#that is. shifting but i did really need the outline bc my brain is a mess. and idk focus is so so hard i work in bursts i take all fucking

[ichorblossoms]

sitting here like. i think it's time to re-outline these bitches

[rodrickheffley]

have a whole short story due tomorrow and i finished my outline yesterday......

[nctstar]

1.

chapter 1 | the calling card

You were still panting like mad when you reached out, grabbing desperately at the denim of his ripped jeans. “Don’t go,” you whispered. “Please. There’s still something we need to do together.”

pairing: taeyong x fem!reader

word count: 2.8k

genre: mystery-thriller/sci-fi, angst, romance

warnings: sexual references (nothing too graphic)

disclaimer: this is a fanfiction purely from my imagination. I don't know the nct members and don't claim that they act like this in real life. I also do not condone any of the activity by any of the characters in this fic. 

a/n: i wrote this a looooong time ago, and honestly, i didn't even wanna post it bc it's not that good tbh. but it's like on the verge of being good, yknow? like, there's something there that can be worked with. and also there's not enough taeyong fics on this platform, like me and @starillusion13 are the only ones writing them :(

Tangled mess of bodies, skin to skin, your own hair tickling your bare back. You were breathing onto someone, another human being. Their touches felt like sparks of fire on your skin, and their lips like marks over your face, your neck, your collarbone, as if trying to help you remember. Help you not forget. In the dark, you could make out nothing but the outline of a toned body, the glint of a necklace shaped like a…what seemed like an animal of some sort. You both climaxed, and he was out and on his way in seconds. You were still panting like mad when you reached out, grabbing desperately at the denim of his ripped jeans. “Don’t go,” you whispered. “Please. There’s still something we need to do together.”

Your eyes bolted awake at the relentless drone of your alarm, breaking you out of the dream. The first few seconds rendered you confused, speechless, before it slowly dawned over you that you were awake now and dreaming before. Without thinking, you rubbed your arms. You could still feel him on you, feel his breath, his body, your heart still pounding with the same vigour, body still aching as if it had actually happened.

The question was, who?

The embarrassment set in after that, wondering why you would have a dream like that in the first place. Heat flushed your face as you recalled it choppily, trying not to think about it too much but simultaneously curious. It could’ve been a regular dream about someone your subconscious brain had the hots for…but…

Something stopped your train of thought.

“There’s still something we need to do together.”

You could’ve sworn the feeling of urgency, of desperation, was so real that it felt like something you had gone through yesterday. Even if the mystery hot guy was just a figment of your imagination, there was something you were forgetting to do. Something that was very important. Beyond the regular realms of importance, even.

Something that was a matter of life or death.

You shook your head as the thought even crossed your mind. This was stupid. Making decisions based on how you felt in your dreams was stupid. It was clear that all you needed was to relax and get a boyfriend.

You could’ve gone on with your day then, hopped into the shower, made breakfast, scrolled through your phone for hours before work, but of course, the dream was relentless.

The same necklace as the one your mystery man was wearing, the one you saw as he was on top of you, was right on your bedside table.

∞

“Hello?”

“Hey! I just, need a favour.” You turned the steering wheel, frowning, trying to figure out where you were supposed to be going.

Your coworker was silent on the other line, but before you could add anything, she finally spoke. “Need your shift covered?”

“Yes. I’m so sorry to let you know on such short notice, but something came up. It really did. You know me, I would never do this if it wasn’t urgent.”

She sighed on the other line, and you held your breath, praying she would agree.

“Fine.” She gruffed. “But only because you’re so nice. But you better be here in the afternoon to cover mine. 1pm, got it?”

“Yes, of course. I’ll be done by then.”

“Okay.”

“Wait!” You almost forgot the most important thing, and in your head you could picture your coworker’s finger over the end call button, her patience wearing thin.

“What?”

“Do you know anyone with the initials T.L.?”

This time the silence stretched on for a while, but you could tell she was thinking. “I could be wrong, but I think he’s the music guy that lives on the end of the road where you live. His name started with T for sure, his last name was Lee. I went there once for a party, but I got super hammered and my girlfriend took me home, so I’m not 100% on it.”

“Thank you!” Relief washed over you, and you wondered why. She didn’t even know his name, and there was a very large chance she was wrong. But it felt like the dream was still controlling your emotions, and now, your every move.

“Well, I don’t care, but,” she muttered the next thing so quietly you could’ve missed it. “stay safe. It’s kind of a dodgy place.”

“Will do. Thanks.” Hitting end call, you took a quick glance over at the passenger seat, as if needing to check that the necklace was still there. You knew exactly which house your coworker was talking about, having driven past it a number of times. It was rundown and quiet except for the times it wasn’t, which was some nights all night, when whoever owned the house decided to throw ragers. For some reason, that kind of person didn’t seem to match the man in your dream, but there was a weird feeling in your chest that made you confident that he lived there. And as you drove towards the house, the dilapidated fence in full view, the feeling grew stronger and stronger until it was all you could feel.

Your legs seemed to move on their own accord as you reached the door, not noticing anything else around you. Three sharp knocks on the door and you retreated your hand, waiting for a response.

You heard the lock unclick. For some reason in those milliseconds between that sound and the door opening, you decided to hold your breath, as if needing to brace for impact for whatever would happen next.

You were right.

The man who opened the door would’ve taken your breath away anyway. As he looked at you, his eyes sharp and raging like a dragon’s, you almost forgot why you were even standing at his front door with a necklace of a dog in your hand. His body was lean, slender, just like the body in your dream, and your stomach did backflips at the thought of that again, much to your dismay.

Your eyes then fell onto what shocked you back into reality. Those jeans, ripped, frayed, hanging low around his small hips. You were sure they were the same ones. The ones you had grabbed in your dream in pure desperation as he was walking away from you, begging him to stay, to listen.

“Don’t go, please.”

“Are you gonna stand there all day checking me out?”

His voice snapped your eyes back onto his face, and instinctively, to his bare neck.

“Right, um,” you took a second to come to your senses, bringing your right hand higher, as if reminding your brain what you came here to do. “The necklace.”

“What?”

You mentally slapped yourself. Can’t even form a full sentence?

“I have your necklace. I think this is yours. It says T.L. on the back, and I assumed, well, my friend, I think-“

“Why would you have my necklace?” When he said you, he scanned you up and down, and you suddenly felt very exposed, and very stupid. Flustered, you tried to continue.

“I…don’t really know?” You gave him a dumb smile, which he was not impressed by, judging by his unchanged expression. He looked at you, sighed, and went to close the door.

“Wait-“

You were met with a slam.

∞

“And that’s all? You just drove away after that?”

“Yeah.” you bit your fingers, to which your coworker reacted by slapping your hands away.

She looked puzzled. “But I don’t understand. He didn’t even ask to look at the necklace. Or ask where you found it. And he wasn’t wearing a necklace, right? So it’s safe to say he noticed that his one necklace was missing.”

“Honestly, I think he was judging me.”

“Judging you? How so?”

You sighed, bending over the counter to rub incessantly at the stubborn spots. “It was like he was thinking, ‘as if you’d ever have a chance with me’.”

“Wait, wait, slow down. Why would your brain immediately go to that?”

You hadn’t told her about the dream, just telling her that you had found the necklace on the street. Something in you knew it was crazy, the dream, and then the necklace on the nightstand, and you were still trying to figure out what it all meant.

“Well, he’s a player, right? That’s what you said. So, other than someone potentially finding his dropped necklace on the street, how else could someone have acquired said necklace?”

Your coworker’s look of confusion didn’t last long as the realisation fell across her features. “Ohhh. Well, first of all, he shouldn’t think of himself as incapable of losing a necklace on the street. And secondly,” she paused, watching you rub the counter to death, gritting your teeth, “you’re such a catch.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

She zoned out for a second, watching the spot on the counter, before shaking her head and grabbing her bag off the tall countertop seats. “I better get going, then. Have fun.”

You made a grumbly noise in response as she walked away, finally giving up on the stubborn spot and deciding to place a pot plant on top to cover it up. Looking around and noticing all the customers seated, dining, and relatively satisfied, you felt relaxed enough to lean onto the back benchtop. The lunchtime rush was over, it seemed.

You were grabbing a chair to bring it back for yourself when the bell on the door jittered, causing you to roll your eyes. Moment of peace over, it seemed. Before you turned, you tried to rid the annoyed expression off your face, replacing it with your friendly customer service one.

“Hi, how are y-“ It was as if someone had punched you in the gut, the way air rushed out of your lungs, threatening to topple you over like an unstable Jenga tower. In front of you stood your mystery man, his eyes just as serious as this morning. Behind him was a woman, looking about your age, dressed in a black crop top and tiger print miniskirt, giant hoops dangling against her tight black curls. She smacked her gum, smiling fakely as she looked you up and down.

“Hey, can we get a table?”

You gulped, suddenly feeling very out of place. “Yep. Right this way.”

Even as you walked turned away from them, you could’ve sworn you could feel their eyes burning your back.

“Thanks.” said the woman, flashing another fake smile so big you could see the gum across her teeth. She shuffled into one side while he sat on the other, dragging a black leather bag along the seat with him. You noticed her eyeing that bag hungrily, as if she was a lion and it contained raw meat or something.

“Can I get you two anything to start?”

The woman leaned over dramatically, swishing the curls away from her face and resting her mile-long nails on your forearm. “I’ll have a coke, dear. And he’ll have the same thing. God knows he can’t keep a drink down, am I right, Tae?” She laughed so hard at this, and your eyes flicked to the man from this morning, who was staring at her expressionless.

You didn’t waste a second walking over to the kitchen, your instincts quick to remove you from the most awkward situation you had probably been in in a long time. Your thoughts ran wild, no matter how hard you tried to suppress them. You thought about your dream, the necklace, the urgency of whatever it was you needed to do. Why did it feel like you were getting a second chance?

Tae?

Walking over, carrying the cokes on a tray, you decided to try again. “Here you go, your co-“

“I just don’t understand why you want it so bad?”

“Baby, I just want to listen to your tracks!”

“You’ve heard them! Why do you need them so badly? You don’t even have a phone or computer to listen to them yourself. It’s just weird.”

“What is it, Taeyong? You just don’t trust me? Is that it?” The woman was fuming, you could tell, and she stood up, throwing one of the napkins on the floor.

Taeyong. Taeyong Lee.

“You know what, I just think you’re being very stupid right now, Alyssa.”

The woman, now identified as Alyssa, let out an angry grunt before leaving, almost knocking you in the process. She was close, but you were quick to move out of her way, saving yourself.

You wished you could’ve done the same thing just seconds later.

“Oh my god!” You watched in horror as the morbidly dark drink stained Taeyong’s shirt, seeping into the fabric. “I’m so sorry!”

He said nothing in return, accepting your napkin as you watched him closely. He sighed, his mind obviously somewhere else with the way he gently brushed the stain.

“I’m so-“

“Don’t apologise twice. I heard you the first time.” Hearing him address you so bluntly shocked you, as if your brain had accepted the fact that someone like him would never even acknowledge your presence. He had made it seem like that though, when he had practically slammed the door in your face. Your mind focusing on that again felt unnecessary, and you tried to shake the outlines of his body, his eyes boring into you, the way his fingers wrapped around the doorframe out of your memory.

“You’re the girl who came to see me about my necklace, right?” You almost jumped out of your skin as your brain processed his words, hands shaking as you tilted the now empty glass upright on the tray. “Uh, yeah, that was me.” The way the words flew out of your mouth surprised you, as if it was rehearsed and familiar.

“Where did you find it?” It was a simple question, a reasonable one, yet something in you protested not to tell him. Ignoring that feeling, you replied, looking into his eyes, “On the street.”

“What? It can’t be.”

“__.” Your coworker’s voice drifted over your shoulder, and you spun your head around to see her standing behind you, visibly concerned. “What’s going on? You alright?”

The sudden tenderness in her voice was disconcerting, because it was definitely not how she usually was. You felt weird, like this was all a weird dream that your consciousness was just floating through, and you wondered when you would snap out of this dizzy, floaty feeling in your limbs.

“Uh,” Taeyong’s eyes were shifting between you and your coworker, confused at your lack of response. “She accidentally spilt these…well…” his voice suddenly quietened, and he looked down, as if he was trying to remember what actually happened.

Looking straight at you, he finished, “It was Alyssa, another customer’s fault. She bumped into her and the drinks spilt on me, and she’s trying to clean it up now. It’s fine.”

“__?” Your coworker asked for a second time, as if trying to check is that true?

“Yeah.” Your voice was shaky, overwhelmed. “I, uh, this woman bumped into me. But I should’ve been more careful. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I was just asking. Well, you can,” she glanced at the wet napkins now stained with coke and back up at Taeyong with a somewhat desolate gaze, “you can continue. I was just checking if there was a problem.”

“No problem,” you looked into her eyes and forced a smile. She quickened her pace as she furthered from you and Taeyong, her shoes tapping on the linoleum floor. The embarrassment finally began to set in, and you wished you could disappear. You wished Taeyong wasn’t here – no, scratch that. You wished you hadn’t woken up this morning and tried to return his necklace. You wished you hadn’t come into work late and met him here. If you had come in early, you wouldn’t have seen him, and all this would never have happened. You wouldn’t be shaking as you cleaned up coke with wet paper towels that were now disintegrating between your fingers, wondering why you were so nervous.

There was something between the two of you – some peculiar energy that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. You had thought it was just you, that it was just the dream – but you knew Taeyong was staring at you intensely, boring holes into your skull, as if willing you to look up at him and meet your gaze. Your stomach was churning painfully, the remnants of your morning iced coffee uncomfortably swirling around, and your heartbeat felt erratic, like it was running away from you.

Did you like him? Was he attractive? Was that why you were melting like putty in his presence? You thought of your dream, and blood rushed to your cheeks shamelessly as soon as the images flashed through your brain, as if your body was responding. But it didn’t make any sense - you had never met him before. You didn’t even know his name until 2 minutes ago. Why would you dream about someone you’d never seen before?

The sound of the fabric on the seat next to you snapped you out of the babel of thoughts in your head immediately, and you registered what was happening.

Taeyong Lee was now squatting in front of you, looking down, his straight locks shrouding his eyes from your view. His legs were long, almost langly, and his knees were wandering dangerously close to yours.

“Let me help.”

“Oh no, no. It’s totally fine.” You said weakly, but he had already started picking up tiny shards of glass, and you watched, feeling even more embarrassed. Out of instinct, you looked up, and sure enough, half of the customers were looking over at the two of you on the floor. Your coworker was nowhere to be found.

“No seriously, you’ll get me in trouble.” You had no idea why you said that, where the sudden confidence came from, but it made him stop and stare directly at you. They were the same fiery eyes from this morning, but they were more unfocused now, like he was thinking about something else, and he had to force his attention back to you with every passing second. You stared back, slightly mesmerised, and decided to continue to prevent some impending awkward silence. “I mean, this is my job and all. Glass, it’s uh, dangerous to customers, you know?”

Ladies and gentlemen, introducing the world’s worst conversationalist.

He chuckled, and it’s like your body had a visceral reaction, almost jumping in surprise. “Fine, Miss safety. I’ll get out of your way.” His voice was light and airy now, like this was a movie and the director had just said cut and the actor was easing out of character. For a moment, you felt like the pieces were falling into place, like everything was going as it should be.

Taeyong stood up, brushed his hands on his jeans, and towered over you. You looked up. The sun was beaming through the window, casing his head in a bright glow and obscuring most of his face from your view. You could see the pieces of his pin-straight hair brushing his forehead and the bridge of his nose, and your heart panged with a short-lived nostalgia.

“Bring the necklace to my place when you finish. We need to talk.”

[wetcatspellcaster]

hello! i have a question about finding time to write because i have an idea for an astarion fic but it's my first year in my ph.d. program and i am DROWNING IN WORK AND READINGS. how did you do this AND work on your dissertation? (also congrats on that!!! that's massive!!!)

hello, anon, congratulations to YOU on your phd programme!! many felicitations on the continuing of your education.

I took a while to reply to this, bc I'm not sure if I'm the best person to ask this question. my personal answer is 'hyperfixate on the dopamine source so, so hard until you burnout, and then feel guilty bc you haven't updated in ages (I'm currently one week since an update), and then let that guilt become your new motivator! :D'

...which doesn't seem very healthy. and definitely impacts my ability to answer the question in a way that is actually helpful.

so i don't have an answer, but my honest pieces of advice are below the cut.

idk what kinda PhD you are doing, but if it's a humanities, in my experience, there are dips and lulls. first year is always a bit hectic bc the imposter syndrome is high and you feel like you're treading water to stay afloat. but things will get so much easier, and will in fact go through peaks and troughs! in 2nd and 3rd year, i had months without any work at all. wait for a trough to do some drafting. if you're currently really struggling, then just sketch as detailed an outline as you can in a document when the idea is fresh, and then you can return to it in dribs and drabs when you have a spare moment. [if you're a scientist, apologies in advance, you have a much harder life than me!] .

this one isn't very burnout friendly, but i am introverted and treat writing fic like a hobby for when i have no social battery. then my fic battery runs out, i go be social. yes, this kinda just spreads the burnout around. yes, i also know writing is still work! but it doesn't feel like it, to me. so I guess make your fic idea as much about fun, and as least about work, as possible. make it into the catnip that will make you come back to it. treat it as an escape rather than another magnum opus, or god forbid, a second dissertation. .

this also applies to PhD work - again, if you are a humanities student, you'll inevitably hit a writing block in your thesis. these are normal, and though they feel like the worst thing at the time, they will inevitably shift. thesis writing block when i was often very productive with fic, bc my thesis wasn't taking up my brain power and/or taking time away from my thesis was exactly what i needed. If you're burned out on the thesis, maybe spend some time just playing around in your brain for a bit. my friend told me about how she used fic as a way to build 'mastery' - when she was depressed or feeling down about her thesis, she would do something she knew she was good at (fic), and this would lift her mood. in the self critical world of academia, sometimes a little fic positivity goes a long way (at least for me, but that's bc both my supervisors are very very harsh, the exact opposite of the AO3 comment box). .

find an update schedule that works for you. i used to write a whole fic before i published any of it, but that's become more untenable as my wordcounts get bigger and i need motivation. now, comments fuel me when i'm drafting. so honestly, if you think posting will add pressure, don't post. write it just for you. if you think posting is the only thing that will keep the idea alive, do it and then don't feel guilt if there's a large gap in updates. people will still read it when it eventually goes up! :)

Honestly, I don't really have an answer. I wrote a lot these last few months bc I was feeling very depressed with the endgame of my thesis, and writing distracted me and made me feel better. I try to keep two nights a week free for fic, but that works for me bc I'm an introvert who lives alone. I don't think you can force it, but what I can tell you is that the PhD does get much, much easier (and that first year is also a perfectly legit time to faff around a bit and commit some time theft if you want - at least in the humanities, bc you'll still have so much time in your project).

I'm sorry I don't have a clear answer! Fic is important to me, so I make time for it, sometimes to my own detriment. If your PhD is what is important to you rn, fic can wait! Similarly, if you want to take some time away from that treading water, maybe microdose an hour or so of fic to start building mastery :) xx

[1kook]

attachment: 1 image

— jjk x (f) reader

summary; But for Jungkook to initiate some sexting, nevertheless sexting at 1pm on a Saturday, when you were at work and you were almost positive he was supposed to be on stream right now? Unheard of, you had to mark this down somewhere. warnings; sexting, dick pics, dirty talk?, phone sex, vivid depictions of jungkook being just so sexy bc its true, rating; mature (18+) misc; mentions of youtuber kook 🥰, he’s just horny, stupid selfie trends (see here), he’s a little whiny but so hot v.v  wc; 4.6k 

notes; I've had this in my drafts since april 😐 n then i was like maybe we should actually finish this so i started n then last night i hit another follower milestone!!! so then i rlly forced myself to finish this bc i was so 🥺🖤👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 anyway enjoy lmk what u think its not proofread bc uhhhhh yeah 🤩

You’re at work when it happens.

It’s sometime between your usual listless thoughts of what to write for your weekly reflection papers for some course, and your trip to your store’s pharmacy to bother a coworker. Your phone vibrates in the pocket of your work apron. You’re normally pretty good at ignoring the sound, most of the times it’s just a classmate asking for help on homework or Jimin lamenting his love life, so you’ve grown used to ignoring the tiny vibrations, stocking a quarter shelf of different cooking oils before something in your brain tells you to check your phone.

You already know it’s not something grave, but that thought alone means nothing at the sight of the tiny jungkook♡ that appears at the very top of the list of notifications. Your boyfriend’s texts tended to be wildcards, never following a certain routine or alluding to any specifics. He could send you a long paragraph on how much he misses the scent of that one shampoo, the one you’d briefly run through last year because your usual brand was out of stock, with a ten point explanation on why you should switch back to it. Or two word, caveman sentences that drove you crazy because you never understood what exactly he wanted when he’d send those nondescript “munchies dip” texts.

You unlock your phone, clicking to the messenger app instead of directly on the notification. Hopefully the preview will give some warning on whether you should invest in this conversation or not. You hated the read receipts on messages, choosing to ghost conversations as you pleased, but Jungkook had wiggled his way into your phone one afternoon and specifically turned them on for his chat with you, and you’d never turned them off since. So he knows if you choose to ignore Attachment: 1 Image at 1:43pm exactly, and he'll pester you about it until you respond.

You contemplate it all for twenty seconds. It could be a variety of things, you guess, but the only way to find out is to actually see with your own eyes what he’s up to this time. He knows better than to distract you at work, is usually really good at waiting until your shift is over to spam you with messages. For him to send you something now, only a few hours into your shift, is uncharacteristic of him.

But you glance down the aisle anyway, taking note of some elderly woman you’d helped a few minutes prior and another teenager aimlessly walking around, probably looking for the snack aisle. You inhale and press down on your chat with Jungkook.

It takes you a moment to make out exactly what the image is, twisting and turning your phone around as you fight to see it without raising the brightness. It’s only when your eyes finally adjust to the dark screen, the faint beeping of the check-out registers fading into the distance, that you realize it’s a shot of the front of his sweatpants.

“Hm?” you murmur, getting brave enough to pinch the image between two fingers, zooming in until you’re able to decipher a multitude of details. For one, there’s a Flaming Hot Cheeto stain on the hem of his sweatpants, the same one you’d accidentally put on there a few weeks back and haven’t been able to wash out since. Then there’s that huge palm of his, tattoos and all, rested carefully against his thigh. It’s veiny and thick in all the right places, bringing all the attention to his knuckles, which you guess is what he was going for when you consider the centerpiece of the image—his hardened dick straining against the grey material.

There’s no text attached to the message, no snapchat font slapped over the image, so you wonder what exactly he wanted you to do with this information mid-shift. Well, realistically, you know exactly what he wants, but that doesn’t mean you won’t clown him before getting there. After all, Jungkook was seldom the naughty texter; sexting annoyed him, he would whine, because he would do all that and not even get to feel the true pleasure of sex, of being inside you. You’ve dabbled in it here and there, but it never went as perfectly as it did in pornos. He’d drop his phone and forget it, or you would straight up ignore the damn device as you went all in on yourself.

But for Jungkook to initiate some sexting, nevertheless sexting at 1pm on a Saturday, when you were at work and you were almost positive he was supposed to be on stream right now? Unheard of, you had to mark this down somewhere.

you what’s this about?

You decide to play it safe, because as exciting as the image of Jungkook at his computer chair, cock hard and angry at the thought of you, fluffy hair ruffled in that way you adored, jaw twitching and tightening as he touched himself, moaned deep and rough and just how you liked and—

As nice as that image was, for all you knew this vague message was Jungkook sending you a picture from a week ago to purposefully fuck with you at work.

jungkook♡ what time u get off? jungkook♡ miss you bad baby

Your stomach flips, and it takes everything in you to not squeal and bounce between the shelves like a toddler on a sugar rush. Here was your boyfriend, the cutest, sweetest boy, sending you dirty pictures of himself and telling you how much he needed you. Yes, YOU, not some random on the street, or someone else in a club, Jungkook needed pleasure and that pleasure could only come from you.

You glance back down the aisle again, checking your surroundings for the second time that day. You’ve been standing here, stock cart empty for a little over five minutes now, so it’s probably best to change location lest your manager come barking down your neck. You send one quick text before heading off for stock again.

you 4pm :(

Your phone dings again just as you’re leaving the stockroom, but you decide to check it once you get to the hygiene aisle you need to work on next. Still, the prospect of Jungkook having texted you has you walking with a skip in your step, one your coworker teases you about when you pass by her.

jungkook♡ fuck jungkook♡ tell me what panties youre wearing jungkook♡ please ?

You bite your lip, stopping yourself from smiling at the tone you’d picked up from his message. There was no doubt he’d been riled up for a while now, and you wonder if he sat through his usual Saturday morning streams with his cock hard, pushed against the edge of his desk like you knew he did when such things happened. The thought has you nearly fumbling with a bottle of aloe vera.

you seamless black thong you the one you bought me at the last vs sale

Briefly, you wonder if you should have lied and told him you were wearing that red lace set he’d given you last Valentine’s Day, the one he’d bought with his first big YouTube check. But the beauty of being in a relationship with someone like Jungkook is that you could have told him you were wearing grandma undies and he’d still think you were the most beautiful person to grace the planet.

jungkook♡ mm jungkook♡ tiny ones u ruined last time?

You set your phone down, speed stock a row of sunscreen like you’re on some shelf stocking national competition, before daring to text Jungkook again. Your cheeks are still warm, and your hand tightens dangerously around a bottle of shaving cream.

Before you can formulate some response, he’s sending another one in.

jungkook♡ u soaked those jungkook♡ came fast that day jungkook♡ want u so bad

Your cheeks burn, a little embarrassed that he remembers such details. As with all Victoria’s Secret panties, they were, like Jungkook said, extremely thin. You pause, shift your stance just barely, but you’re definitely wet. Not terribly so, but with this fabric, you’d start to notice it sooner than with others.

you mm you makin me wet bunny

It’s not a complete lie, but knowing Jungkook this is exactly what he needs to hear to get that competitive streak going. You shake your head to clear your thoughts, stocking another section of men’s shaving cream. It takes longer for him to message you back, and you wonder if he got off fine on his own. If it’s over now, at least he provided you with some distraction midway into your shift.

When he texts you again, you’ve almost completely convinced yourself he’s finished, so the Attachment: 1 Video that appears on your lock screen throws you for a loop.

It’s a short clip, no longer than ten seconds, but it has you scrambling to lower the volume on your device as some unsuspecting mother of two wanders past. You flash her your practiced smile, the same one you give all the store’s customers. Not like your boyfriend is jacking it off on your phone, shallow pants filtering out from the speakers.

You turn your phone over carefully after she leaves, try to at least pretend you’re still doing your job as you play the video again.

Sweats are gone, but boxers remain. Legs deliciously exposed, thick thighs with muscles that ripple when he moves. Shirt pulled up just slightly to showcase that broad expanse of tummy, cute belly button and defined abs that tighten with each glide of his palm over the outline of his cock. Your mouth fills with drool at the sight. He was so hot.

Your brain hasn’t even processed it yet, all your energy directed towards your clenched pussy, when he shoots another text.

jungkook♡ im so fckin hard jungkook♡ wanna kiss yuo every where baby jungkook♡ come ove r soon ??

Shutting your eyes and counting to ten doesn’t help ward off the sudden wave of horniness that consumes you, but it does remind you of the job you’re supposed to be doing now. You shake your head, as if the image of Jungkook’s dick throbbing beneath his boxers, low voice in your ear, will magically disappear. It doesn’t, and it plagues you even more when you begin stocking a section of sunscreen, numbly instructing yourself on what to do next. Shaving cream, sunscreen, lotion next, you repeat.

It doesn’t help.

Two minutes later and you’re scrambling for the phone you’d hastily tucked into your apron pocket, tapping your passcode in until your messages with Jungkook are pulled up again.

you after work you promise

Your head is absolutely spinning, the coil in your stomach too tight for you to try and be a functioning member of society. Something in you says to sneak off to the bathroom and call him, but your boss is a little bit of a prick when he wants to be, thinks you take too many bathroom breaks as is.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. A curt call of your name has you whirling to face your shelves again, phone tightly pressed against your ribs like maybe it’ll melt into your skin and he won’t see it. At the same time, your sudden fright has you scrambling to turn it off, fingers sloppily pressing against the buttons, hitting the volume like seven times before you eventually feel the familiar click that signals it’s off.

Your boss disappears shortly after, and with his sudden appearance having made every hair on your body stand, you find yourself now slumping against your stock cart. Jesus, that man was a handful to deal with.

The paranoia sticks for a little bit, has you stocking shelf after shelf like a robot until you finish the entire row of hygiene products, back stiff from bending over so much. It’s only when you return to the stockroom ten minutes later that you dare take your phone out again.

A pleasant surprise awaits.

It would appear that during your haste to hide your phone from your boss— Jungkook’s scandalous messages and all —your frantic hands had done something else. A fuzzy picture on your end, a blurry display of lotion bottles you had stacked just before your boss’s impromptu appearance, with no words to accompany them. Normally Jungkook would have ignored that; you frequently sent accidental messages like this, butt texted him, he says.

But there’s something about Jungkook’s horny brain that makes him do stupid things, makes him blow up your phone with a series of question marks, call you four times, whine and fuss in your message thread, and eventually, send you probably the oddest image to date.

jungkook♡ ??? jungkook♡ ????what is that jungkook♡ baby please jungkook♡ I don’t get it ??

jungkook♡ Missed Call (4)

jungkook♡ baby jungkook♡ what does it mean jungkook♡ please ur drivign me insane jungkook♡ jsut wanna hear yuor voice jungkook♡ fuck please just

And then, there’s another one of those cursed Attachment: 1 Image messages.

You shouldn’t be as surprised as you are. You’ve been dating Jungkook for a few months now, know he had that sort of unique personality most college dropouts turned YouTubers do. But every now and then the absurdity of his actions makes you question him still, makes you wonder what exactly goes on in that pretty head of his to warrant such ideas, makes him balance a bottle of body lotion on the thick outline of his cock like this.

Unlike the first few images, this one was taken in front of a mirror. The blinding fluorescent light in his bathroom paints him in a stark color, has every inch of his pretty face on display for you. Rosy cheeks, dewy skin. Perfectly swollen cock straining beneath his grey boxers, curved up against his hip. Shirt pulled up, finally freeing that expanse of muscles on his abdomen, cute little belly button on display once again. The red material is pulled up to his mouth, pearly white teeth biting down on the fabric, and he’s got this flushed expression on his face.

But the real star of the show isn’t his chiseled abdomen or sexy expression, but the sheer hardness of his dick that lets him balance a bottle of body lotion over it, like a fuckin’ shelf or something. He’s so hard, dick so full beneath his boxers. So big too, the little boxers pulled taught around said engorged cock and thick thighs.

Your brain says to laugh, to tease him for being such a clown even when he’s horny as hell. He won’t take it to heart, will probably laugh along with you and you’ll add it to your still growing list of funny memories.

But your caveman libido says call him, so that’s what you do, ducking down behind a new shipment pallet with a squeak as the phone rings. It only lasts four seconds before he picks up, voice breathy and low, but it sounds so loud in the silence of the stockroom.

He doesn’t even let you get a greeting in. “You like my picture, baby?” he husks. It sounds like he’s right there, right beside you, speaking into your ear. Your pussy throbs at the way he sounds. Paired with the picture from before, it has your body tingling all over.

“What the fuck is that?” you hiss, trying to not let the sudden overflow of arousal leak into your words. Jungkook chuckles.

“What?” he huffs. There’s the brief sound of shuffling, the scratchy noise of his phone presumably being pressed against his shoulder. “I’m so hard, baby,” he sighs before you can pretend to reprimand him any further. “Fuck— you, can you just talk to me?” he groans, and the disgusting sound of him spitting into his palm fills your ear.

Your face feels warm, eyes nervously peering across the stockroom like your boss will suddenly appear now of all times to rip you from this important phone call. The anxiety and arousal mix weirdly, have your leg bouncing but every new movement sends a shock up your aching cunt to your chest, and then out to the tips of your fingers.

“You shouldn’t be doing that when I’m at work,” you murmur hurriedly, moving to nervously bite at your finger. Jungkook moans softly.

“Uh huh,” he says.

The air conditioning turns on and you nearly jump out of your own skin. “Kook,” you stress, frazzled by your own burning arousal and the fear of being caught. Like you said. Weird mix. “I— not when I can’t respond.”

He shudders on the line. “You’re responding now,” he points out. You hate when he’s right. Before you can defend yourself, define what a proper response is in this scenario, he’s beating you to the punch. “Baby,” he whimpers, voice so airy yet low, makes your eyes roll into the back of your head, back unconsciously arching. “Couldn’t stop— fuck.”

Your mouth feels dry, all and any form of lecturing fading from your thoughts as you become consumed in Jungkook’s little whines and whimpers. He talks smoothly, a modern day Casanova, and it’s certainly because of that cult-like harem he’s gathered on YouTube. Teenage girls who kiss his ass, tell him he’s cute and dreamy. Make his ego so big.

But then he gets horny and can barely contain that lisp you tease him about, shivers and melts when you put his cock in your mouth. “Couldn't what, bunny?” you mumble, voice drawn tight because now you were really horny, and it was all his fault.

The nickname makes him mewl prettily, your speaker suddenly going scratchy as he fumbles with his phone. “C- Couldn't stop thinking about you— your mouth,” he admits, and now you’re certain he’d sat through that Saturday morning stream like this. “T- Tits,” he adds, lisp slipping through. “Fuck.”

You bite your lip, eyes fluttering shut as you remind yourself now was not the time or place to get yourself off. But, well. That didn’t mean you couldn’t get him off. “Sat through your stream like this?” you murmur, circling your kneecap with a trembling finger as if it’ll ward away the raging lust in your abdomen. Jungkook confirms with a breathy moan. “Had all your little fans wondering why you ended so early.”

He groans. “No,” he chokes, voice hot from how much it wavers. “They— I lied,” he confesses out of nowhere, “s- said I had a doctor’s appointment.”

You muffle a giggle into your palm. “Naughty,” you tease. “Too hard to do your job.”

“Just,” he cuts off, voice feathery. He sounds so close and you haven’t even said anything of substantial value yet. “Tell me,” he says quietly, “what to— mmh, what to do.”

A smirk consumes your features. You try to hide it, but there’s no one here anyway so you’re left grinning at an unpacked box of dental floss like a madwoman. “Why?” you inquire playfully, bask in the sad little whimper he responds with. “Shouldn’t you know how to make yourself cum?”

Another groan of frustration, desperation seeping into his tone when he speaks again. “Baby, please,” he begs, and it feels good. Feels nice to have this big YouTuber begging for you like this, whimpering your name like his doesn’t appear on the top 25 most viewed. “Like when you— ah — when you tell me… what to do.”

Your body feels hot, thighs pressing together with each whimper that falls from his lips. “Okay,” you concede, and he audibly moans in relief. “Tip first,” you instruct softly, eyes defocusing as your brain slowly starts to manifest the image of Jungkook spread out on his bed. Thick thighs, grey boxers pulled taught around them, fat cock between his pretty hands, inked knuckles squeezing around his member. You swallow. You can tell exactly when Jungkook does as you say because another muffled moan fills the speaker. “One finger,” you remind him quickly, head spinning from the mere memory of his dick. “Run it… run it over the slit, bunny.”

“Nngh—“ Jungkook sputters. You can only imagine the face he’s making now, the bottom lip he’s bitten raw by now. He does it a lot; it’s a nervous habit. But as sexy as it looks when you’re in bed, you know he has sensitive lips because of it, bleeds easily if he’s too harsh. You have half the mind to remind him about it now, but then he’s hurriedly gasping out for more. “And, and then? Wha— what then, baby?”

He sounds so sweet, melodic voice dripping with honey. “Touch your balls,” you say a little breathlessly. “Don’t squeeze,” you add, “just roll your palm over them.” Your palm squeezes against your thigh, as if it’s remembering the feel of his body, the soft skin between his thighs when you’re down there. He gets so jittery, thick thighs nearly crushing you if you drag him along too much. “O- Other hand on your cock,” you stumble, thighs squeezed together. “Stroke yourself just like I do, bunny.”

Jungkook complies. “Just like you?” he mumbles, suddenly sounds farther away. As if he’s dropped his phone off to the side. “Fffuck,” he grunts, “m- mouth is so pretty.”

“Hm?” you inquire, so consumed with tampering down your growing arousal for a second that you miss his sentence.

Jungkook’s breath stutters, and for a moment you’re met with the wet squelch of his cock in his hand. And then, “pretty mouth… make me— make me wanna see you cry.”

You bite your lip. “Why,” you say tentatively, finally caving in with a hand fluttering over the front seam of your jeans. Not a question, more of a gentle nudge for him to spill his thoughts.

“Be- Because,” he cries, fucking into his hand. He sounds closer and closer. You have to wonder just how long he had been riled up. It’s been a while since his first message, he was probably desperate by now. “Y- You’re so nice,” he cries, and the sentiment, though oddly out of place, makes your heart squeeze with adoration for the boy on the line. “Wanna be,” he groans, “wanna be so fucking mean to you, baby.”

The sudden change of tone makes you choke on a moan, hand pressing against your mound like it’ll somehow penetrate the thick material of your jeans and give you the sensations you crave. As it stands, it’s a muted feeling you get instead. When your hands fail, his voice compensates. “Fffuck, don’t you— don’t you think about it too?”

Admittedly, no.

Jungkook had always been a gentleman in bed. Always cared for your needs before his own, went out of his way to make you feel pampered and adored during your most vulnerable moments. Contrary to what his online persona might say, he was a good boy. Sweetest boy you knew, touched you like you were made of glass.

So to suddenly learn of this dream— fantasy? kink? —of his that you would certainly enjoy equally as much, well. It made you whimper into your palm, eyes worriedly flickering toward the stockroom’s entrance.

“Why?” you whisper, feeling like a broken doll repeating the same phrase over and over again. You’re suddenly aware of how hot everything was. Your polo felt sticky against your spine, apron too tight, jeans too stuffy. How long had you been hiding in here for? You don’t even know. Hopefully your absence on the floor had gone unnoticed.

Jungkook pants into the line; everything sounds so sticky and wet on his end, hand undoubtedly working away at his cock. “Shit,” he curses, doesn’t really answer your question until you prod a second time. “I- I like it,” he stammers. “When you… fuck, when you look small.” He elaborates before you can even ask, breath heavy and drawn out. He was so close. “When your mouth… when it hurts,” he says, thoughts a scrambled mess. “Like when you— when you cry because my cock is— it’s too big for you.”

A blatant ego boost you’ll ignore for now. Not like you can focus on too many things right now anyway. “Your cock is big, bunny,” you agree softly instead. Your legs feel cramped from crouching so long, so you push yourself to your feet. Except then you’re made aware of how fucking wet you are, panties soaked from the phone call with your boyfriend. You shift and they stick to your folds, make you release a shaky exhale that Jungkook doesn’t miss.

“I— you’re wet,” he says boldly, and this time your meek confirmation isn’t a lie. Jungkook grunts. “Fuck, baby, I—“ cut off by his own whiny cry, probably bucking into his hand like a madman by now. “Wanna, wanna kiss you everywhere,” he says, a call back to his earlier message. Your legs feel like jello. You want him to kiss you everywhere too— lips, tits, cunt that is dripping for him now.

“I- I’ll be over soon,” you stammer, feeling like you’ll pass out if he carries on any further. He sounds so good on the line, soft pants, rough growls. You can’t possibly listen anymore, not when you’re so wet and horny in the middle of your shift. “Just,” you pause, can’t get the image of his pretty cock out of your mind. Every blink makes it more vivid, reminds you of the vein on the underside, the exact shade of the tip.

“What?” Jungkook hisses, voice higher than usual, parts of it lost under the rapid movements of his hand. “Tell me, baby, tell me what to do,” he begs hoarsely, “I’ll do it.” Sounds so desperate and needy, two seconds away from busting all over his hand.

You have to lean against the wall of the stockroom to ground yourself, remind yourself you’re not in the same situation as Jungkook and can’t cum in your pants like a teenager. “J- Just cum,” you choke, eyes fluttering shut.

He must’ve been waiting for that command, because the second the words leave your throat he’s filling the line with breathy groans and cries as he comes all over himself, probably ruins his t-shirt. The sounds have your hips unconsciously bucking forward into nothingness, the frustration of not being able to cum with him manifesting in the form of a tiny little sob. Luckily, he doesn’t catch it.

When it’s all said and done, he’s left panting into the receiver, flooding your speaker with breathy sighs that only make you more and more aroused.

“You’re terrible,” you frown, cheeks flushed, body tingling. You flip your wrist over and check the time; it’s been about sixteen minutes since you disappeared from outside. Sixteen minutes of listening to Jungkook touch himself and moan and whine and whimper. Tease you with new possibilities you had never considered before. And now he’s satisfied and you’re not.

Jungkook chuckles, low and tired. The sound shoots straight to your cunt. “Come over after you shift,” he says, as if you’re not planning to fake a severe case of the flu right now in order to get off early and run to his bed. You only had a little less than two hours of your shift left anyway. Not like they paid you well to begin with. Jungkook shifts, releases one of those saccharine groans as he probably snuggles into his bed, all sweaty and worn out. “Want you to fuck my face, baby.”

You frown, counting to ten to calm yourself down. Another few minutes of listless conversation, and you hang up. Your body feels featherlight, a little woozy as you make your way back out into the floor.

Nothing has changed. Customers pour in and out, your boss scolds you for a display you didn’t do, and life inside the store drags on. No one knows that you’re soaking your panties to hell and back, Jungkook’s soothing moans in your ear. Life goes on.

you shift ends in 20

jungkook♡ sweet jungkook♡ got your seat ready jungkook♡ Attachment: 1 Image

Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[gingersnaaps]

red light, green light

If there’s one thing that being with Aran Ojiro has taught you, it’s the importance of trust.

wc: 2.2k

tags/tw's(PLEASE READ): explicit n*fw, noncon, very unhealthy portrayal of bdsm dynamics, bondage, breathplay bc deepthroat, bratty/switchy!reader at the start turns into sub!reader, blowjob, penetration, fem!reader with inner genitals

a/n: written for @fallensvint's collab!! not proofread,, ill get to it later

i don’t want minors interacting with my content

The first time he’d wrapped those ties around your wrist, smooth and silky and surprisingly secure, you’d stared at him with confusion.

“Aran,” you mumbled. “What’s our safeword?”

He smiled, clicking his tongue and shaking his head. “Don’t you trust me?”

You’d been a bit apprehensive in the beginning, but as it turned out, he was right.

Every time he fucked you after that, every time he bound your wrists and spanked you until your ass glowed red - he always knew when to stop. It was as if he had some kind of sixth sense, a magic ability to read every twitch of your hips and crease of your brows, all the subtle signs that laid bare your inner thoughts and feelings. He knew when to give you more, when to slow down, when to stop entirely.

All you had to do was to close your eyes and let him take over. It felt easy. It felt right.

You suppose it made sense, too. He was a little older, a little wiser, and much more experienced. He knew what he was doing, and he was the one who showed you the ropes - quite literally. Aran knew how to tie all sorts of different knots, square knots and half-hitches and lark’s heads, letting you watch with your eyes blown wide as he threaded the rope into intricate patterns.

Still, at the end of the day, your favorite toy would always be the silk ties he’d first used. They had this allure to them, this magnetic pull that radiated out from the box in which he kept them. And when he used them to bind your wrists nice and tight, deft hands working quickly as the silk slid across your skin, your mind would always blur into a thick haze of arousal and want that left your cunt dripping with heat.

Sex was always better when he tied you up.

He didn’t have to hold you down, because the ties did the work for him, the restraints leaving your mind fogged up with submission, every thought wiped clean except the urge to be a good girl for him. It made him lose his fucking mind to see your doe eyes peering up through the lashes, begging oh-so-sweetly for him to fuck you. And since you always asked so nicely, he’s more than happy to oblige you.

He pounds his cock into your tight, quivering little hole, hips snapping relentlessly, each drag of this dick against your slick, sensitive walls coaxing a squeal from your lips, your cunt fluttering pathetically as pleasure starts to twist in your gut. You’d never deny how good it felt to be fucked stupid while tied up.

But there was more to your little obsession with his silk ties than just that.

There was some small part of you, some unexplainable compulsion, hidden beneath your sweet cries and high-pitched whimpers, that wanted to find out what Aran would look like if he was on the receiving end of things.

You wanted to see what he’d do.

_

It happens on a Saturday morning.

He’s exhausted from a full week of work - the volleyball season is in full swing again, and it always takes him some time to readjust, even if he doesn’t normally sleep in. It’s rare that you wake up earlier than him.

And maybe the alcohol you’d been drinking last night hadn’t worn off entirely, or maybe you were just feeling a little bold that day, a little impulsive, because you take one look at his sleeping form before you reach under the bed for his little box of toys. Sure, you hadn’t exactly discussed this with him beforehand - but he’d done similar things to you before: tied you up without warning, tried different positions in the middle of sex, little things here and there that were never really expected. The surprise was just supposed to be part of the fun, right?

The soft light of early morning filters in through the windows and sets his skin aglow. He looks so at peace when he’s asleep, so calm, the lines in his forehead and the bags under his eyes melting as he dozes away.

There’s not so much as a twitch from him as you tie his wrists together.

You pull aside the comforter, crawling on top of him until your face is inches away from his clothed cock. He looks so good like this - so handsome - the outline of his dick pressing up near his thigh, his toned legs exposed to the cold morning air. You press soft kisses along his inner thigh, trailing your lips up and down the shaft of his cock, dragging the tip of your tongue against the fabric.

There’s a soft rustling noise, and you feel him shift beneath you. “Babe?” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep.

You giggle nervously. “Good morning, Aran.”

“What are you doing?”

You blink up at him through your lashes and pull down his boxers. His cock springs out - it’s half-hard already, the tip slightly swollen, and you trail a finger over the leaking slit.

“Nice way to wake up, I won’t lie,” he says, sighing happily. He shifts slightly, as if trying to get up - and freezes.

You feel his body tense up, thighs flexing as you flick your tongue along his length.

“What happened to my hands?”

Your heart rate spikes. His voice is a bit more measured now, a bit more controlled, an underlying warning threaded through every word.

“Did you tie me up?” he asks, soft and dangerous.

You’re too flustered to make eye contact with him any longer, ducking away under his gaze. You nod hesitantly. His cock strains, twitching slightly, and you wrap your velvet lips around the head, taking him into your warm, wet, mouth with a pop.

“You better get these restraints off right fucking now.”

His outburst startles you. You weren’t expecting such a strong reaction, but the anger that undercuts his words is clear as day. If you untie him now, you know you’ll be in for a hell of an extremely unpleasant ride, one that might end with your ass blooming with bruises and face stained with tears.

For the first time since you’d gotten with Aran, the emotion that seeps into your veins isn’t excitement.

It’s fear.

You stay mute, bringing your hands up to scratch lightly across his thigh, drawing a groan from his chest. Your cunt pulses involuntarily at the noise he makes.

Maybe if you make him cum hard enough, he’ll forgive you.

It’s this faint, stupid, hope that makes you stretch your throat around his cock, trying to fit as much of him in as possible, lips bulging as you drool and slobber around him. It’s messy, pathetic - but your goal isn’t to preserve your dignity. It’s to make him feel good enough to let this slide.

“Feels so fuckin’ good, sweetheart,” he breathes, hips bucking upwards, cock sliding in further past your swollen, shiny, lips.

Maybe your strategy would even work.

You bob up and down, working his cock until it grows rock-hard against your tongue, the head pulsing and throbbing in your mouth, your tongue tracing along the underside of each vein. Precum dribbles down your throat, salty and slick, and you swallow eagerly. Your mind grows hazy as you slide yourself further down onto his dick, the up-and-down, back-and-forth motion intoxicating as he fills up every sense you have with his taste, his scent, the sight of his abs flexing as he strains against your mouth. You feel a hand slide to rest on top of your head, and you melt.

The expression on your face when the realization finally hits is too fucking precious.

You pull off of his cock, a string of drool still hanging from the corner of your lips, eyes darting around frantically. The silk bindings that you’d wrapped around his wrists lie in tatters on the bed, all torn and ripped, and Aran stretches leisurely.

“Why’d you stop?” he asks, the barest hint of a grin in his voice. “I didn’t say that you could stop.”

He leans forward, grabbing onto the top of your head, and drags you back to him until your lips are grazing the tip of his cock again. Disappointment is etched onto his features, but it’s a strange, twisted sort of disappointment - his eyes glitter, his pupils dilating - almost as if he’s giddy that you’d messed up and made a fool of yourself.

“Please,” you whimper. “D-don’t-”

“You know what happens to bad girls, don’t you?” he asks gravely, shaking his head. “Bad girls get punished. Don’t complain if you get what you deserve.”

With that, he forces your mouth back onto his dick, but with the help of his insistent hands, you’re able to take him even deeper than you were before. Your throat burns red and raw as he shoves your little mouth as deep as possible on his cock, gorging you on his thick, swollen length, impaling you on his dick until your eyes begin to tear up.

“Need to breathe,” you mumble, but your words are barely coherent with your mouth stuffed so full. The only noise that comes through are your small, desperate moans, and the little gagging noises from the back of your throat.

“What’s that?” he asks, nonchalant. “Didn’t hear you properly, baby. Speak up.”

It’s at this point that panic begins to flood your veins. Your head hurts from how hard he’s gripping it, a dull, throbbing ache that leaves tears trickling down your face. You’re not sure he’s going to relent any time soon, either, because Aran seems dead set on making sure he sees your punishment through, even if it means leaving your jaw sore and tender for days. A haze begins to settle over your brain from the lack of oxygen, black spots creeping into the edges of your vision -

You lose it.

"Red," you scream against his cock. "Red." You faintly remember reading somewhere that this was the word that meant stop, the one that was used when things went to far.

"I'm not sure what that means, baby."

“Please, Aran,” you cry. “I’m serious. Stop. Stop. I’m not kidding.”

Your chest heaves uncontrollably with your sobs, tears and drool mixing as slick drips down his shaft and onto his fat balls. The words you want to get out aren’t really coming through, but you keep trying, slobbering all around his dick as your muffled moans vibrate against his crotch.

He sighs. “Alright, alright. You’re a bit softer than I thought.”

His words send a pang of hurt through your chest - you’d tried your hardest, and wasn’t that enough? - but it’s pure relief that floods into your veins when he finally drags you off of his cock. You gasp for air, wheezing and coughing as oxygen finally floods into your lungs.

You look pretty, he thinks. A bit like a drowned kitten, with your lashes wet, your hair messed up, and lips all bitten and swollen and leaking with drool.

It makes his cock twitch against his stomach.

He flips you over onto the bed, pinning your wrists down, and lines the tip of his cock up so it prods at your entrance. “Ready?” he asks.

And to be honest, you’re not, but at least he’s stopped choking you with his cock. Maybe you should be grateful for that.

When he pushes his cockhead past your tight, clenched pussy lips, it’s unbearably slow. It leaves your insides aching, raw and needy, even when the drag of his dick against your slick, ribbed, walls stops, even when he’s bottomed out and his balls are tapping gently against your cunt. He fucks you slow and deep, pushing up against your g-spot, breaking you apart on his cock until you’re sobbing again for an entirely different reason.

This is punishment, remember?

It feels like hours have gone by before that familiar wave of pleasure begins to build steadily in your core. Every thrust of his hips leaves you reeling, eyes rolling back into your head, fingers fisting at the bedsheets - but he’s still fucking you so slowly it hurts. Your cunt clenches uselessly, greedy and desperate, as if it’s trying to keep him buried inside you, and it draws a breathy chuckle from his lips.

“Close?” he asks, pulling his cock out almost all the way.

You nod eagerly and buck your hips up. You don’t really care if you look stupid or pathetic, because all you want right now is for him to speed up his maddeningly slow pace, to fuck you until you’re drooling into the mattress.

He pushes back in, snapping his hips harshly, and you squeal - you’re right on the precipice, your orgasm building and coiling tight in your gut, the walls of your cunt cinching around his cock like a vice -

He pulls out.

You’re silent for a few seconds, brain still too hazy to comprehend what he’s doing, but then you hear him speak, voice low and rough, and you shiver.

“Bad girls don’t get to cum.”

[dameferre]

i also wanna know abt who am i really 👀

okay. so. ‘who am i really’ is the first zukka thing i ever wrote, started before i had even. finished watching the show lmao

basically i have 25k of it written, probably another 4-5k written in notes and an outline, but i am mature and knowledgeable of my own shortcomings enough to know there’s no way in hell i’ll ever finish it, because that 25k? isn’t even. 20% of the fic if i were to actually write it, like this shit would approach 200k in its final form and i very simply do not have the time to actually. write that lmao

but i’m happy to talk about it! so basically it was the whole ‘oh my god they were roommates’ premise except zuko is sokka’s downstairs neighbour, they fight over music volume, and for the first part of the fic zuko’s a bootlicking son of the city police chief and starting out at the police academy, who calls the cops on sokka for his music one night

aand i just realised how long this is gonna be so under the cut!

so we start from the ‘zuko’s a fucking asshole’ stage and move on from there, and then due to a couple of different mildly traumatic events  zuko realises the police system is inherently evil, has his whole redemption arc slash emotional breakdown and quits the force, he gets cut off by ozai and moves in w sokka for cheaper rent bc sokka is a nice person (who’s seen the way zuko has been walking around looking like absolute Death for weeks) and also needs someone to help w the rent

we also start from the point where sokka’s dating suki, and zuko’s still coming to terms with his sexuality, so there’s all that to work through

basically it just goes into the development of zuko and sokka’s friendship, and zuko’s development as a person going from an incredibly sheltered, incredibly privileged life to... the opposite of that lmao and how his friendship with the rest of the gaang grows, and his personal journey, and whatnot, just a nice little mirror for canon except w more swearing and the author talking about how all cops are bastards

it’s all self indulgent nonsense and little bits of shit that popped into my head so i wrote it down, really, but here’s my favourite bit

“So I was thinking.”

“Never a good sign.”

“Ha, ha.” Sokka deadpans. “Seriously though. I want a GNO. Drinking, dancing, questionable choices, might even get some action if I’m on my game.”

“And you think this is something I would enjoy.” Zuko, the introvert who can’t dance, responds.

“You’ll enjoy it because you’re going with your best friends, one of whom is just getting over the emotional hangover of the end of a three-year relationship.” Sokka pouts. “We can even go to a gay club! It’s been ages since I’ve been to one.”

Zuko snorts, and looks back to the TV. “I thought you wanted to get some ‘action’.”

“I mean, I would also be fine with just a fun night out with the gang. But if there are interested parties.” Sokka shrugs.

“Well, forgive me if my idea of a fun night isn’t watching Toph beat the shit out of you for creeping on lesbians at a gay club.”

Sokka makes an exasperated noise. “C’mon, you know me better than that.” He says, throwing a cheeto at the side of Zuko’s face. “I said interested parties. I can be strictly dick-tly for an evening, no sweat.”

Zuko turns, brow raised. “What does that even mean.”

“Y’know. I wouldn’t say no to a girl of the bipan persuasion if she wants to make a move, but if I’m actively pursuing anyone, it’ll just be guys. And, y’know, any non-girl people who seem into it.”

A record scratches in Zuko’s brain. “You… why would you pursue a guy.”

“I dunno, if he’s hot?” Sokka says, looking at him like he’s crazy. “Or has a nice smile? Shiny hair? I dunno, why do you usually pursue guys, Z.”

“But.” Zuko stammers, staring at Sokka. “But I’m attracted to men.”

Sokka blinks at him. “…so am I?”

What. “What.” No seriously, what. “What?!”

“Is this… are you trying to be funny?”

Zuko stares at his roommate, frantically trying to understand what’s going on. “Are you trying to be funny?!”

“No, I’m being bisexual.” Sokka says, slightly defensively. “Because I’m bisexual?”

“Since when?!”

Sokka stares at him, then gestures to wall. “Zuko, that’s been up since I moved in. I know you’ve seen it.”

Zuko turns to stare at the wall, but all he can see is- “The flag?”

“Yeah, Zuko, the fucking flag. Did you think I just thought it was pretty?”

“Is-” Zuko flounders. “Is the flag significant?”

Sokka looks intently, somewhat crazed, at Zuko’s face, like he’s searching for something. Whatever it is, he obviously doesn’t find it. His arm is still held out towards the wall, and he uses it to gesture towards the flag again, more aggressively this time. “It’s the fucking bisexual pride flag, Zuko!”

“I.” Zuko gapes at him, still confused. “I thought the pride flag was a rainbow?”

“Oh my-” Sokka starts. “Are you fucking with me right now. Is this you fucking with me.” He pauses, staring at Zuko. “Jesus fuck, Zuko, there are different flags for different sexualities. That’s the bisexual one.”

Zuko stares at the flag, then back at Sokka, then back at the flag. Then back at Sokka. “Well how was I supposed to know that?!”

“Everybody knows that, Zuko!” Sokka exclaims, then brings his hand up to rub at the bridge of his nose. “Okay, I guess you just. Didn’t know that. Somehow. And that’s fine. Point being, I am bisexual. I am attracted to all genders, I’ve been- I thought- out since I was sixteen. So yeah. I’m bi.”

“But.” Zuko’s brain has been trying to process this information, and now rejects it entirely. “But that. You can’t be.”

Sokka gives him a weird look. “I can’t be?” His face shifts, into something sort of… defensive. Wary, almost. “Do you have a problem with bisexuals?”

“What?” Oh shit. “No, of- of course not! I- I love bisexuals! All of the- um,” Zuko’s mind races, trying to think of a bi person he knows personally, and then frantically widening its search to any bisexual human being in all of recorded history. “Jet! Jet’s bi! Love Jet, he’s, um. Yeah! Bi.”

Sokka’s face isn’t defensive anymore, but it is shocked. And- something else, Zuko can’t quite place. “You love Jet?”

“What?”

“You just said you loved Jet.” Sokka says, sort of quietly. “I just- I guess I didn’t know you guys were at that point.”

Zuko absolutely does not love Jet. Only Jet loves Jet. But Sokka’s looking at him, lit by the artificial glow of the TV, still the most attractive thing Zuko’s ever seen. So Zuko’s self-preservation instinct kicks in. “Uh. Yeah, you know.” He swallows. “It’s still pretty new, but. Yeah.”

“Well hey, that’s.” Sokka gives a small smile. “That’s great.” He places his hands on his thighs, pushing up off the couch. “I’m just gonna text everybody, see if we can get the night planned.”

He walks away, leaving Zuko to his mental breakdown in peace.

Sokka’s bi.

Sokka.

Is bi.

[later that week or some transition i haven’t written lmao]

“Zuko, you know I’m bi, right?” Suki laughs, but the grin slides off her face when Zuko hesitates. “You know that, right.”

Zuko makes a reluctant face. “I know now…?”

“Oh my-“ Suki stares at him, then looks at Sokka who makes a face as if to say ‘see, what did I tell you’. “Ew, Zuko!” She cries. “Ew, you thought- you thought I was straight?!”

“You had a boyfriend,” Zuko defends himself weakly.

Suki looks like she wants to scream. “I’ve never been so offended in my entire life.”

“Now you know how I feel.” Sokka says.

“Me! A straight girl!” She laughs, slightly hysterical. “Me!”

“Okay, I guess I just-” Zuko starts, but Suki holds out two fingers in front of his face, shutting him up.

“No no, that’s enough from you today.” She looks, wide-eyed, at Sokka. “What do I have to do, paint the fucking bi flag on my face?”

Sokka snorts. “He wouldn’t recognise it, anyway.”

Suki turns back to glare at Zuko. “I thought we were friends, Zuko.”

and then in a perfect world this would be followed by a montage of all the times sokka has definitely been openly bisexual in front of ‘still coming to terms with his own sexuality’ zuko who’d just. wrote it off as bro culture

[howdoyousleep3]

K, this is probably a difficult question to answer, but how do you write smut so well? I want to do something for the upcoming holidays and every time I write smut it just doesn’t feel right. I’m asking all my favorite writers about their process and I’d love your input.

Hi Lisa love. I’m super super late to answering this phenomenal question, and I hope you’re still interested in my answer, but it’s one I think I need to answer for myself right now. I’ve probably included too much information about my general process but if you’d like me to expand more on smut specifically I can do that for you. 💖

My process always starts with an idea I can’t move away from.

It’s one where thoughts naturally build and not one where I’m like, “hey that’s awesome” and then move away from. This tends to happen when I’m driving to and/or from work. If I think about it for more than a day I write it down in my journal so I don’t forget it. What tends to happen though is I think about one idea and only one idea for a long time. My brain doesn’t like to move past a good idea once it’s in my head so what I end up doing a lot of the time is running with an idea as soon as I come up with it. I stew on it for a few days, get a feel for it, think of more lines of dialogue, think of more plot.

These ideas tend to be focused around a line of dirty talk or a snapshot of a moment in my head and from there I build outward. How did my characters get to that point? What is the setting? Where do they go from there?

Now, lately there are stories I’ve been working on where I do outline them. I have a traveler’s journal that is full of Stucky nonsense and one of the journals is my secret fic I’ve been working to build for a long time now. The other journal is just ideas for other fics or thoughts. If it requires thought and connections I outline it but most of the time I don’t do that.

Once I feel like I’m bursting at the seams with this idea I just…start writing.

If there are parts of ideas that I don’t want to forget I write them down but other than that I am very much a person who writes from start to finish and only in one draft. I absolutely hate jumping around in a story. I did it with NASBB and it was a nightmare for me. I know a lot of people want to roll with certain energies they get and write certain parts but that doesn’t work well for me. I like the build as a writer. I enjoy feeling it right alongside characters, I like the build between them as well as for me reaching the part I’ve been thinking about writing for a while now.

It’s not as fun for me when I write the one part that I’m excited to write and then have to go back and figure out how they got there and write backwards and jump around. I enjoy the flow of writing from start to finish and most of the time I’ve thought about it in my head for a long enough time that I don’t have moments where I stutter and am like, “fuck what was supposed to happen here??”

Things I do when I’m actively writing:

I write in Word bc I hate Google Docs.

Music is huge for me. I tend to listen to Lo-fi Music when I’m writing because words distract me.

Sitting at a desk or in another space that is not my bedroom is best.

Sprints with other writers always help! That’s where you just write for a given amount of time and then share your word count with them once time is up. They’re fun and makes me feel less lonely when I’m writing, ha.

I put my mf phone away.

I stand up and take frequent breaks.

I work on one story at a time and one story only. If I bounce between stories I lose the energy and the focus I need. Too many WIPs has my brain moving in too many different directions and it is no good.

Ask friends for hype. Never be afraid to ask people to hype you up.

When I’m writing smut, I tend to imagine it in my head like a movie. I think the build I’ve let fester within myself for a while helps me get emotions across the way I want them to, more intensely. I think putting myself in others’ shoes tends to help in situations like this, imagining what characters are going through would feel like, inside and out. I think I focus less on the physical act of sexual situations and more on how it feels to people, if that makes sense?

Like, if I’m writing someone giving another person a handjob I focus on writing more how it physically feels rather than the action itself. I won’t focus as much on the grip or the stroke or what the person is doing with their hand but I will focus on how it feels for that person, let the reader figure out what the person’s hand feels like through what the one receiving is experiencing.

I’m not sure if that makes sense. Show don’t tell, I guess.

Something that helped me grow with smut is not being afraid to put things on paper. If you need to blush as you write it out, do it, because that shit is more than likely super hot, ha. Also, if I have a reaction or thought, or I think a character would, even for a millisecond, I include it.

For dialogue or dirty talk, I write it out exactly how it sounds in my head. Y’all are probably so fucking sick and tired of my bitten-off words or my smushed together words, but I write it out exactly as it sounds. Fuck correct sentence structure, fuck grammar—write it out how it sounds exactly.

Once I’m done writing, or when I’m close enough to the end, I share with a few people to get their input. I make sure and tell them what I’m warry about or what I want from them specifically, whether that be hype or grammar or a section. I’ll transfer my work over to a Google Doc and share it with them so they can comment and read through. I’ll also take this time to read it through and give her a good once-over as well. I am someone who, once it is given the green light by others, I want to post and share immediately.

I tend to have a massive burst of writing energy after I post a fic and start reading feedback but I’ve learned that I need to bask in the feedback of a fic before jumping right into another.

But jesus christ writing is hard and it sucks sometimes and I’m learning to be better at certain things. Sometimes the action of writing is so difficult, especially in a fandom that is saturated in that good good content. There are so many ideas floating around and sometimes it is so hard to see so many people just pumping out incredible content and to not feel negatively about yourself. This was something that took me a while to accept and to embrace, to shift my outlook on it and the energy it gives me.

I’ve learned I can’t force it. If I’m not feeling it, I’m not feeling it and I need to channel my energy elsewhere. Sometimes the words flow right out of my fingers and other times I stare at my computer screen for an hour and have barely put together 3 sentences.

This is something I’m really struggling with at the moment. I have a ton of ideas and open docs (that’s probably my issue) and I can’t write the way I tend to be able to. Here I am giving you advice I literally need to take myself. Sometimes it won’t happen, and we need to show ourselves grace, to be nice to ourselves.

I know you said you would be writing something for the holidays and that the holidays have passed, but I hope you were able to do so. Even if you weren’t, I hope you don’t feel super bad about it because the time will come where you’ll be so ready to write again. Maybe starts small. When things don’t come to me I go to my Inbox and see if I can answer a lil’ somethin’ somethin’. Doesn’t have to be this large grandiose idea.

Lub you with all my heart. Thank you for such a good question. 💖

[herstarburststories]

Sensitive There

A/N: My beta asked me if I was drunk when writing this. 

My part for @kalesrebellion​’s Bring On The Giggles challenge. 

Prompts: front butt & cum gun

Summary: You and Dean get drunk, which leads to a new sexual experience.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: dirty talk, smut, nipple play, Sam being a cockblock, humping, excessive use of the word nipple, purposely written like that bc crack

A distantly familiar smell invaded your nostrils as soon as you entered the bar, but it was different; nothing like the lingering after current of alcohol that wafted through the air after a long day’s hunt. Dean had his arm on your shoulders as he and Sam talked way too excitedly about something that you didn't bother enough to pay attention to. Dear Chuck, that hunt truly drowned all your energy. Thankfully, the place with shining letters on the front door was only ten minutes away. You already felt your mood lift and a relaxed smile sneak onto your lips just for being here. What was a better way to lift your spirits than grossly excessive amounts of alcohol?

So, that is what not only you, but Sam and Dean did as well. Apparently, you weren't the only one sorely in need of a whiskey vacation. By noon, even Sam was drunk.

Fuck, how long had it been since you and the Winchesters got properly wasted? Not the daily beers or the occasional scotch, but really drunk, just for the sake of it.

‘’I'm gonna shoot you with my cum gun.’’

You giggled at Dean, somehow finding his words exciting. Drunk flirting after a hunt was pretty much how you both ended together, mostly because you weren't soberly hearing his pick up lines.

Your chin rested on your hand as you leaned in. ‘’Yeah, babe? Where? On my chest? Or maybe right on my…’’

“Front butt,” Sam interjected, a proud grin on his lips for helping you to complete your sentence.

You and Dean turned to glare at the other person on the table, furrowed brows and slightly opened mouths in surprise. Who the fuck called a vagina that? Especially Sammy. 

“What?”

“No, dude. You can't be serious? Front butt? Really?” Dean threw himself on the chair, shaking his head and taking a deep breath.

Sam tried to defend himself. “I forgot the name!”

“Call it filet mignon!” Now it was your and Sam's turn to glance at him a questioning tilt of the eyes, confusion alit on your features.. Dean arched his eyebrows, wasn't it obvious? “Because it's delicious and made of beef.”

You sighed, pouring another glass of vodka with soda. “We really should talk about your weird psychosexual obsession with food.”

“Before you came along, he said that waitresses were his favorite because they smelled like burgers.” Dean slapped his brother's shoulder, exclaiming a dude! as if he had told you a secret. “What? You said!”

Whether it was because you knew Dean or the fact that your blood was slowly turning into alcohol, you weren't actually surprised by Sam's information.

You shrugged. “He got turned on when he saw me wearing his hotdog pajamas.”

“Can we focus on Sam calling your pussy a front butt?” Dean huffed, taking a sip of his whiskey. In an attempt to shift the focus, he smirked at Sammy. “Maybe you should try a guy, they are all butt.”

“And balls. And penis,” you added, sighing dramatically before placing your hand on Dean's thigh. “I like your penis.”

The eldest Winchester looked to his leg, pushing his tongue against his teeth. All the mental images suddenly coming to mind involved you and a bit more of alcohol were very welcoming to him and his big cum gun. He definitely wanted to shoot you. And hey, he was always good with aiming  Dean could bet he could hit right in your hole.

Even a bit tipsy.

“Sam, stay here while we use the Impala.” He raised to his feet, pulling you with him. You giggled, pecking on neck only to gain a quiet moan in turn. His body was always so responsive to you.

Sammy, however, had another idea. He was completely oblivious to what you and Dean were up to. His brows knitted together along with a soft pout.

“What? You guys are just gonna leave me here? I want to go back to the motel too,” he said with a fragile tone, clearly sad about being left alone.

With a cocky smile upon his lips, Dean was quick to reply, “Unless you want see a front butt and a butt, I advise you to stay here until we come back.” 

“But I want to go, too. I'm sleepy,” Sammy whined, and your heart ached a little. He just wanted to spend time with his big brother and you. Wasn't it adorable?

Not in a threesome way. That would be weird. Two brothers fucking the same girl was weird, especially when she dated one of them, but Sam and Dean were hot in so many different ways. One had a physique of a fucking professional athlete and the other had Greek beauty with rough hands. And Sam's hair was so long... Did he let the girls he was with pull his hair? All right, but threesome with brothers was a level of incest. Even if they always fought in sync, so hypothetically, fucking the same girl could be just as good.

You shook your head, trying to push this image away. You'd never consider this after sobering up.

Tipsy brain, stop. Drunk imagination was wild.

Maybe that is why that author told people to write drunk.

“You are drunk.” Dean's voice managed to take you away from that dark place of your mind where you could see nasty images very, very clearly.

Sam huffed, gesturing with slow exasperation. “So what? I can be two things.”

“Yeah, a bitch and a cockblock.” Dean rolled his eyes.

“Dean!” You scoffed, but your boyfriend just shrugged, not feeling guilty. “Let's go to the motel, Sam.”

Fortunately, the motel was only two blocks far, which made it easier for the gang to walk and stumble there. 

As soon as the door was open, Sam collapsed on the couch. Dean lost in the middle of the living room, his eyes searching everywhere to find the beds. They got a motel without beds? Well, at least there was a carpet on the floor. That could work.

He could use your butt as a pillow!

“Awesome!” Dean said to himself, turning around to find you. Sam snoring on the couch, check. A refrigerator that probably had some beers, check. He finally found you after a complete spin, seeing you against the door. Girlfriend pillow, check. “Y/N?”

“Sam and I got burritos while you were talking to the sheriff this morning. Mexican food, Dean.” Your voice was low and threatening, like you were telling a horror story. Dean gulped, knowing exactly what you meant. Glare lost on Sam's figure, you continued, “We've brought hell on us.”

As if he'd heard a calling, a farting sound echoed. And then another.

“It's starting... We have to run, Y/N.”

You didn't wait any further, immediately latching onto his hand and walking fast through the motel. Dean almost tipped on his feet, but he knew the mission was more important for the greater good — for his boner and your nose.

You slammed the door shut, waking up a scared Sam. You could hear him hit the floor with a loud thump, but you knew you had to save your oxygen while you still could.

“That one was lethal.” Dean rubbed his hands on his face, and you agreed, breathing fresh air in relief. He observed the room, surprise flickering across his features. “We have a bed.”

“Of course we do.” You plopped onto the mattress, looking at him with a sexy smile. “And we should use it.”

He gave you a lopsided grin. “I couldn't agree more, sweetheart.” 

Dean started to take his clothes off, and you bit your lower lip at the sight. When the black shirt was thrown on the other side of the bedroom, you started giggling. Dean arched his eyebrows. That wasn't the reaction he expected.

“Your nipples are funny,” you said, still grinning. Wait, were yours like this too? You threw your shirt away, happily already not wearing a bra. “My nipples are funny too. Nipple high five!”

You raised from the bed and touched your nipples with Dean's, who was watching with an adorable, confused face. As soon as your nipples brushed against each other, it was Dean's turn to whimper like a baby.

“Sweetheart, you know my nipples are sensitive.” He pulled away with a smile, uncharacteristically shy for him. 

“I know, but what if it's a good thing?” You held his hand, intertwining your fingers as you led Dean to the bed. You felt light after all those drinks, and you could tell that Dean did, too. You both should have fun with that. “My clit is sensitive and I like when you touch me there.”

“What do you — “ You pushed him to lay on his back, soon jumping on top of him. “Woah, woman!” Dean's eyes were twinkling with much desire, or maybe he was just wasted — you couldn’t tell. Anyway, you would make sure to fulfill this necessity. 

“Besides,” you said, running your hands across his chest, enjoying the view and the not so subtle way Dean's body reacted to your touch. His green eyes were glowing anxiously for your next step. “Cosmopolitan says that we should give men more nipple love, too.” You smiled, surrounded by some nasty ideas. You leaned in, allowing your tongue to circle the outline of his nipple before catching it with your lips.

Dean's eyes shut closed as he bit his lip, the sweet agony lighting him up like a comet. He gripped the sheets tightly in an attempt to compose himself. Your skilled tongue proceeded to swirl his nipple a bit, pressing the wet tip against it before sucking lightly. 

This time, the Winchester couldn't help but exhale a needy moan. Fuck, was it supposed to feel so good? He loved to suck your boobs and imagine knocking you up to get cream from them like you did on his dick, but he never considered you playing with his chest.

Your hand found its way to his free nipple and started to rub it with your thumb, teasing the sensitive skin with a light blow before anything else. You already had gone a bit too fast on his other pinkened nipple for the simple fact of horniness. You could feel his nipple hardening against your finger, while you suck on his other one.

“Sweetheart, you are killing me.” His hold on the blanket tightened, his thick cock fighting to be free of his pants. You felt his cum gun getting ready to blow on your leg and adjusted yourself on top of him, sitting in his lap as you still worked on his breast. “Fuck.”

You pinched his nipple with your fingertips, gaining back a moan of pleasure. You moved your hips back and forth while riding him like a cowgirl, rubbing his erect dick with your wet pussy. You were both still clothed. Ultimately, you attempted to bite his nipple, and Dean groaned loudly, almost a scream. His huge hands knotted into your hair as he bucked his hips, pulling you closer to his chest. You kept exploring his arousement from that spot, scratching and sucking harder. You changed nipples, always caressing the lonely one. The faster you two went, the closer you got. Until your bodies went full YEE HAA and both of you reached liberation with a strong orgasm. His cum gun finally shot inside his pants, and you in yours.

You fell beside him on the bed, and Dean wrapped his arm around you to pull you closer. Both were breathless, sweaty, and incredibly sensitive because of the newfound pleasure. You laid your head on his strong shoulder, laughing softly before grabbing the blanket to clean your mess on his chest. You and Dean stayed like that for a few minutes, just catching your breath.

“That was intense.” He smirked at you, throwing his body on top of yours. “But now, I'm gonna shoot you with my cum gun. Gonna dirty your pretty mouth with my white juice. You won't be a veggie once you try my meat, sweetheart.”

Dean's Sweetheart: @akshi8278​  (DEAN’S TAGLIST OPEN) 

Hunter @demonhunterbarbie​ (ALL SPN WORKS TAGLIST OPEN)

[marvellouslymadmim]

Hey! Aspiring fanfic writer here; I was wondering if you could talk a bit about your writing/editing process and how long it all takes.

Thanks!

Welp, roughly the same extremely long amount of time it takes to actually answer an ask, tbh 🙃

So...I only know how my brain works, and I can only tell you what works for me might not work for you, and that's OK. I'm breaking into two separate bits, because I almost never do writing and editing at the same time.

And as far as a timeline, honestly it just depends. On life factors, what my hormones are doing at the time (jfc like the week before my period, I have zero creativity, motivation, or attention span), if I'm having trouble with a particular scene, if I'm getting consistent positive feedback (yes, I can totally admit that I write faster when I know a particular reviewer is following along with every update), etc.

WRITING:

First, you gotta just...be fixated, I guess. Particularly if it's an AU, I sit with it for a long time before I ever write a word. I go over scenes, think about how the world changes, what stays the same, what *has* to stay the same to keep the characters true to their canon personalities. I sit with the characters for a long time, too--not just the main characters, but the supporting cast, too. In order to predict someone's future, you have to know their past. Most of our present actions are actually reactions to past events, when you think about it. The better you know your version of the character, the easier every other aspect of writing will be. I don't know how it is for other people, but I don't ever "feel" like I'm writing. I feel like I'm "witnessing", and the characters are simply doing whatever they wish. (***this is gonna be a thing during the editing process, too, so hang on to that)

Then once I have a general idea, I choose a title. Generally, I do not even start a word document until I have a proper title to put on it. The title is part of the theme and aesthetic to me, and it grounds me in the overall arc.

Once that's done, it's time for outlining. I generally wait until I feel this weird almost tingling in my left arm (weirder still bc I'm right handed) and I'm practically vibrating with a need to WRITE THIS STORY NOW. Then I put on some Bear McCreary (honestly, any videogame soundtrack will do, as they are literally designed to help you maintain focus and keep pace) and fucking go to town. For me, it helps to do this with pen and paper, so that I can go back up and squiggle little notes in the margin, rearrange the order, etc, far faster than I could on a computer.

Important note: the outline is not the end-all be-all. Some things don't make it to the final print. Some minor storylines get tossed or characters simply...take a different path than I expect. I will continue re-writing and updating the outline as I go along. On average, I usually have 5-8 outlines per story, and they're often 3-10 pages long. I also have a posted outline, which is a log of all the scenes that did make it to the final product. 

Then, it's the actual writing, at long last. I have found that I write best at the start of my day, before the noise and static of daily life comes in. So I wake up around 5am and spend 90minutes writing before beginning my workday routine. I have the Word app on my phone and may continue adding bits in throughout the day at work, if I get a moment. However, after 5pm my brain is usually fried and no more creativity happens. On weekends, I try to have one morning where I "sleep in" til 6am, and then write until at least 10am, sometimes 2pm, if I can get away with it.

The hardest part still is knowing when to transition and when to skip to the next chapter/scene/whatever. This is like...zero percent helpful, but I liken it to Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart's definition of pornography: "I know it when I see it." It may seem like a scene is circling, and sometimes it means you gotta leave the room a bit earlier bc the scene has already served its purpose. Other times, it means ya gotta stay with it a bit longer, because there's something the character is trying to say. Give them patience, and give yourself patience, too. Explore the scene and its dynamics. You won't know til you know and even then, sometimes you won't be entirely sure. That's ok, too. Part of the process. Remember editing will happen and you can decide then (hell, you can literally re-edit after it's been published, I've done that before too and added a note on the next chapter for any readers who might have read the first version 🤷🏻‍♀️ not ideal but still functional).

EDITING:

I do simple edits (spelling, grammar, etc) just about every morning as I reread what I wrote the day before, which is a refresher course for the day's writing session. But big "real" editing generally doesn't happen until right before posting.

Now, here's the ***issue from writing: sometimes, something just "doesn't work" in a scene. Again, you'll know it when you see it. The words a character is saying feels clunky. The pacing feels off. Something just...ain't right. More often than not, it means either I haven't truly sat with a character long enough to know their true motivations/backstory, or I am not giving characters the proper time/space/impediment to make the actions or say the things they're currently making/saying. I'm trying to force the flow, rather than letting it ebb and breathe when it needs to.

Absolute ProTip: You spent HOURS writing this scene. It's got some REALLY GOOD moments and lines in it. It doesn't work but you can't just delete it. It's your LIFE. I struggle with this A LOT, and I have found a solution: create a second "outtakes" document to cut and paste those scenes into. Sometimes I still keep moments or bits of dialog. Sometimes I later use bits in a later scene. Sometimes I never look at it again but I still feel secure in knowing that if I wanted to go back and use the original scene instead, I totally can. I don't think I've actually ever gone back to the original, tbh, but it reduced my anxiety about deleting the scene and starting over.

So back to the scene that doesn't work. I take it apart, figure out *at what exact point* it stops working, then work back up a few lines to see where the shift actually begins. More often than not, it's because I'm having characters express their feelings in ways they actually wouldn't. (people very very very rarely actually say what they're thinking/feeling, and you have to relay it in other ways). So I have to keep the internal monologue of what they're actually feeling/thinking, while figuring out how that actually translates via tone, body language, and what they do and don't say.

The "something ain't working stage" can take LITERAL WEEKS. I sometimes have to walk away for awhile, or tackle it only on days when I know I have hours upon hours to truly work on it. I keep circling back around, and eventually, the knot works itself out. Persistence, and insistence that "good enough" isn't actually good enough, are key. (this is why you have to fixated on the story you want to tell--because some days, it's going to take every ounce of that obsession to keep you going and keep you on the track of telling the story you wanted to tell, rather than settling or switching to an easier tack)

Sometimes, editing is a breeze. I don't change much, I may go a little more into the character's inner world here or there. Once you've been doing this for awhile, you'll just know when a story hits all its marks--and you'll also know when it's not, when it could be more or do more, and you can figure out how to get it there. There isn't a precise formula for it, it's more like cooking without an actual recipe to follow--a dash here, a bit there, you'll know it when you taste it.

And I'll leave you with this unsolicited bit: just write. Write often, write about everything, write what makes YOU passionate and happy, and absolutely write for yourself. Edit the fuck out of it, if you need to. Get a beta reader, if you need to. Get someone to just bounce ideas off, if you need to. And don't post it until you're truly ready and it's something you genuinely want to share. If someone gives constructive criticism, take in on the chin and move on (keep the notes, if you think they're valid, and toss em if you don't--you'll never be everyone's style of writer, so know that sometimes, people just won't be the target audience). Know that you'll grow and you'll learn and you'll find your own voice and like any skill, you'll develop a second nature about it--all those parts where I say "you'll know it when you see it" or "you'll feel it" absolutely come from spending a literal lifetime (28 years) writing stories, and thirteen years of writing fanfic in particular. It's ok if you don't see it or feel it right away. It takes practice. And you will have an audience at every skill level, no matter what (finding that audience? different story altogether...).

All totaled, this process can take anywhere from 3months to over a year. Stories are like children, I've found: they each develop at their own pace, and some may need more time and assistance than others. But they're still pretty wonderful. (except the bratty stories. they're the worst 🙄)

[themilky-way]

paris {s.r}

gif credit: sincerelycalum on tumblr

pairing: spencer reid x female! reader

summary: while working on a case in paris, you and spencer realize that there may be more to your friendship than you think. how long until the city of love casts a spell on you? based on this song.

warnings: none i think it’s just fluff  (like everything I write lol)

author’s note:  this long af bc this was supposed to be a series and this would’ve been the second part but the first one i posted didn’t do well lmao. so instead, just enjoy this one shot and maybe i’ll post the first one again if u guys want but idk. also we a lil bold in this fic bc we love confident queens

grabbing your go bag and cell phone from the charging port, you quickly made your way to the jet that was already waiting for departure. the team was ready to make their way to paris, france on a case for a serial killer that migrated from california. it had been difficult for everyone, considering the unsub wasn’t leaving much evidence. 

despite it being for work, you and the team were excited to explore one of the most beautiful cities in the world. if you thought about it, it was kind of like killing two birds with one stone: the opportunity to finally catch a gruesome killer and a vacation. morgan was practically shaking with anticipation as he kept getting up from his seat and bothering garcia every five minutes and then going back. 

“just think about it, baby, all the smokin’ hot people we’re gonna meet. I mean, it’s called the “city of love” for a reason!” derek rambled to penelope as she typed away rapidly on her computer. 

“this isn’t a vacation, sugar, but yes I’m aware of all the potential babes we might encounter. and for that, I prepared another bag,” she giggled as derek started to laugh along with her. he raised his hand to high five her and she lifted hers too, lightly patting it. 

“oh you’re bad bad aren’t you,” he laughed, and they both continued to talk too rapidly for the others to understand. meanwhile, you had grabbed your seat next to emily and right across from you was spencer. you and emily were talking about god knows what, the range going from guessing the types of desserts paris had to perhaps renting a motorcycle for your stay. the banter between the both of you was endless, and you even started watching a french movie to get some pointers on the language. 

between the jokes and wondering remarks, you didn’t really notice that spencer was observing you the whole time. sure, he could play it off as if he were judging both of his coworkers for their lack of knowledge on french culture and linguistics, but he wasn’t really doing that, was he? no, in fact, he was watching you in such depth, the way he’d look at the pages of a book, and taking in every aspect that you had to present. he was, in the most simplest way it can be described as, mesmerized.

the day spencer realized that he looked at you this way shocked him. to be completely honest, it scared the hell out of him. he never pictured you as anything more than a friend, and he always thought you were too relaxed for a job like this. he told himself that he’d leave the matter alone, that their would be no thinking or second-guessing of any kind. but the second he’d lay his eyes on you, it’s like the rules he made up never quite existed. however, the more he looked back on it, there was one question that urged this matter forward: am I gonna find out why?

he shook out of his deep concentration to look up at the voice that was now speaking to him. his eyes focused again and he stared at you confused.

“reid, you okay? you’re spacing out on me, buddy,” you said, head turned slightly from the position you were seated in. you had shifted in your seat to face emily, your left leg bent on the cushion and your right giving you stability on the ground. 

“sorry, I was busy thinking.”

“well, try not to use that big ol’ brain of yours too much yet, we’re gonna need it when we land,” you said, giving him a small wink. he gave you a small smile while a tiny smear of rose-colored blush crept its way onto his cheeks. it was a friendly gesture; everyone on the team did it so you thought, “why the hell not?”

reid opted to read a little bit while on the plane so that he could get in some new interrogating tactics for when they met the unsub. you and emily continued to watch french movies and spot all of the hot actors and actresses you thought would be fake, penny and morgan, well they were on a whole different level of fun. the only ones quiet and doing some work was hotch, jj, and rossi. 

the plane slowly began to descend, butterflies erupting in your stomach from the fall, before the captain announced, “we are now ready to descend and are getting ready for arrival.”

when the captain finished, hotch began, “alright, listen up, team. the location of this case was by chance and we shouldn’t get distracted by anything or anyone. do your job quickly and efficiently as you’ve always had.” he spoke sternly, his shoulders were straight and his face emotionless and heavy with sleep. to any other person, hotch would be a zombie who helped solve murder cases, but to the bau team, he was their leader and they admired him. 

“oh, come on, hotch! if we work extra hard these few days and have enough time by the end of the wee-” you began before getting cut off. 

“yes, we can stay a while and explore the city. the unsub and the evidence altogether looks promising, so hopefully we can wrap it up quick. but don’t stray from your path in the meantime.”

everybody nodded and “yes, sir’d” before standing up and grabbing their luggage from the compartments at the top of their seats. everyone walked out in pairs and headed for the taxi cars that were waiting for them. you took emily, morgan took reid, jj and penelope partnered up, and of of course rossi and hotchner stuck together. at different paces, the team agreed at a nearby hotel closest to the paris police department that had called them. getting your bags in the car, along with the rest of the girls’, you made your way to the hotel to check in and drop your luggage off.

at first glance, it looked like a simple building; a cream color adorning the walls and some very intricate, sophisticated street lamps aligned on the perimeter of the parking entrance. before entering, there was a sort of roundabout you had to pass in order to reach to valet parking, and in the center of the roundabout, was a water fountain. it was simple, yes, but to parisians only. to outsiders, like the bau, it was already quite elegant. the ladies, including you, pitched in a little to pay for the ride and once you got out, there was a young man who offered to take your bags inside. 

“avez-vous besoin d'aide, madame?” the boy said. all of you looked at each other a little confused because even though you thought it might’ve helped, watching french movies for nine hours with emily wasn’t doing it. 

“he’s asking if you need help with these. here,” penny clarified before putting her tiny hello kitty handbag in yours, “let me handle it.”

she walked up to the somewhat tall boy, looked him over once, and said in the thickest french accent there was, “oui je fais mon doux muffin merci beaucoup.” she did a tiny hair flip to her blonde curls and came back to where the rest of you were standing.

“penny, uh, what exactly did you tell that boy?” emily said, stifling down a small giggle.

“nothing, i just said “yes” that I needed help and “thank you very much.”

“no, no, the other part. there must’ve been another part to it. tell us!” jj said, grabbing penelope by the shoulders and shaking them lightly. 

“what other part?”

“the one where you made a boy dressed in victorian era clothing blush like a maniac over some luggage,” you laughed. to this, garcia started to laugh too and then even harder. you and the rest of the girls had puzzled grins on their faces, but the inkling of seeing your friend laugh so hard was reaching your guys’ throats too. 

when she finally caught a breath to speak, she said, “I called him my sweet muffin!” at this, you and the girls broke into heaves of laughter, and couldn’t stop. you and jj had to bend down and place a hand on your stomachs’ to stop them from hurting a little. after a while, there was no words just the intake of small breaths and exhaling them out for control. when the fun comedy was over, you guys followed the boy and his friend inside the hotel lobby. `you took turns registering, and when you were all done, you saw that the rest of the team had beat you to it. they were sitting down in a cushion area near the front desk and were waiting for you guys. 

“okay, now that the rooms are ready, you all can pick a partner to dorm with. it doesn’t really matter, but just choose wisely. I know some people get too crazy when they’re together,” hotch announced, flashing a look at you and garcia before handing out keys. you and emily teamed up per usual, and the rest pairing up in the same order they had been in before. once everyone was ready, you started to make your way up to your rooms while making small chatter with the rest of the gang. emily inserted the key into the lock of the door, and as soon she opened the door, your eyes’ were met with the most delicate and luxurious room you both have ever encountered. 

on either side of the room were two king sized beds with victorian style bed sheets; the design on them were floral, the pastel shades of the roses tracing the outline of the bed beautifully. the ends of the sheets were long, but shabby, which added a nice, elegant, and almost romantic feel to it. 

in the middle of the two beds was a small isle that allowed one person to walk on it at a time. at the end of it, was the entrance to the balcony, which gave view to the famed Eiffel Tower. the small cities, parks, and lakes, that made up the ground portion of the tower were now completely lit up, giving way to an entire new feeling for you. you set your bags on the bed, pushing the cushion down with your hand to feel the softness of it, and made way to the balcony.

“i’ll be right out here, em, if you need me,” you said, waiting for the small “yup” that came from her before proceeding. as soon as your leg crossed the small threshold to the other side, the fresh, cool breeze of the night flooded your senses. you smiled and took in the emotion it gave you, fully crossing over to stand against the railing now. you took in the sights first. the trees that shaped the parks swiveled against the current of the wind, couples of all ages walking hand in hand, admiring how the moon and the stars matched so well to their love. the lights of the tower gleaming brightly and almost seemingly looking at you, as if they asked you, “don’t you realize, (y/n)? don’t you pay attention?” 

paris, and everything it was offering you at that moment, put you through a trance. one where you began to actually speak to the lights, the very same ones that millions of others had fallen in love under. “realize what? I do pay attention, i always have, but what is it I need to notice?”

you kept staring and looking around, if the lights actually were talking to you and this wasn’t a dream, and that you weren’t crazy. you looked around the balcony and walked on it to spy a tiny clue your instincts informed you about. soon enough, you noticed that the balcony was shared by the room next door. you placed your right hand on the rail to kneel down a bit and see if you could figure out who the room belonged to.  

“maybe it’s penny, oh god please be penny. i’m not in the mood to see rossi in scooby-doo underpants...” you whispered fairly. just when you saw a dainty silhouette about to exit the restroom, you turned around to your end of the balcony. 

“(y/n)? are you spying on- (y/n), we’ve been here one hour! our hot, paris boyfriends can wait until we catch the unsub,” emily, whose head was the only part of her body on the outside of the balcony, whispered. “come on, get changed into some comfy clothes. we can take a look at the victimology together.”

standing up, you made one quick glance at the room and the figure was already gone and so was the light. thanks for that, eiffel tower lights, you thought. you crossed to you room again and took a shower before arranging your clothes according to the days of your stay. you put your pajamas on and climbed onto one side of emily’s bed to wait for her to come out of the restroom, since you guys took turns brushing your teeth. 

after about a half and hour of rearranging victimology statements and connecting photos from the crime scene, the both of you were ready to go to sleep. emily turned off her lights and you took one last glance at the view before doing the same. 

and then you heard footsteps on your balcony. 

----------

“you guys think I can woo a french girl tonight?”

“honey, with those shoes? not a chance,” garcia pointed out. morgan made a pout at her response and then acted as if he was offended. the team laughed and then raised their glass in unison and took a sip. the case, overall, went well. you guys managed to catch the unsub in an isolated tunnel and brought him over to the parisian authorities. you and jj had taken the only victim left alive to the station to make one final statement to the news. the rest of bodies were given proper burial and the families were finally given closure. 

because the team had performed beyond excellent, and there were still a few days left before your departure, the team opted on celebrating on a night out. currently, you and your friends were seated around a small circular table inside a local bar, chatting away at whatever came to mind. 

you chose to only drink mineral water, mostly because you knew that you were technically still at work and you didn’t want to risk being drunk in case of an emergency. reid, in a similar manner, chose a glass of soda to toast with. but while doing so, he found himself looking at you in the same way he did on the plane. he hadn’t been able to take in your features that night, but as everyone was so deeply distracted, he began to notice everything. 

he looked over your outfit for tonight, a red, plaid mini skirt with a black turtleneck. the shirt itself was fitted to your body and allowed your angles and curves to be accentuated perfectly. the skirt permitted your legs to be highlighted in a decent, and elegant manner. your hair was loose tonight, and with every breeze that made its way through the bar windows, it caused small strands to caress your face lightly and some to stick to your lip gloss. the heels, oh god, the heels. it drove him crazy; the delicate way in which they clicked when you walked on the concrete, how they would sometimes cause you discomfort and force you to stop and fix it,  how your gentle hand had grasp his shoulder for balance or else you’d fall. 

everything about you tonight was immaculate. no matter how hard he forced himself to look away from you, to stop thinking of you in any other way than a coworker, and to just drink his soda which was becoming less carbonated with every passing second, he just couldn’t. and it was scaring the hell out of him. 

you on the other hand, were still trying to decipher what the tower lights had asked you. what was there to realize? you were here, in paris, the city where millions of people fall in love, to fight a serial killer. the chances of you finding love, especially on a balcony where you had spied on a stranger, were slim. 

by the time you finished your thought process, you noticed that hotch was looking at you with a puzzled expression. 

“everything alright, (y/n)?” he softly asked you. 

“yes, sir, just thinking. is it okay if I head back to my hotel?”

“yes, of course, you might even catch reid on the way there. he left a couple of minutes ago.”

“thank you, sir. good night,” you spoke and got up from your chair, adjusting your skirt as you did so. huh, he left? weird, you thought. you left a tip for the waiter and bid farewell to the rest of your companions before grabbing your coat and clutch and exiting the bar. 

it was rather close to your hotel, so within a few minutes you had reached your dorm and set your things down. sitting down on the edge of the bed, you bent over slightly to unlatch your heels and slip them off your feet. you set them aside and you laid on your back for a few minutes. the only light in your room was the bathroom’s as you didn’t like strong lights shining during the night, so these dimmed ones would do. 

you closed your eyes for a little while and just let the sounds of the city flow through you. you had one opportunity to experience paris, and you weren’t gonna take it for granted. for a while, only your small inhales and exhales of breath were audible, the aura of the room peaceful. 

it wasn’t until you heard footsteps, the very same ones from that other night, on your balcony. your eyes flew open and you pushed your body upward to look back at your window. this is my shot, my chance, you thought. could it be a super old man who was here on vacation? yes. could it rossi, who might’ve gotten the dorm next to yours? maybe. were the possibilities of who the hell was on your balcony in a parisian hotel endless? again, yes. 

but you had to see for yourself, figure out what exactly the universe, paris, was telling you. so you got up from your bed and creeped quietly to the window and slid it up. you crossed the threshold, and even though your light was limited, you were able to make out a tall, thin figure. you inched a little closer, hands crossed over your chest to appear somewhat like a normal human. you wouldn’t have figured it out until he spoke. 

“(y/n)?”

his voice sent shivers down every inch of your body, and no, it wasn’t the cold air of the city, it was him. it was spencer. it caught you by surprise, the feeling his voice gave you, but you tried to play it off. he never made you feel this way, why now? 

“(y/n)? you okay?” he spoke again. this time you lightly shook your head and walked closer to where he was standing so you could lean on the railing now. his body followed yours, and now you were able to make out the perpexled look on his eyes. 

“hi, yeah, I’m good. just didn’t expect to find you here, that’s all,” you spoke quietly, unsure of yourself. he noticed, obviously he noticed, it’s spencer. 

“yeah, same here. I heard footsteps the other night here but I had just taken a shower so I didn’t come out until later.” you glanced up at him when you realized that he was the figure that was in the restroom you’d seen. the one you had spied on and probably would’ve seen naked if emily hadn’t interrupted. a tiny blush made its way onto your cheeks, and you were quite thankful the dark covered the rosy color a little. 

but spencer wasn’t dumb, much less stupid, and if he noticed every little detail about you tonight, he saw how you became around him. and god, he sure did like it. “oh, well that’s good, i guess,” was all you could mutter. so you turned your body now to face the tower, elbows on the railing and hands folded together. he saw the shift in stance and he followed, so now you were both side by side and looking at a view that somehow resembled your emotions for one another. 

“hey spence?”

“yeah?”

“have you ever fallen in love?”

his voice hitched a little and he felt his throat tighten. he let out a small cough to mask the impact of your question, but he found the strength in his voice to retort.

“what makes you ask?”

“no, no reason, i was just curious, ya know. being in paris and all,” you answered. you began to feel intrusive for asking such a personal question, but it had seemed easy for you to do so because of your friendship. you were looking at him as you replied, but then looked back towards the view again. the both of you stood in silence for a couple minutes, your guilt seeping in more at this point. 

“only once. it didn’t end well for the both of us,” he broke the silence. you turned your head to look at him, and you were about to open your mouth to say something when he spoke again. 

“but it happened a long time ago. i don’t think about her anymore.”

you straightened up a little and you continued to face him, prying a little deeper than you should be. “so who do you think about now?”

he glanced at you, his face quickly returning back to the nature displayed in front of him and then looked back to you. a small grin began tugging at his lips, as if he meant to ask, “is this your way of playing with me?”

you gazed up at him and took this sudden swerve of confidence to glance at his lips, and then back up to him, your own smile forming. 

“she’s standing on a balcony with me in paris.” 

[thescriptorium]

I used to love writing last summer it’s all I would do and I could never do it during school because I was too busy & I want to get back into it but idk how. Do you have any ideas on what I can do to help my writers block? Bc I love writing but rn I just like physically can’t

Sure! I’ve had this problem so many times and for so long sometimes, it’s so frustrating. Here’s some personal tips that have helped me and I hope they help you!

Physically writing instead of typing on a computer. Your brain works differently when working a pencil as compared to staring a screen. It slows you down and gives you more time to think sentences through and to plan ahead. Sometimes when you’re typing, you go by so fast you end up ahead of yourself and feel like there’s nowhere to go and nothing left to write. I did this in high school during class, whether outlining or actually writing, it makes you think your sentences through better since it’s harder to erase than just pressing a key. So try sitting down and writing a little excerpt, or start with a simple sentence. It forces your brain to shift out of the technology drive and can do wonders.

If you’re stuck writing a part of your story, whether the scene falls flat or you’re not sure how to carry on the dialogue—just skip it. Writing chronologically is a personal preference of mine (it keeps me organized with the information I want to reveal), but it’s totally okay to write things out of order! If there’s a scene you really want to write but have to build up to—just go for it! It’s okay if it doesn’t make sense or you’re not sure if this character knows that yet, leave that for the editing. You can come back to it later. Just find that cool action scene with the kickass hero and go all in. And after you’ve done this enough times, maybe it’s easier for you to connect all the pieces.

A lack of writing could stem from a lack of inspiration. You’re bored. Of the characters, the world, the plot. You need to freshen it up, find something that really puts a kick into your creation; something that makes you go “Oh shit, this is gonna be good.” In my experience, researching history always seems to help. A lot of crazy shit has gone down in the day and there’s always a website that tells you all about it! Try looking up cultures from around the world, niche religions, a person who’s always interested you. Look up the history of pirates and how their lives worked, or space missions and their goals, or wars that went to hell because there was a traitor in the midst. A lot of good stories are out there, they’re just buried under such boring content. Look up how things are made, what kind of weapons used back in old times, the fashion and culture. Old and new mythology, the supernatural. It can really open your eyes and skyrocket your inspiration.

Lastly, with whatever story you’re writing, find what inspired you in the first place. What was it that shifted everything into place, that gave you the perfect idea? A movie or song or old book? Did you see something or hear something? Try re-doing or re-imagining what got you inspired in the first place. Try to recount the feeling you had when you knew you had a great idea. Find what you liked most about that thought and chase after it. 

[all-that-glitters-is-goldfish]

avengers-things i kinda need & can't stop thinking about, part 92374: a badly injured & concussed tony having a huge full-blown panic attack while there's no one there but peter parker who's kinda panicking himself bc how long do the others need to get there what is even happening how to help freaking IRON MAN & he can't let him sleep either bc concussion & some time later when the others arrive they find both of them wrapped around each other & in tears but still alive & that's what counts.

Okay, this sounds like it could be fun! Hope you enjoy it :)

Title: Just Breathe

Tony came back to consciousness with a sudden jolt. Hejack-knifed into a sitting position from where he lay on the floor.

His surroundings were still blurry as he attempted to blinkaway the fogginess clouding the edges of his vision. He felt gentle handsattempting to push him back down to the floor, but Tony fought them off.

“Mr. Stark, I really think you should lie back down.”

Tony startled at the other voice, thinking he had beenalone. He blinked once more allowing for the outline of a familiar face to fillhis line of sight.

“Kid?” Tony wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating or not.

“Yes, Mr. Stark, it’s me. Are you okay?”

Tony stared at him blankly, causing Peter to grow concerned.He nervously fumbled with his hands.

“Can you understand me?” Peter tried again.

Tony nodded, because as confused as he was, he was in factable to process the words that came from the mouth of his 16-year-old protégé. “Kid…”

Peter inched closer, though his movements were cautious. “Umm…Karen told me you might have a mild concussion, as well as some broken ribs-“

The teen paused as he noticed Tony’s confusion. “Karen iswhat I named my suit’s AI. Anyways, she said you’ll probably be fine, but weshould still get you checked over by a medical professional as soon aspossible.”

It was at that moment that Tony became aware of the dullache in the back of his skull, and the burning sensation in his chest. He lookedaround the room as his vision finally cleared, to see that they were in somesort of dark cell. His brain tried to remind him of how he had possibly endedup there, but when no recollection came, he turned his attention back to the teen.

“Pete, care to enlighten me on what exactly happened?”

Peter rose his eyebrows. “You don’t remember?”

“Not in the slightest.”

Peter shifted his position, an uncomfortable expression onhis face. His Spider-Man mask laid on the floor next to him. “Well… I wasfollowing these criminals- they were talking about shooting up a bank. I sawthem with the guns, so I went after them- and then you called me, through thesuit. I told you what was happening, you told me to stay away it was toodangerous blah blah blah- You know, Mr. Stark I totally had it handled-“

“Kid-“ Tony cut him off. “Stop rambling and get to thepoint.”

Peter blushed. “Right. So, you of course had to show up andtry and stop me, but then those criminals caught us from behind knocked us bothout. You went down pretty easy, no offence Mr. Stark. I put up a pretty goodfight, not trying to brag or anything. Anyways, so now we’re here- locked insome sort of abandoned prison cell.”

Tony groaned. Great.“Have they came back yet? The criminals?”

“No.” Peter said, in a stern tone unfamiliar to his usualway of speaking.

“Alright-“ Tony grunted, attempting to stand up. “We have tofind a way out of here.”

“No, no, Mr. Stark, you’re injured- please, just sit down.”

“Kid, we can’t just sit here and wait for them to come back.”

“I’m not sure if they’re coming back, sir.”

“Peter. We need to get help.”

Tony attempted to stand up again, and Peter shoved him down-rougher than he had anticipated, causing the teen to wince and pain as hegrabbed his left shoulder.

Tony’s eyes widened. “You’re not hurt too, are you?”

“No. I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Peter sighed, moving his feet into a cross-legged position. “Ithink my shoulder might be dislocated.”

Tony’s face paled as he finally took a good luck at the teen’sshoulder. Yup definitely dislocated. “Christkid- Why didn’t you say something?”

“I’m sorry, I was just worried about you.”

The older man heaved a sigh, realizing that it was becomingincreasingly difficult to draw in a deep breath. “Y-You should have told me youwere hurt, kid…”

Dizzy.

“Are you okay, Mr. Stark?”

Nope, definitely not. “Yup,totally fine. A-OK.”

“You’re breathing too fast…”

“Just stop talking, Peter. It’s alright.”

“No, I-I think you’re having a panic attack-“

Damn, the kid wassmart.

“Mr. Stark, I don’t know how to help, I’m sorry!”

Dizzy…

“Shit. Mr. Stark-“

Tony almost wanted to correct the kid on his choice of language,but seeing as how couldn’t even breathe properly at the moment, he decided tolet it slide- just this one time.

He felt shaky hands guiding his own away from his face, hehadn’t realized they had moved up there.

“Breathe with me, Mr. Stark, please… In and out…”

The kid sounded worried, which made Tony worry more. Oh god, Peter just please stop worrying.

“Tony!”

Hearing his first name being shouted from the kid’s mouthsnapped Tony out of his trance.

“You need to breathe, okay? Breathe with me. Please.” Theteen’s voice was pleading and desperate.

He heard Peter take an exaggerated breath in, held it for afew seconds then let it out, obviously wanting Tony to follow suit.

Tony attempted to copy the motion of breathing, drawing in adeep breath and holding- just like Peter did.

“That’s, uh… That’s really good, Mr. Stark. Just… Just keepbreathing okay?”

Tony nodded and closed his eyes, concentrating on breathingwhile listening to Peter’s soothing voice. He jumped back to alertness as ahand gently tapped his cheek. “Can you keep your eyes open, Mr. Stark? I don’twant you falling asleep, we learned in my health science class that you shouldkeep concussion victims awake, so…” His voice was shaking.

“Pete.”

“Mr. Stark?”

“I’m going to be fine, I’m okay now. I can breathe. Thishappens… Way too often.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah. You did a good job, kid. Helping me. Now why don’tyou take a minute to calm down yourself?”

Peter nodded, noticing his hands were shaking wildly. “Uh,Karen- my suit lady- told me that help is coming. I guess it’s a good thing youput that tracker in my suit, right?”

“Hey, I’m a genius with genius ideas.”

Tony lied back, supporting his weight on his elbows. All he wanted to do was sleep…

“Don’t fall asleep.”

“So, reading minds is now a part of your spidey powers now,huh?”

“What?” Peter arched his eyebrows.

“Never mind. Don’t worry, kid. I’m not going to sleep. Ijust need to relax. I don’t know how much you know about panic attacks, butthey can really drain a person.”

Peter nodded. “I’m sorry I got us into this mess.”

“You can’t blame yourself for something that a bunch oflow-life asshole criminals did, besides-“

Tony was cut off by the sound of sniffling. He looked overto the teen. “Peter? You okay?”

The teen quickly wiped away the tears with his sleeve. “Nah,I’m good.” He forced a smile.

“Are you crying?” Tony frowned.

“No…”

“You better not be lying to me again.”

A heavy sigh escaped Peter’s lips. “I was just worried. Ithought you weren’t going to wake up, Mr. Stark. They hit you really hard. Iwas scared, I’m sorry-“

Tony shut up the kid’s rambling by bringing him into a tightembrace. “I’m okay kiddo. I’m fine. We’re fine. It’s all going to be fine.”

They sat like that for several minutes, wrapped in a hugthat offered a comforting amount of warmness for both of them.

It was only interrupted by the sound of footsteps approachingthe cell, and breaking down the door. Tony instinctively put an arm in front ofPeter, protecting him from the possible threat. They both let out a sigh ofrelief when a familiar face appeared in front of them.

“Tony, Peter, you two alright?” The concerned voice of SteveRogers asked.

“Well, Cap. Not going to lie, we both feel pretty shitty.But thank God you took your sweet old time getting over here to rescue us.”

Tony brought his arm away from Peter, attempting to stand upwhile wincing in pain. Peter quickly got to his feet to help his mentor. “Hehas a concussion and some broken ribs.” Peter relayed the information to theirrescuer.

“And he’s got a dislocated shoulder.” Tony shot backimmediately. “Don’t let him try to convince you he’s fine.”

“I already feel it healing, Mr. Stark.”

“You’re still getting checked out. No arguing.”

Peter rolled his eyes as Steve moved forward to help themwalk out. “Natasha and Clint are outside. Scott and Wanda found the criminals,they were planning to ambush the building once help arrived. They have themapprehended.”

“I still can’t believe they managed to take us down in thefirst place, us! We’re Spider-Man and freaking Ironman! I mean, you didn’t haveyour suit, but still, Mr. Stark, I should’ve-“

“Kid.” Tony shut him up once again. “Do you ever stoptalking?”

Peter blushed. “Oh, sorry, Mr. Stark.”

“Peter, can it with the Mr.Stark stuff. Just call me Tony, okay? I think we’re close enough now if weweren’t before.”

“Right… Um, Tony?” The name sounded so uncomfortable leavingthe kid’s mouth.

“Yeah, Pete?”

“We’ll totally kick ass next time.”

[courageousfire]

9. An Awkward Kiss for lyle/will bc that's the only way I can imagine it happening/it's 100% would Lyle would do

Lyle slammed his head on his desk. He was tired, and yet, he never finished his work for the day. Something had been distracting him all day. What? He couldn’t say. Many hypotheses formed in his intelligent brain, but nothing seemed to correlate or even cause this problem. Sure, it could be his disabilities acting up again, but he took his meds this morning. It wasn’t likely that they failed to work all day, especially out of what seemed like no where.

No; there was something deeper going on. He couldn’t sleep at night, there was no joy in just working anymore, he felt lonely more often, and- perhaps the strangest of all- he found himself daydreaming. During work. This wasn’t anything he experienced before. It was distracting him- yet, he was happy. He was smiling more, and- though he hated to admit it- thoroughly enjoying the crazy adventures Will would take him on. In fact, he yearned to go out and solve cases or just do their job, even what wasn’t asked of them. He looked forward to breaking and avoiding rules? What in the world was wrong with him? He hated this. And, loved it. He was restless, but at peace; frustrated, and content. And he thought he was a confused mess before.

Lyle jumped at the sound of a knock. He snapped up in his professional posture to witness Will leaning against the wall of his cubicle. His heart fluttered at the way some hair messily fell to his eyebrows, yet the rest remained neatly back. Will’s nose slightly pointed up as the handsome man faced ahead of him, giving Lyle a perfect profile view. His strong jaw and prominent chin outlined his masculine face, yet still managing to reserve his natural sophistication and charm.

“We need to talk.” Blinking, Lyle’s heart halted. His eyes wandered to Will’s muscular arms to avoid any chance of eye contact. Lyle waited for a long while, expecting Will to do exactly what he said. But, he just stood still as if waiting for Lyle to respond first.

“Um... Okay.” He shifted uncomfortably, not realizing his gaze slowly rose back to Will’s face. Gulping, he noted Will’s eyes stayed closed.

“You’re distracted.” Lyle wasn’t used to this bluntness, so he didn’t quite know how to respond. After a moment of silence, Will spoke again. “I can’t let you work if you can’t do your job.” What? Lyle opened his mouth to speak, but came up empty. “So, you gonna tell me?”

“Tell you what?” Lyle could barely even hear himself. Why was Will being so quiet?

“What’s going on.” Since when did Will care?

“I’m fine.” Who was he trying to fool?

“Lyle.” No, keep it together.

“Really, I’m-”

“Lyle,” Will repeated in the same exact tone. Wincing, Lyle sighed and looked down at his bandaged fingers.

“I don’t know...”

“Well, figure it out.” Lyle nodded, expecting that to be all. But-

“Wait, you mean now?” His eyes shot up to Will, examining his surprisingly expressionless face. With no answer, Lyle assumed what that meant. “I-I don’t know! I swear!” The thought of losing his job panicked him.

“You do know.” Well, that was unfair. Was he really expecting him to know everything?

“I don’t!” Why should this matter?

“Then you can’t work here.”

“What?? I don’t understand why you’re-”

“I have to say I’m disappointed.” That hurt more than anything. Will was disappointed in his inability to work. And, he couldn’t even blame it on any part of his sick mind.

“I’m just having an off week! If you look at my work history-”

“I don’t care what you’ve done in the past. If you can’t help me now, you can’t help me. It’s as simple as that.” You can’t help me.

“All I’ve ever done is help you! You’ve never even once shown any signs of gratitude for anything I do! It wouldn’t hurt to say thanks just once in your life!”

“I don’t need to. It’s your job to help.”

“Let go of your damn pride for just a second! It’s not my job to follow you wherever you go or do your personal work or-!”

“Then why do you?”

“Because you’re my boss! I have to-!”

“You just said it’s not your job to do that. I don’t remember ever telling you it was, either.” Lyle froze. “So, I’ll ask again: why do you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t!”

“Lyle.” Grabbing his hair in frustration, Lyle whined.

“I have to!”

“Why?”

“I don’t-”

“Lyle.”

“You’ll never be happy with me if I don’t!”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I just do!”

“Tell me why, Lyle.”

“Because I like you!” Lyle opened his scrunched up eyes to see Will looking at him, smirking with pride. “W-what?”

“Congratulations, Lyle.” Now he was just even more confused. And, it took a while to even realize what he just admitted to.

“I-I... uh... w-what?”

“I had my doubts, but I know how much you’ve improved.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You used reasoning and led yourself to figure out the answer you didn’t know. You didn’t leave it up to me to figure out. You did it. Even if you didn’t want to think about it, you still answered me. And that’s it. You didn’t think about it. When coming to a decision, you can’t always depend on facts to guide you. Sometimes, following your own intuition is the best route to go. Especially in split seconds like this.”

“I... what?” Will held out his hand and Lyle stared at it in confusion.

“You’re supposed to shake it,” Will said with a sincere laugh that made Lyle practically melt at the spot. He eventually remembered how to move and shook Will’s hand. To his surprise, Will pulled him into a hug. “Welcome aboard, partner.” Lyle’s eyes widened. Partner? What happened to kid? And wait, welcome aboard? What did that even mean?

“I’ll send the promotion paperwork to the-” Will tried to pull away, but Lyle just found himself clinging to him, shaking. He didn’t care about the promotion. Will was hugging him. Will was... he was here with him. His eyes were wide, tears steaming down his face. He never thought this would ever happen even in his wildest dreams. And yet, here they were. “Lyle?”

“I... Can I um...” Lyle gripped Will’s shirt, only pulling his face away enough to see Will who raised an eyebrow.

“If you want something just ask.” Lyle had no idea how this worked. He leaned in slightly closer, staring at Will’s lips, hesitating.

“K-k-”

“You want to kiss me?” Lyle’s eyes flickered up to meet Will’s gaze. The other seemed almost shocked by that. And who wouldn’t be? Lyle never made eye contact. “Lyle...” Lyle stiffened with his lips barely separated, not daring to move. “You know what that means.”

“I know.” Will sighed, but eventually leaned closer with his eyes closed. Lyle, on the other hand, was struggling. He didn’t know what to do, so he angled his head in just about every way humanly possible while trying to calculate the best way to do this. But, Will was patient. And eventually, Lyle just went for it. Although their noses bumped, their lips eventually touched as well. It was short, but it seemed to last forever- though not as long as the wait. Even if Lyle decided he hated kissing or physical affection in general, he knew he would live to regret himself if he didn’t at least try. So, he did. And, well, at least he can say this: he never had a single regret doing it.

Well, not until now that is.

[strapcats]

Thicker than Water (Part 10)

↬ Genre: Gang au, angst, drama, eventual fluff

↬ Pairing: Jeongin x Chan

↬ Word Count: 2,482

↬ Description: Dépaysement- (n.) When someone is taken out of their own familiar world and pushed into a new one.

–

Yang Jeongin is a young Busan runaway with a sharp tongue.

Bang Chan is the easily-offended leader of a crime syndicate.

Read on Wattpad // Read on Archive

Part(s) One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten

“God you’re an idiot. It’s only been five months and you’ve already forgotten the shit that I’ve been drilling into your brain since middle school?” Woojin spoke clearly, roughly wrapping his leader’s shoulder in higher quality, cleaner gauze after he stitched up his gunshot wound better than he had on the bus. Chan rolled his eyes and winced a little as the medic’s hand brushed the injury again and again. He grimaced.

“Oh god and that poor boy! He saw you get shot and he honestly thought you were in bad enough shape that he needed to save you! I won’t complain about it, but now because of your recklessness, we’re going to have to help him move past the mild PTSS and he’ll be afraid to pick up a gun, and every time he sees you he’ll probably wince at the memory, you won’t have the same relationship ever again…” Woojin rambled on in concern for both parties involved as he bustled around gathering a glass of water and a couple different types of pills. He handed them to Chan and the leader took them in silence before sighing a little.

“What am I supposed to do about it, Woojin? He’s the idiot that jumped after me, I didn’t ask for that. In fact, I asked him specifically to stay out of sight but now Ring knows we have him and they also know he’s stupidly impulsive. I should’ve just left him here. No, actually, I should’ve left him in the snow.” The leader was fuming with frustration, spewing acidic words without thinking first. He started to get up from his seat on the bed but was stopped harshly when the back of his best friend’s hand collided with his cheek. He hissed in pain, as he had a couple scratches already and shifted his jaw before looking back up at the slightly older man. He was furious, and Chan had only seen him this way a couple of times before, so it shook him a little bit.

“You disgust me. Your emotions are so out of control and you don’t even see it. That boy is worth so much to you that you’re pushing him away because you don’t want him to get hurt. In doing that, you’re hurting him more than you realize, Chan. Get your act together, and start acting like the leader we all need, especially him.” The taller man spoke angrily, spitting his venomous words at his leader before moving away and opening the door to the medical room, then stepping aside and motioning for Chan to get out. The black haired man groaned as he stood up, the sling his arm was in swinging a little bit, then shooting daggers into Woojin as he walked out the door. He heard it slide closed behind him and sighed a little bit.

What does he know? He’s not the leader of Korea’s best crime syndicate. He doesn’t look out for 8 other men every single day. He just patches people up when things get rough. He doesn’t know anything about my feelings, especially towards Jeongin. I’m giving him tough love! It builds character… Chan’s thoughts were loud as he walked towards his bedroom. He mumbled a little bit but as he rounded the corner into the hallway, he heard light laughter coming from the first room. The door wasn’t closed, which was odd, considering the youngest member’s door often was. The leader peeked his head in, and what he saw made his heart simultaneously do somersaults and sink to the floor. It was an odd sensation.

Jeongin was giggling loudly, trying to cover his smiling face with his hands, acting a little shy about the size of his smile. He was sat cross-legged on the bed opposite Felix, whose eyes were sparkling with wonder at the younger boy in front of him. Felix’s eyes were a little crinkled up, as he was smiling just as wide as his younger counterpart more at him than at whatever joke had just been made. Chan’s body moved without thinking and he knocked lightly on the open door frame. Jeongin looked towards the sound, and his eyes went hazy when he saw Chan. The shorter boy slowly got off the bed and walked to Chan, his hazel green eyes looking him up in down in inspection, his eyes staying fixed on Chan no matter how he moved. Felix had turned around and now seemed a little stiff, his posture straightening itself and his smile dropping immediately. Chan moved his gaze away from Felix and back to Jeongin, who was now rather close to him, with tears in his eyes. He reached a shaking hand out and lightly touched his leaders injured shoulder, causing the taller man to flinch a little bit, but not away.

“Is it hurting?” The youngest member managed to whimper out one sentence in question of his leader, and in response, Chan nodded solemnly. Jeongin’s hand darted away from the injured shoulder as soon as he had his response, fear of hurting his elder. His hazel eyes dropped to the ground, studying the pair’s feet like they were the most interesting things in the world. Chan sighed a little and used his good arm to grab the younger boy and pull him into his own body, hugging him close and letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as Jeongin’s arms wrapped delicately around him as well. The smaller boy was shaking and he felt a few tears leak into his thin thermal shirt. The youngest clearly hadn’t ever dealt with loss firsthand. Felix slid past them and out of the room, casting his eyes down as he did and closing the door behind him.

“Fox, you didn’t really think I would be gone from a hit like that, did you? You should have a little more faith in me than that.” Chan chuckled out, making Jeongin laugh sadly. Woojin hadn’t informed him of the shock that he was in, probably for a reason. Jeongin pulled back a little and Chan ruffled his hair playfully, making Jeongin smile forlornly.

The younger boy looked to be in rough shape. His eyes were red from crying, and not just from the present situation. His black hair was messed up, but significantly more tangled and knotty than it would be if he had tousled it intentionally. He had on a pair of gray capri sweats and a tight v-neck tee with ¾ sleeves. Chan could see the outline of massive industrial-level bandages on his sides, though he was sure there were some on his legs as well. He also had a small cut on his cheek, very similar to the one the younger had given his leader previously. The cut looked deeper than just skin deep, and had two butterfly bandages across it to keep it closed. Chan felt sorry, he had caused the young boy’s pain. Woojin’s words started to ring in his ears, but he pushed away the thoughts, as well as pushing Jeongin away lightly and stepping back from the boy. Hurt flashed in his eyes but he smiled softly to cover it up and then walked away, Jeongin following until they hit the door where he shut it after the leader left. Once outside Chan let out another invisible sigh before straightening up and heading to his office.

On the other side of the door, Jeongin drooped his head against the cold sheet metal, his forehead hitting it a little harder than he anticipated, but he didn’t react. He was expecting more from his encounter with the leader, though at the same time he wasn’t expecting anything. The man was complex and contradictory, but it seemed like everything he did was purposeful in some way, like he was playing towards an endgame. He caused a whole slew of emotions every time he encountered the youngest member, from infatuation and wonder to endless frustration and angry isolation. It seemed as if anything he said would later be turned against him, whether positive or negative. It was absolutely infuriating to Jeongin, especially when he had people like Seungmin and Felix who stood by him and trusted him, despite his inexperience and youth. They were truly his friends, even people like Woojin and Jisung had grown on him and had become something more like friends than Chan; who was supposed to be his first mentor and most trusted colleague. Instead, Jeongin never looked to him for guidance and often found himself blindly following him like a lost dog. The young boy had no idea what to do about his emotions or how to handle his leader.

---

Minutes passed into hours and before he realized, the light filtering into Jeongin’s dusty room shifted from sunlight to moonlight. The young boy had just been resting since his encounter with Chan earlier. He phased in and out of consciousness while watching TV shows, he was very relaxed, as he was ignoring any problems with BC. He checked the time and was about to roll over to fall back into light sleep, but then his stomach began to yell at him, cursing him out and begging for food. Jeongin rolled his eyes and rolled out of bed lazily before opening his bedroom door and wandering into the kitchen. Once there, he was surprised to see Chan on the couch, lazing about much like Jeongin had been earlier. The older man didn’t move from his place, nor did he turn around to acknowledge Jeongin’s presence, he only lifted a hand lightly a waved as the youngest entered his space.

Jeongin felt out of place. Chan was laying on the couch reading a book as thick as a pillow. The words on the white page were in English, so Jeongin couldn’t even pretend to understand the book. The older was eerily silent, seemingly not caring that Jeongin was now making a ruckus in the kitchen to get hot chocolate and some leftover tteokbokki, though it didn’t reheat very well. Jeongin chose to ignore his leader, much like how he thought the elder was doing to him. He was dead wrong.

Chan was doing anything but ignoring his maknae. He was studying him silently from behind his book, observing his movements and finding himself nearly in awe at the way he simply moved. He stood on his tiptoes to reach a mug on the top shelf, though he really didn’t have to. His delicate fingers ripped open the hot cocoa packet and then shuffled around the pantry for marshmallows. He poured hot milk into the cup and mixed his drink thoroughly before plopping the small sugary cylinders into the steaming mug. He reheated the meal in the microwave, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he waited for the timer to end, yet he stopped it a second early so he wouldn’t have to hear the beeps. The curly-haired man was so lost in his thoughts that he hardly heard when Jeongin offered to make him some hot cocoa as well.

“Hyung? Are you in there?” the maknae spoke softly, a playful tone riding on his words. Chan nodded a couple times and Jeongin turned back to the counter. He got out the marshmallows once again, and Chan decided to stand up. The older male reached the kitchen and then grabbed his favorite mug from the top shelf just as Jeongin was about to, leaving the two standing very close face to face. Chan kept his eyes locked with the gradually reddening boy in front of him and handed him the mug before stepping back. Jeongin nodded a little in thanks. Chan sat on a bar stool at the island in the middle of the kitchen, returning to his state of Jeongin observation. Except this time, Jeongin felt the older’s deep chocolate eyes burning into him as he moved.

The air was thick with unknown tension and Jeongin felt under pressure. He turned around with his leader’s cocoa made, sliding it across the island before leaning on the side opposite BC. They sipped the cocoa in silence, seemingly doing nothing but staring at each other. Jeongin eventually tucked nito and then finished his leftovers, breaking the eye contact in order to place his dish in the sink. Chan thought he was going to return to their previous position, but instead he went and sat on the couch, casually leaning into one corner and placing his mug on his leg lightly like he was inviting Chan to sit with him. The oldest obliged.

“Chan, why do you treat me differently?” The young boy seemed to lose all his confidence once he had to actually speak to his leader, his gaze immediately shifting to the cracked cement floor underneath the sofa. Chan shrugged.

“Because you are different.” His answer wasn’t one Jeongin was hoping for, nor did it give any level of clarification to the situation. The youngest rolled his eyes a little and sighed unconsciously.

“If you have something to say, Yang, then say it. I don’t have time for games.” Chan spoke again, cooly, sharply. His tone startled Jeongin, who wasn’t expecting such a harsh response from his superior. He took a small breath to collect his thoughts before responding.

“I want to know why I’m different. I’m just another bullshit castout runaway who fell into the wrong kind of business, just like everyone else in this god damn warehouse. And yet, you treat me like dirt one night and like your best friend the next. You’re up and down and every time I try to understand you I feel like I’m running in endless circles. I can never get anywhere with you so at this point I’m ready to give up trying.” Jeongin spoke gravely, his voice a bit scratchier than it normally was. His eyes were still cast to the floor but the emotion in his voice was enough for a million facial expressions. Chan’s heart ripped a little bit. He knew his mistakes, of course he did.

Chan didn’t speak. Jeongin didn’t either. After about two minutes of silence, Jeongin finally worked up the courage to look at the older man. And not just view him, but really, really, look at him. His eyes were tired. He had purple circles under them and his lids drooped slightly. His hair was in disarray, he had a bandage across his nose where he had been scratched by the asphalt. He had a form-fitting white tee on, close enough to his body to see the faint outline of his toned abdomen muscles, but more importantly, the outline of the massive bandage across his shoulder. His arm should be in a sling but Woojin wasn’t here to scold him, so it sat alone on the coffee table. His black sweatpants sat low on his hips, exposing the hem of his Calvin Klein boxers, and his white socks covered his feet, save a few holes from overwear.

He was beyond beautiful, and Jeongin felt like he could begin hyperventilating at just the thought of Chan being more than a mildly psychotic gang leader. Any other way, and Jeongin was sure they’d be together. Chan could be a barista, making lattes and sending out kind smiles, or he could be a college student that Jeongin crashed into one day on the way to class. He could be a wrong number text turned right, or a long-forgotten penpal that Jeongin happened to remember. Instead of all these things, though, he was a cold, calculating, blood-thirsty druglord, and Jeongin was his runner. Not his regular at the cafe, not a cheeky underclassman, not a handsome stranger discovered over text or an old spark relit. He was insignificant and replaceable, and Chan was high and mighty. He was a genius, always knowing the right moves to make and always having a backup plan. Always having an escape route. Jeongin didn’t have one of those, so he was walking right into a trap and he was accepting it willingly. Deep inside, he knew Felix liked him. He knew Woojin cared for his wellbeing a little more than the other members. He knew Changbin and Jisung really enjoyed his presence under all their tough. But with Chan, his doubt still chewed away at his psyche like a shark.

“You think too much, Fox.” Was all that Chan said before leaning to get his hot chocolate, wincing as he went. Once he sat back in his regular position Jeongin looked him dead in the eyes. The younger’s hazel orbs had an oceanic storm raging within them, a flurry of every emotion Chan was too scared to understand. The storm seemed to stop all at once though, and before he knew it, Jeongin’s soft lips were on his cheek. Then, the younger got up without looking back and walked back to his room, muttering a ‘goodnight, Chan’ as he went. The boy’s hot cocoa was still sitting on the table, slowly losing heat. And for the first time in a very long time, Bang Chan blushed.