothing, no phone calls, no visits, no texts, no emails, no cards. He sent me a single check for a thousand dollars after leaving me with only a note left behind: for that plane ticket you got.

Of course, I had gotten over him. I went to therapy and did the work I needed and then I found Harry and eventually I forgot all of the terrible things that I went through when I was with him. I took a deep breath and threw the two avocados that I had my hands on into a produce bag without thinking about it. I shut my phone off and turned off the ringer, deciding that now was not the time to force myself to look at whatever the hell excuse he had texted me. I moved through the store getting the rest of the items on my list, moving as fast as I could in anticipation of the text, and nervousness to get back to Harry so I could ask him what he thinks about the situation. After I checked out and brought all of the groceries to the back of Harry's black SUV I moved to the driver's seat and sat there for a moment with my hands on the wheel in silence until I brought out my phone. I opened the text without hesitation and saw the barely three-sentence message that I had been panicking about for the past forty-five minutes. 

Heard from your mother that you were in town, sorry for not reaching out earlier. Would love to go out for lunch tomorrow if you have the time. I should explain.

No explanation, no apology, no personal message or nickname. From the absolute lack of care or emotion in it, I would not be surprised to find out that he had told an assistant to send me something while he was running out the door to some corporate meeting. Don’t know why I expected anything different from him. I opened a text to my mother who had apparently divulged my location to the man in the first place.

y/n: Care to explain why y/e/n knows I’m in LA?

Mom: Whoops, forgot to text you about that, he heard the band was performing and wasn’t sure it was you, I merely confirmed what he already suspected.

I sighed and placed my phone on the seat beside me. No use in being mad at anyone for this, it was bound to happen eventually anyway, besides I might as well get it over with. Most likely what will happen is I’ll go to the lunch and if he decides to grace me with his presence at all, he’ll get a salad, ask polite questions, make a few misogynist jokes, pay the bill and I won’t speak to him again for another five years. 

y/n: tomorrow sounds fine, I know a  lunch place in midtown, I can text you the address. If you give me a time I can make the reservation.

Ex: glad you got back to me, one would be perfect for me

This time when I started the car I didn't even bother to play any music for the drive. Not like I would be able to enjoy it or sing along with all the questions now swimming in my head. Even with LA traffic the drive back to Harry and I’s apartment didn’t take much time, I had worried before that anything frozen I got would melt from the mixture of the hot LA sun and the horrible traffic that never seems to let up. When I parked the car in the garage and went to inspect the Ben and Jerrys from a bag in the trunk I was pleased to find that it was still solid in all of its glory. Usually, I would have gone in and requested Harry's help bringing things in from the car, but there were only a few bags, none of which were all that heavy. With two bags on each arm and one in my hand, I managed to walk in the door and set all of the bags on the kitchen table without too much trouble. Upon hearing the sound of the door closing behind me and the rustling of the grocery bags on the counter Harry called out my name from the couch.

 “Hey baby, how was shopping” He was writing an email with his computer on his lap but reached out behind the couch to grab mine. I gave it to him and ran my hand through his hair for a second before walking back to the counter to unload all of the groceries. 

“oh, it was fine. y/e/n texted me while I was there, he wanted to meet me for lunch tomorrow.” I dropped the information causally while opening and closing the cupboards in the kitchen. I must have done it well, too, because it took Harry almost a full minute to practically slam the lid of his computer down and turn 180 on the couch so that he was facing me.

 “he did what?” I shrugged, avoiding eye contact and placing the bananas in a bowl on the edge of the counter. 

“asked me to go for lunch with him tomorrow. Said he wanted to ‘explain’”

 “and what did you say?” 

“I told him yes.” He was quiet for a moment before he placed his computer on the couch cushion next to him and rose from the dark grey square he was sitting on, sauntering over to me and standing directly behind me, trapping me against the counter. What I expected to be a look of jealousy or anger was nothing but a calm and worried stare. Once my belly was pressed into the white granite of the kitchen island he came even closer and wrapped his arms around my middle, arching his back slightly to place his head on my shoulder right at the crook of my neck. I took both of my hands and placed them over his crossed arms around my stomach, not trying to pry him off, but just resting them there for some show of what he was doing. He kissed my neck once tenderly before moving his head up to be resting on top of my own.

 “are you sure that’s a good idea?” I knew what he was talking about but a part of me felt like playing the long game. 

“what do you mean?” He was patient and still while he responded, not a hint of annoyance at my unwillingness to get to the point of the matter. 

“going to lunch with him, are you sure that’s a good idea, especially after what happened the last few times you saw him.”

 “I don’t know what you mean.” He groaned by my head and flipped me around so that his arms were still around me, but now my back was pressed against the island and my hands were resting on his forearms. 

“y/n/n… at least let me come with you.” I shook my head adamantly and tightened my grip on his arms. 

“no. no, this is something I need to do by myself. I need to show him that I’m not some weak little girl he can push around anymore.” Harry brushed a stray bit of hair from my face and tilted his head down so that he could look me in the eye. 

“baby, you don’t need to prove anything to him. If anything he is the one that should be proving something to you. He practically pushed you into a nervous breakdown love, just after-“ 

“I don’t want to talk about that.” I wrenched myself out of his arms when I started to feel myself getting shaky and nervous at the mere mention of what had happened the last time I was near that man. Normally I can talk about anything with Harry. He makes me feel safe and loved, and he has never once pushed me past what he knows I feel uncomfortable with. He waits and pays attention until he knows that I can talk about something without it being scary or nerve-wracking. But this was the one thing. This was just something I didn’t talk about, hell I tried not to even think about it after it was finished. I stormed off into our bedroom knowing that he wasn’t far behind. The second I got there I couldn’t help but think about the event Harry had unknowingly brought up. I had told him once in passing what had happened that day, but I never really explained how much of an impact it had on me. I crumbled on the floor just in front of the bed and slid until my head was in my hands which were resting on my bent knees pointing towards the sky. Tears started to fall down my face and dribble all the way to my crooked elbows. I could faintly hear the distant sound of Harry's footfalls coming up the stairs and down the hallway to our room, but I was too lost to the world now to think about what that meant or do anything to change how I looked or felt. Our oak door creaked as he pushed it open, I hadn’t even latched the door closed when I came in so quickly and fell to the floor. He took one hesitant step into the room and then stopped. 

“I’m sorry” he whispered, sounding guilty, it wasn’t really his fault, I think he just wasn’t sure what happened. In Harry's mind, any time anyone cries near him or in front of him, it’s worth an apology. Maybe not one on his behalf, but on behalf of whoever hurt them. 

“it wasn’t you.” I sniffled out and kept my head in my hands, nervously running my hands through my hair in an effort to keep my frantic fidgeting at bay. He took a few more steps into the room and then slid down onto the floor next to me, careful not to touch me just in case it would make things worse.

 “Do you need me to do something?” I shook my head and tried to focus on the movements I could do, tapping my leg, cracking my knuckles, running my hand through my hair. Any little movement that I could do without actually standing up to move and alarming Harry was what I was doing.

 “Can I give you a hug?” I shook my head again. I tried not to feel bad about it, I’m sure he knew and understood why I couldn’t have a hug right now, but still, I felt a little bad for rejecting something I normally craved so much. When I’m panicking within myself so much like this, trapped within a flood of thoughts and emotions in my own mind, the feeling and even the thought of being physically trapped in someone's arms is nauseating.

 “Do you want to try taking a walk?” He had started to notice how I was not just shaking with nerves but shaking with a need, an intent.

 “no. Maybe. I don’t know” There were so many things happening in my brain all at once that I couldn’t figure out what to address first. All of the questions he proposed just added to the clutter and confusion even though he meant to help. He stopped asking me questions and just sat next to me for a minute. At first, I appreciated the silence he was giving me. It made my brain feel a little less cluttered like I had more room to figure out what thought to focus on first. That didn’t last long though. After a few minutes of scouring my thoughts to find something to start with, my own brain became a battle zone of crossing wires and half-finished arguments with myself that will never even come to fruition. My breathing picked up, as did my fidgeting. I was practically vibrating from all of my little movements and hyperventilation. I could feel the veins in my neck start to stand out from the strain of breathing, my head was pounding and the only sound I could hear was the rushing of blood in my ears. 

“y/n/n?” He turned to face me dead on when he saw my chest rising and falling faster than I could control. I was so deep in my own mind and lost in the sound of the blood rushing to my head that I didn’t hear or respond to him. He moved, still being careful not to touch me, so that he was facing me, kneeling on the carpet half a foot in front of me. He could see my skin begin to get paler and paler with the lack of oxygen staying in my body.

 “y/n you need to breathe” it went on like that for a minute. He pleaded with me to calm down, tried to count with me, name the things around us, played music, sang to me, anything he could think of to get me to even out my breaths in the hope that eventually I would calm myself down and tire myself out enough to fall asleep. But none of it worked. Half of the things he said didn’t even reach me because of how loud it was inside of my own brain, the other half just were slightly depressing attempts at distracting me for long enough to figure something else out. Finally, he gave up the natural tries.

 “I really don’t want you to pass out so I’m going to go get the meds baby.” I couldn’t speak enough to protest so I figured he must be right. I hated being medicated, but I think I would hate passing out in front of him even more, so the lesser of two evils I suppose. He got up and walked calmly to the door, but the second he was out into the hall I could hear his footsteps become more frantic. Less than two minutes later I heard his feet on the floor again as he rushed back into the room. Again I heard his feet slow the second he got into the room, not wanting to scare me any more than I already was. He kneeled a little closer to me this time, holding a small pill and a glass of water in his large hands. 

“Do you need help taking it?” I shook my head and held out a hand. He dropped the small white pill into my palm first, waiting for me to toss it into the back of my mouth before handing me the glass of cold water that I took a swig from. Once the pill was down and the glass of water had been drained I timidly held out a shaky hand while I waited for the medicine to take effect. Harry looked down at my shaking hand for a moment before taking it in his own and kissing it. He didn’t say anything, but continued to hold my hand in his much larger one until about ten minutes went by and I gave his hand three strong squeezes. 

“you good? Is it working?” I nodded

 “yeah. Yeah, it's definitely moving along” He let go of my hand in order to stand, and then once he was standing he handed me a pair of shorts and his t-shirt from his side of the bed. My hands were still a little shaky and the drug had almost taken full effect so he helped me slide my jeans and sweater off and then slide his giant shirt over my head and shoulders. Once I was dressed he held out both of his hands for me to take.

 “mmm, nope, think you’ll need to carry me.” I mumbled sleepily and looked up at him with a sheepish smile. 

“really? Worked that quick? All right then.” He crouched down to take me into his arms and did so with little effort. I slung my hands around the back of his neck and tried not to go completely limp in his arms. That was the thing I hated about the medication so much. Although it certainly calms me down enough to make the panic attack stop, it also means that it shuts down my body and brain in the process. He carefully lowered me onto the bed and helped me slide myself under our blankets. He took my glasses off of my head and folded them, placing them on the bedside table to my right. As he was about to walk away I grabbed his hand. 

“don’t go. Please.” He smiled down at me and gave my hand a few squeezes. 

“not going anywhere baby, I promise.” I reluctantly let go of his hand and he stripped himself of his remaining clothes before climbing into the bed beside me in only his boxers. Once we were side by side in the bed he pulled me into him so that I was nuzzled into his chest with his arms wrapped all the way around me. 

“he really fucked me up, huh.” He gave an airy laugh into my head that was sadder than anything else.

 “eh, maybe a little. Are you going to tell me why?” I waited a minute and listened to his heartbeat under my head, considering my options before spilling all my tales of woe. I could just stay silent, close my eyes and pretend that I had fallen asleep. Or I could change the subject ask him what he did today, but I doubt he would fall for that one. Or I suppose I could just tell him the truth. Maybe that was just the medication talking but for some reason that seemed like the decision I was leaning towards.

 “Soph?” 

“hmm?” I hummed into his chest, still considering my options carefully.

 “are you going to tell me what happened with him?” I sighed. The third option it is. 

“yeah, yeah, just don’t know where to start really. I guess it started when we first got together, I just never noticed how sad I was until he left. I guess a part of me always knew that what he was doing wasn't right, I just couldn't do anything about it. Until I started talking with y/bff/n again and realized how much of an idiot I had been to let him convince me that everything he did was my fault. I held some weird reverence for him even when he let me down time after time.” Harry started to run a hand through my hair. I felt weirdly distant from the story that at any other moment would have sent me spiraling into a panic attack, the joys of antidepressants I suppose. 

“once I realized how fucked up it all was I tried to confront him about it. Not just him and how horrible he was, how much pain he caused me, but just how this one person managed to create some irreparable rift inside myself to the point where I was practically doing his work for him. When I decided to leave him I hadn't told anyone.Not that I didn't want to, just that I felt it had to be my decision, I had to be the one to leave, to take something from him for once. The first thing he did was refuse to leave. He said that I was being too tough and that he would never do things like that. I tried to explain how I had been feeling, I thought that maybe the part of him I had fallen in love with so long ago would understand. And then suddenly I couldn't breathe. Not because he had touched me but because he had gotten so, so close to it. I don't know what stopped him that night but I didn't care. Eventually he put his hand back down to his side. He slept on the couch but I was so shocked I didn't even think to call the police, or my mom, or anyone, I just went to bed. The next morning was strangely calm, I spent as little time with him as I possibly could, and then just before he left he started talking some shit in the kitchen within earshot of me and I sort of lost it.”  He stayed quiet through my story, every once in a while moving his large hands to rub some other part of me, but just staying calm and still like he was afraid any movement would scare me off.

 “I don’t remember everything that was said, but I do remember that I was crying, my hands were shaking, he was laughing at me, I called him an asshole to his face about three times, by the end of it I was shaking with what I thought at first was rage. But it wasn’t.” He spoke for the first time, 

“it was a panic attack.” I nodded into his warm chest and took a deep breath to remind myself that I could. 

“yeah. It wasn’t my first ever, but I hadn’t really thought it was in issue yet. So basically he ended up causing me to go into a manic state that I had no one to help me with and then he left. We didn’t talk again except for that note he left in the kitchen. Not until a few months later. He showed up at my college graduation which I was terrified of as it was, and effectively told me that it was my fault he left. I blamed myself for all of that anyway so him telling me that in my mind just solidified it.”

 “you know that wasn’t-“ 

“I know, I know, but I was young and terrified and upset. I was dealing with OCD and Anxiety, and ADHD all on my own without anyone to help me, I was newly on my own, I didn’t have a boyfriend, I had maybe one or two close friends, I was barely speaking to my family, so I believed him because I didn’t know what else to do.” 

“Then why would you go tomorrow? Why would you put yourself through that pain? When he has already hurt you just from the memory?” He was trying very hard not to sound upset, I could tell, but his words showed it anyways. I took a hand and stroked his arm while I explained to him.

 “ I need to prove to myself that I’m not that person anymore. I need to show him that he’s in the wrong, or maybe make some peace with what happened.” He was quiet for another moment until he took my hand in his. 

“Then at least let me come with you.” 

“No. This is something I have to do by myself. I love you and I am so happy that I have someone like you to support me like this, but I need to learn how to be strong for myself sometimes. Besides, I made the lunch close enough to soundcheck that if anything happens I can just make the excuse that I need to get to work and I can leave and go straight to you.”

 “I'm just worried.”

 “I know. So am I. But I promise I will keep my phone on and I will text you every chance I get and then when I leave I will go straight to sound check so I can see you and the boys. I’ll be okay.” 

“you promise?” 

“promise” We were both silent for a few more minutes until my breathing evened out and slowed, my eyes closing from the toll of a panic attack and heavy medication. As I started to fall asleep with his heartbeat in my ears and my arms wrapped around him I heard his sleepy voice murmur in my ear. 

“I love you.”